The smell is not correct, it is her mother’s. “The smell?” she thinks. How come she can identify her mother by her smell? But the idea sticks in... the menthol from the cigarettes she smokes, the cheap perfume, the juniper wood of the gin she drinks; it is clearly her mother. She sniffs to be sure but the reassuring smell is replaced by something much more powerful, a coppery acrid aroma assaults her nose trills. The obsessing smell of blood makes her hungry and horny at the same time and that is. The horrible taste of the leather seethed around in her mouth, as the rough surface ran over her tongue. She sobbed in shame, seeing Dean out of the corner of her eye, standing there, watching her humiliation."Deeper, honey. Suck it like it was a real cock, come on, right in," Rose purred. She pushed and the top of the handle rasped at Gillian's throat, making her gag and heave on the floor. "Naughty; you took a cock before, so you can take this, come on, swallow it."The menace in her voice. More

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