“Would you like to kiss my stomach?”There’s a sharp intake of breath. “Of course!”“Mmmmm! I like the thought of you kissing my stomach.”...��I like the thought of kissing it.” His voice still sounds nervous, tense, strained.“Maybe I like the thought of it so much that I’d like you to be more daring.”There’s silence, save for breathing. Heavy breathing.“Maybe you should put your hand on my thigh as you kiss my stomach.”There’s a sharp intake of breath. “If you’d like me to.”I giggle. I’ve not long. The goons beside me winced as if a scorpion in their pants suddenly clipped a testy but were under orders not to react. Julius sat back and removed a remote control from his desk. Nowadays, if I saw one of those I’d get nervous a trap door would open underfoot, or a killer robot would rise up and cut someone in half, but back then it was just an old TV remote. He clicked on a small TV/VCR job sitting on his bookscase. The goon to my left groaned as if to say, ‘oh not THIS again. I stepped. More

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