Terror filled her body, mind and spirit as her thoughts raced and her heart pounded. She clasped her hands over her mouth as she heard herself whisper...aloud, ‘Please, don’t wake up.’ She reluctantly turned to survey the chunky pool of her own excrement that occupied the space between them, it seemed to slop and slosh against their bodies as if their backs were the banks of a river. The vile liquid was still dribbling in erratic bursts from her spasming anal opening. Maribell gagged and. "This exchange was in the Tartan Retreat: a Scottish theme pub on the twentieth floor of the seventh level. All around were artefacts and memorabilia that marked three millennia of Scottish history but which mostly exhibited a landscape of rugged golf courses populated by highland warriors. Unlike the staff and waiters, the man who addressed Beatrice was wearing no tartan at all. The suit he wore was an exquisite import from the Trojan Asteroids that Beatrice recognised from her frequent visits. More

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