“Worm, take her downstairs to the dungeon and put her in the box with you. Anoushka, go with my husband now.”
That’s all she says. I am almost in a trance of longing as I get off my knees and allow her pathetic, massively crotch-bulging husband to show me downstairs. I can’t even register that I’m to be put inside a box. She could have told him to set me on fire and I’d still have gone down there with him. The box is a rectangular one in clear Perspex. It is maybe three feet high and wide and double that in length. It has three circles a foot in diameter cut in spaces lengthways in the top plane. This is for heads to poke out of, or for rude things to be stuck through; there is always good reason for any feature of specialist b**m equipment.
Spotlights shine on the box leaving the perip
