I trace the scent back to his position close to the door, almost cut off from the rest of the room as if he’s just a spectator – which, for tonigh... at least, he is - before muting it out, pushing it away as I search for her presence.Unlike her husband, she wears no perfume; her skin is sweet enough without the need for sensory adornment, and it cuts through everything else in the room to grab my attention. He’s my employer; just another man wealthy enough to afford my services. She’s my. There were books on bestiality, copraphilia, loads and loads of extreme porn mag's. He definitely doesn't have a girlfriend, she thought. No woman could share a book collection as screwed up as this. They'd run a mile.Repulsed, she stayed away from the stranger's flat a long while after that. She didn't want to be found by him in his own flat and end up beaten and trussed and repeatedly sodomised by this guy who could quite easily be some fucked up piece of cheese. Bondage was her limit; bummy. More

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