The sensation of hurt and excitement is making me so wet. When I cross my legs the ring on my clit tugs. My nipples are sticking out, but you can’t ...ee them. Maybe you can tug at the rings later. I walk into the dark livingroom, the only light is coming from the candle above the TV. I move closer to you. I straddle your lap. Your hands reach for me. “No don’t touch me” I tell you. You look at me worried, “why.” But I ignore you. I run my fingers through your hair, your head leans into my hand. I did manage to pop into the public library, though, just before they closed for the evening at seven.I asked the Librarian, a single young woman in her early twenties, if she knew anything about a film actress called Marcia la Mare.The Librarian had her fair hair tied into a bun, pulled so tight that the skin on her face was squeezed of blood flow and looked like glazed porcelain. I had seen her a number of times but had never spoken to her in conversation, other than the usual polite. More

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