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Her husband now craved his own degradation and dishonor, he craved his shame and he hungered for his own wife’s domination at the hands of the Count. He was such a failure as a husband, he deserved it after all didn’t he? The Count had become just as much a drug for the addicted Claude as he had become for his sex-crazed young wife. When Martine would dress in her beautiful lace dresses and prepare for a visit to the Count her husband Claude would fall to his knees and beg his wife to tell him. Not always, not usually, just of late. Nothing she could put her fingers on, nothing she could actually state even to herself, but the intuition was there.Suppressed only by her sanity.She entered through the double doors, waiting for the light...Then wishing it would blink back into nothing.In the middle of the pool, a mass of slithering arms, slimy teeth and monstrous jaws splayed out and over the edges of the water. The creature turned, large teardrop-shaped eyes boring into her soul as she. The water made only a small difference but every little bit helped, the orange juice and aspirin did a little more. Coffee, followed by a day old donut seemed to raise me to about fifty percent of normal. Hell, normal wasn't all that much.I looked about the one large room. I had called it home for the previous two months. It was still filled with cardboard boxes. Most had never been opened. I planned to open them before I tossed them in the dumpster. It would at least be nice to know what I was. He was Mark and she, Sarah. He was a trader (who in NY isnt?) with a solid midwestern build and square chin, very farmboy except for the tailored shirt and mock-ironic plastic-rimmed glasses. She was in fashion (two for two on cliches!) and looked the part – severely angled stiletto heels and skin-tight red jeans coming up to meet with a loosely draped striped top, all covered with hipster-gaudy necklaces and bracelets. A nose stud rounded out the look. We took to chatting with them immediately.
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