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intrusive stabbing of the butt plug. The dark sunglasses hid her worried eyes to any that may be curious about the tall woman with the strange stride. To Katarina’s relief, she went unnoticed by all as they busied themselves around the foyer, checking in, checking out, checking phones.
     
    The outside world lay beyond the hotel’s glass doors. Normally pretty innocuous, normally just there, it was now a threat to her freedom with its inherent bustle. She didn’t want to go out there but it was her only real choice. Katarina hesitated but when a bellhop swung open a door with a courteous bow, she surged forward again, spurred by knowing that the clock was fast ticking.
     
    She felt the cold air of the late autumn afternoon on the small slit of exposed face as she stepped carefully down the entrance steps. Her inner voice screamed at her, ‘Marble. Why do hotels always love fucking marble?’ Her ankles fought to keep her erect as the mercury-filled balls sloshed their exquisite pressure, echoing the stunted descent of the steps.
     
    It was the same world as yesterday. Now though it seemed different. Foreboding, more threatening and dangerous in so many new ways. Adrenalin began to course through her, quickening her shallowed breathing as she prepared to strike out in the direction of the station.
     
    Each crack in the uneven sidewalk seemed to beckon her towards it, tempting her to trip, to fall, to fail. With intense concentration she began to make her way towards her goal, while her constantly stimulated body screamed for focus of its own with an agenda she knew would only see her falter. 'Why the hell don't they repair these properly?'
     
    Her normal, confident sashay was now forcibly replaced by a short, mincing stutter. The liquid distraction within still lapped her g-spot for attention, causing her to pause, needing it calmed. Immelmann had crafted a situation totally alien to her. When the mood took her, Katarina would stride down the street, head held high, revelling in being the centre of attention as heads turned to take in her beauty. She craved a return to that familiarity as she kept to the shadows cast by tall buildings in the failing evening sun, desperately trying to remain invisible to the crowd. This discomfort, the feeling of needing to hide, was planned, she was at least sure of that.
     
    “Hurry now girl.” His voice exploded in her ears. Head held tightly forward by the rigid leather of the posture collar and startled by the sudden intrusion, Katarina quickened her pace, electrified by the thought that he was still close but tempered by a desire to reassert some independence. She would hurry, sure, but she would hurry for her, not for him, she had nothing for him.
     
    A clock sited above a jewellery shop measured her progress as she moved with a steady pace towards the station, flagstone by flagstone, block by block. It would be tight; the delay in merely leaving the hotel had seen to that already. Nothing else could be allowed to faze her in her quest for release, and so she quickened her pace while the hand of the clock ticked off another minute.
     
    Crossing lights seemed to be staging a conspiracy as yet another red delayed her and, despite a withering glare from behind dark glasses and the frustrated stomp of a boot, refusing to turn green. Her mistake was instantly clear. The harsh retort of her heel attracted attention. A number of people turned, then just as quickly snapped their heads away, disgusted at the socially unacceptable heels which imprisoned her feet.
     
    One didn't look away though and as the youth approached her with hungry eyes, a dark weight settled at the pit of Katarina’s stomach. His accidental bump to her shoulder as the crowd jostled, readying to cross, caused her to teeter and correct her balance with a series of stuttered short steps. “Can I help you, Miss?” His short question went unheard as he gnawed on chewing gum.
     
    The smell of cheap aftershave