Coach Ibrahim Aamil made his way to the dressing rooms. Training was over, everybody had gone home, and Absinth had not showed her face once, the whole evening. Yet, her motor cycle was still standing there, outside, so what the hell was keeping birthday girl? He sighed. As if he didn't know.
He raised his fist, reconsidered, and gently knocked on the door.
No answer. He opened the door, and sure enough,there she was, sitting on a bench with her head down.
He wanted to start the 'Happy birthday to you...', but then she looked up and he saw the tears. This was kind of schocking. He had been training her from the age of twelve. Over the years he had seen her taking severe beatings, while training, and in the ring. And over fifteen years, he had never seen her shed one tear. The event on Saturday night had really come down hard on her, obviously. He sat down beside her.
Using baby steps, carefull not to tople over, Mrs. Redmond tripped over to a corner, away from the large window. Having arrived, she started to try pulling her arms free.
No succes, the knot, just below her ample chest just seemed to pull even tighter. She slumped in the corner, pondering her options. Through the wide open front door she could hear cars passing by, people talking on the side walk. Anyone could come right in at any time. She couldn't be found like this! But all the other rooms were upstairs. And even if she did manage the stairs, she wasn't sure if she would be able to get into one of the bedrooms. What a mess!
She and Carl had a good mariage, Grace thought. It had lasted for 48 years by now, and during those years,they had been blessed with three children, all boys, and seven grand children, between the ages of six and twenty two. There still was great affection between the two of them. Lots of hugs and kisses. Well, kisses on the cheek, mainly, or occassionally on closed lips. It had been years since they actually had slept together.
Before that, the intervals between their ever shorter endeavours had been growing longer and longer, until finally, Carl seemed to have lost all interest. And she had never blamed him for it. With herself now at seventy, and him at seventytwo, it just seemed natural to her. She still had fond memories, though, and every now and then, she would pleasure herself, in the shower.
"Have to take this; I'll be back in a sec!"
As he was on the phone in the other room, Ginger tested her bonds once more. She found that by taking a step back she could lower her arms about half an inch, just enough to take away the worst of the screaming pain in her shoulders. Due to the strappado she was standing slightly bent over. Her head was up, with her hair tied back to her cinched elbows. But oddly enough it wasn't this rigid pose that bothered her the most. No, it even weren't the nasty nipple clamps, which he had put on her without any form of discussion.
It was the damned crotch rope! As far as bondage went, it didn't even have a function! It was tied to nothing: it was simply just there, annoying as hell!