‘In the car baby. You can get them later.’ Her soft American tone warmed me. She walked into my sitting room and looked around, inspecting, nodded as if satisfied and sat in a large armchair, mine normally. I smiled to myself – she owns the place. ‘May I get you some wine?’ ‘Thank you,’ – always polite. I poured us a glass each and carried them through to her, setting hers on a small table beside her and stood by the fire to watch her. We raised glasses and smiled at each other, the tension in me all but gone. She told me to sit at her feet. She read me poetry, from a small leather bound book, poetry she had written, some I had read before but all new with her voice, and her hand stroking my hair as I listened and she read. I rested my head on her knee. Her poems are dark, opening my mind to both her desires and my own. As she read my knickers became wet, that delicious wet that only silk can give. My nipples hardened and pushed, brushed against the silk of my blouse. She noticed, I. I could get away with it if I wanted to. There weren't any cameras in this cell from what I recalled. And it's not like anyone would question a psycho if she was having sex or not. They would just pass it off as a delusion. I yanked with all my might before I buckled the arm straps, finishing her cage. Then she turned back, staring at me with deep hungry eyes. She tugged at her arms, pulling at them up and down, twisting about in the straitjacket, ensuring I did my job well.She dropped to her knees before me after she was done her struggling. My bulge jolted when she suddenly kissed and nuzzled her face into my groin. My cock pressed against the inside of my pants, wanting to play. Her nose poked around and fished for the zipper tab. Then that big pair of begging eyes looked up to me.Sex addict. It was written all over her. But for someone who's committed, she seemed absolutely in control. My mind wavered at my options. I glanced at the doorway. What if someone saw me? This could.
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