Still nothing. The night after that she actually called out, "I'm here!" at the spot, and instantly felt ashamed. What the hell was she doing? She kne... better. Her kind of fantasies were things decent men don't do in real life without planned consent and a safe word. The one time was once too many. Yet she was unable to continue on towards home until she had fingered herself to an orgasm.She moved on from it all as best she could, and finally started being able to function again without the mix. In an occasional fit of loneliness — curiosity was an emotion she was barely capable of feeling anymore — she tried the other doors, but they were always locked, and knocking seemed unwise. She remained atavistically terrified of the dark corridor and thus couldn’t bring herself to go that way.And then sleep. Naked. Alone. On the cold, hard floor where she belonged. Dream-wandering well-trodden paths between submission and despair. What comfort and peace remained in such dreams was drawn from. More

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