"Roger?" I asked."Roger?" I asked. No answer, just caresses in a way that only Roger had ever done -- a rhythmic sort of teasing of my nipples. I wiggled from pleasure, but decided to test things. "The anklecuff is hurting me; could you loosen it?" I added our release word. Instantly, whoever he was -- no doubt that it was a male; I could feel that! -- released my body, and adjusted the manacle. That settled one thing -- it certainly wasn't John. But was it Roger? I'd seen him get on the plane, hadn't I? But if it wasn't Roger, who was it? And how had he gotten in, past my alarm? I asked him who he was; rather than answer me, he rolled me onto my back, and used his lips for more important matters. My mouth, my breasts, the inside of my thighs -- I was practically deliri- ous with pleasure. But it didn't feel like Roger; the texture of his facial skin felt wrong, to say nothing of his style of making love. Finally, he rolled me up onto my knees, put a few pillows under my stomach, and put my head down. I knew what was coming next, of course, and moaned in anticipation. But he paused, just holding me gently. It took me a moment to figure out what was going on. My captor, whoever it was, was waiting for my permission to proceed. I was certain that if I told him to stop, and used the release word, he would. But I didn't want to stop, not after a buildup like that. I told him to please go ahead, and quickly! Instead, he did something even more curious -- he let me down, got up from the bed, and vanished. The light went on in the living room, and music filled the house -- one of Roger's favorite pieces, on the stereo. |