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the retired Judge
Jamieson being 'assaulted', whatever that means. After my drunken afternoon
with Al I don't feel the same need to offload as I did before, and I can't
decide whether I ought to involve Yvonne or not.
She washes my feet. 'Or maybe,' she says, 'the Greers and the Dworkins are
right, and the Pickleses and the Jamiesons are right too, and all men are
rapists, and all women want to be raped.'
'Bullshit.'
'Mm-hmm.'
'But I still didn't like being made to feel like I was a rapist.'
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Complicity
'Well, we won't do that again.'
'And I still find the idea of you wanting me to do it ... unsettling.'
She's silent for a while, then says, 'The other day' - she's soaping the front
of my legs now, from behind -
'when you had to sit through
Eldorado in that really uncomfortable position; you enjoyed that, didn't you?'
She's smoothing her sappled hands up and down my thighs.
'Well ... eventually,' I concede.
'But if that had been somebody else doing that to you ... ' she says softly,
so that I can hardly hear her over the quiet thunder of the shower. She's
soaping my balls now, gently palping them, massaging them.' ...
Somebody you didn't know - male or female - tying you up, leaving you
helpless, somewhere where shouting couldn't help you, and there was a big
sharp knife under the bed ... how would you have felt then?'
She stands up and rubs her body up against me, stroking my still mostly limp
cock. I gaze out through the steam and the rivulets of water running down the
glass of the shower cabinet. I'm looking out at the moodily lit bathroom and
wondering what I would do if I suddenly saw William appear out there, flight
Page 68
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
bags in hand, a
Surprise honey I'm home
, , ! look on his face.
'Petrified,' I admit. 'I'd be scared stiff. Well, scared soft.'
She's gently pulling on my prick. It doesn't really want to and I find it
difficult to believe and I'm not sure
I
want to because I feel so fucking drained and sore, but the thing's actually
responding, fattening and firming and rising in her kneading, soap-slick
hands.
She puts her chin on my shoulder and a sharp fingernail against my jugular.
'Turn round, bitch-boy,' she hisses.
'Oh ha-bloody-ha.'
*
Yvonne wakes me up after an hour's sleep and tells me I have to leave. I turn
over and pretend I'm still asleep but she pulls the duvet off me and switches
the lights on. I have to dress in my sweaty, dirty clothes and go back down to
the kitchen, grumbling while she makes me a coffee, and I complain about my
wet boots and she gives me a fresh pair of William's socks to wear and I put
them on and drink my coffee and
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Complicity whine about never being allowed to spend the night and tell her how
just once
I'd like to wake up here in the morning, and have a nice, civilised breakfast
with her, sitting on the sunny balcony outside the bedroom windows, but she
makes me sit down while she laces my boots up, then takes my coffee cup off me
and sends me out the back door and says I've got two minutes before she arms
the alarm and puts the infrared lights on stand-by so I have to go back the
way I came, over the estate wall and through the wood and down into the stream
where I get both feet wet and cold and I fall going up the bank and get all
muddy and eventually drag myself up and through the hedge, scratching my cheek
and tearing my polo-
neck and then trudging across the field through heavy rain and more mud and
finally getting to the car and panicking when I can't find the car keys before
remembering I put them in the button-down back pocket of the jeans for safety
instead of the side pocket like I usually do, and then having to put some dead
branches under the front wheels because the fucking car's stuck and finally
getting away and home and even in the street light I can see what a mess of
the pale upholstery my muddy clothes have made.
*
I feel too tired to sleep so I play some
Despot when I get home but my heart's not in it and the Empire is still in a
tattered-looking state after all the earlier disasters and I'm almost
wondering if I should start again but that would mean going back to the
fucking dawn of civilisation and the temptation in
Despot is always to swap PoV, which people who don't know the game always
think sounds sort of innocent, like some detail, but it isn't: you're not just
swapping Point of View, you're swapping your current Despotic
Power Level for something less, even if it's a regional lord or other king or
a general or royal relation close to the throne, and it is not to be done
lightly because as soon as you renounce the current Despot's
PoV the computer takes over and it's a smart fucking piece of software. Try to
swap too late, hold on too long and you get assassinated and that's it; that's
you back to the cave with twenty other flea-bitten reduced-statures and the
bright idea of bringing some fire into the cave
! Swap too soon and the program takes over and performs some miracle that
pulls the ass of the Despot you just abandoned out of the fire and next thing
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