I just pulled her petticoat from both the sides and as it loosened i left it. It went down to her ankles. She stepped out of it. Then i moved my hands...a bit up and started pressing her boobs. Soon my hands were busy opening the buttons of her blouse. One by one all the four of them were open and i pulled her blouse out. Now she was in pink bra and panty. She turned around again and hugged me. Her body was fairly hot as well. I was caressing her bare and smooth back with my hands. The only. "What'd we got here?"I twisted the door open and yelled "Get out. Be quick!" in my best drill field voice. Out tumbled two young women in heavy cloaks followed by a black-suited man with a florid face. He was obviously very drunk, hardly able to stand. The older of the women took his arm."This is my husband," she said, her eyes pleading. "He's ill." He's potted," I said, smiling at her. You could smell him a yard off. She was stylishly dressed with a long wool cape and fluffy scarf. Her head. Holland Park then Notting Hill Gate. I ignored the alkies outside the station, unwilling to feed anyone’s addictions but my own. I walked along the quiet street, my hands deep in my coat pockets and my mind serenely empty. Then up the stairs to the door. Buzz number three on the intercom and wait. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘It’s me. You aren’t sleeping are you?’ The door buzzed open and I walked up the tiled stairs, once grand but now faded. Her flat door was already ajar and I walked into her world. The smell of burning flesh met her nose and the lepers pointed at the small flame that rose from one nipple and high-fived each other. Sparky was designed not to deliver a continuous flow of electricity, which could prematurely kill a subject. Instead it worked in a sequence of rising and falling high voltage levels of varying intensity and duration - never enough to kill but sufficient to induce such agonising physical pain resulting in convulsions of the body - skeletal fractures were not.
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