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It made her think of punana in a basement somewhere, blinded by the blackout contact lenses, ears stuffed with wax, bound and helpless, completely cut off from the outside world. Daisy rubbed herself dry with the towel, rubbed hard, harder, felt the harsh cotton against her nipples, her other hand pressing the towel hard against her cunt, rubbing it against her clit like rough sandpaper, grinding, two fingers pushing it directly against the sensitive little nub. She jerked herself back to awareness and threw the towel to the floor. Then, she lowered her head, leaned against the sink and cried.---punana's heart sinks as another day passes without word from its Master. Every morning is the same now, has been for ten days. punana is awakened by a shrill blast of high-pitched screaming, a recording of its own worst moment ever, played at painfully high volume in punana's tiny room. The recording plays a full ten minutes, bouncing and echoing off the walls, drilling itself deep into. "Sorry," he said. "I just... I'm not good at small talk." That's okay, neither am I."The silence was worse than the chit-chat. He could only stare at his food or at the car parked outside for so long, and then he had to look at her. And he began to notice things. Like the slightest tinge of color to her skin, something between mocha and olive. There was a not-quite-caucasian look to her features, a hint of something exotic, too subtle to identify, something in the slight cant of her doe-eyes, the round broadening of her nose, the curved pout of her lips, the slivers of amethyst in her gray eyes.And she seemed to radiate in his attention. Most women didn't like being stared at, at least not the way Will did it. He'd never mastered the art of the brief friendly appraisal or the sly appreciative glance. Maybe because he spent so little time with people and so much time with objects. Maybe because most of the time that he was around people was in the safety of Dream, intimitely.
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