The searing pain brought her down to Earth and wiped away any pleasure she'd been feeling. John chuckled at her hurt expression. "My girls don't get...to cum," he told her. "If they enjoy what I'm doing, I must be doing it wrong."He started tying the fishing lines to the hooks, two to each, cutting them along the way to leave as little slack as possible. When he was done, he took out a remote control, a simple black instrument with a dial, and showed it to her. "Ready?" he asked with a. Bookshelves lined one wall, framed medical certificates the other, a reproduction Matisse on the third. His desk looked like a genuine antique, carved and burnished wood with green leather inlaid in the top. A black flat panel monitor and keyboard on one side was the only testament to the twenty-first century."Are you sure?" I asked.He smiled, his intelligent brown eyes bright behind wire-framed glasses. He was a small man, bird-like, immaculately groomed and attired, the subtle grey pinstripe. More

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