”“We need to keep some,” I say.Later, on the way back to my flat, I look at him driving. “Do you wish I wasn’t an escort?”“Sometimes.”...He scratches his chin with his left hand. “But then I tell myself if you weren’t, I’d never have met you.”Back in my flat, I let him strip me. He fumbles with my suspenders, through excitement, not nerves. We fuck: this time he lasts longer. I suck him, he licks me, dirtily, on all fours, lapping like an animal, from my pussy up to my bum in wide, reckless. Fires—obviously for mood or something—burn in round brick pits scattered throughout. Elaborate racks and torture apparatus dot nearly every square inch of space. A few male slaves are strapped unceremoniously to them here and there. One looks unconscious. One man is suspended spread eagled facing down from the ceiling. Thin sharp looking metal filament wire is looped through his skin all along his back. There are so many he looks like a porcupine with his skin stretched up from his body. More

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