The smell hit me as soon as I opened the door. She must have thrown up after I’d left her on that narrow bed, and the stink of vomit mingling with urine pervaded the room. I’d made sure all the windows were tightly shut, of course, just in case she had done a Houdini and managed to escape from her bonds. Trying not to gag, I slid against the wall, feeling the embossed paper under my gloved hands. Even with that noxious smell filling my nostrils I found myself wrinkling my nose at the touch of that wallpaper: horrid cheap stuff. I passed by the sleeping figure, turned the blind rod a fraction and looked out of the window.
The room was at the back of the house, facing a row of lock-ups. Even in the dark I could make out the shapes of their metal doors side by side, glinting under an adjacent street lamp.
A groan from the bed made me freeze. If I stood very still, the woman on the bed might not realise that I was there. I waited, holding my breath, until I saw her head slump sideways again. She looked so vulnerable lying there, hair spread out on that white pillow. My fingers twitched as a thought prompted desire. It would take only a few seconds for me to put a second pillow over her face and cut off that foul-smelling breath forever.
I would give her a chance of life, though, not just because her situation amused me.
She was still under the influence of the drug. Despite the vomiting she hadn’t managed to combat its effects and it would be some time before she would awake to find what I had done to her.
And wonder how the hell it had happened.
I suppressed a snigger. I wouldn’t be here when she woke up, of course, though it would be nice to see her face when she did. What would she think, seeing her wrists stretched out, fastened to the brass bed head by these handcuffs, her ankles tied with twists of red cord? Just for fun, I’d dressed her in a red basque, an Ann Summers outfit purchased especially for the occasion. No knickers, though. That was the nice touch, that and the Vaseline I’d smeared between her legs. The riding crop lay on the floor as if carelessly discarded.
Her imagination would leap to the obvious, I hoped.
When they found her (if they found her) it would look like she’d had a steamy night in. I resisted a laugh and felt my way back to the door, taking one last look at the woman splayed on the bed. Blowing her a silent kiss, I closed the door behind me.