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When she came to, her shoulders were terribly aching. Her feet were wet. She was in a dank, moldy smelling room in the belly of the boat. Her clothes were gone. Her wrists were tied together. She was hanging from the ceiling by her wrists. Her feet were inside a bucket of water. A scruffy, big man with two missing tooth was holding one sponge in each of his hands. The sponges had wires that ran to an orange gas generator that was rumbling. ‘Perks of the job,’ smiled the torturer with a dirty smile. The sponges pressed against the bottoms of her ribs below the heart and sent her screaming while seeing a bright white light. ‘Don’t send me back to China. I can’t stand the mindless consumerism. I can’t stand the lack of touch in our society. I can’t stand putting myself back for the good of the family. I’d rather die than go back there. I want a Western man who listens to me and cares about my feelings. I can’t go back there!’ The torturer turned around to studiously pick a surgical. I soaked up those feelings, luxuriated in them, exhilarated in them.I looked up at her face, and saw that her eyes were closed, lost in the sensations that were being generated. I kept up my motions, and I could see her pussy lips start to swell with arousal, and I could smell that heady aroma of her arousal start to drift toward me. I willed her eyes to open, to look down at me, to let me know that she wanted me to take this further. Heaven knows I wanted to take her to the moon and back.I slowed down my movements. She then looked down at me and opened her soft brown eyes. I cast a questioning glance at her."May I?" my grey eyes said to her."Yes please!" she mouthed in reply.I looked toward Daryl. He hadn't moved, his chest still rising and falling slowly, asleep. We had come together, two couples as one, and we had pleasured our spouses together on the bed at once. But this - this was something different; a crossing of lines - the start of a new level of intimacy for us all. I knew.
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