Chapter Seven
My Morning Song
I am going to spank your bottom with my open palm. I thought I would dream of this. Instead I had a rather more unsettling one about Russell LeMuscle. He was face up and naked upon some kind of raised platform, his outstretched limbs held down at the wrists and ankles by irons. On his head was secured this kind of wooden box with a caged front. My subconscious clearly stole this from Bram Stoker’s Dracula – another film Elowen had me watch with her – in which guards at the asylum wear similar, to protect them from the mental gentlefolk residing therein. Anyway, the upshot was that this box-thing stopped Russell from moving his head and severely restricted his view, which meant that he couldn’t see me.
I approached with stealth to remain incognito. In real
