Clara sat astride my thighs, her smooth skin slick with sweat in the lamplight, clutching my masculinity in one hand, and in the other, a tubular steel rod, about twenty-five centimetres in length and a half centimetre in diameter.
“This will hurt more if you struggle,” she purred.
And to my great delight, she was absolutely correct.
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30. Happy New Year
By rights, the start of 2007 should have seen me in black and broken spirit, yet my heart soared like a pterodactyl with happiness, carrying me through each day on leathery wings of bliss, but as is so oft the case, it was not to last, and as always, it started with a death.
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Fairfax Urban-Smith will return in,
‘Smoked Havoc.’
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