Vanishing Act 10
by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)
(story continues from Vanishing Act 9)
8
8
Vanishing Act
Chapter Ten
8
My foray outside proved uneventful, contrary to my more pessimistic
expectations. Then life became dreary again. Up until that
time Ash had seemed to be at home on a random basis. He explained
that he had used up his holidays in order to get me settled in and to deal
with of the various asset disposals he had to undertake. I gathered
my day outside was a Sunday, for the next five days were spent in my dungeon,
locked up with a book and occasionally a video, if he could be bothered
recording something for me.
Life was pretty boring, without a doubt. I had my usual breakfast
and dinner, and would have had precious little else to occupy myself with
if Ash hadn’t decided I needed a bit of stimulation in his absence. Which
was why I ended up with my wrist cuffs locked behind me. This in
itself was no big deal, but with Ash every small matter was part of a greater
whole.
To this end I had the stainless steel crotch strap locked on me again,
with, of course, the vibrating butt plug and the vibrator switched on at
breakfast time. But Ash, predictably, was not content with the status
quo as it had been previously. This time, I found out, the two intruders
were screwed to the steel strap, linking the movements of all three pieces.
I also discovered that on the outside of the strap, between my legs and
midway between the two devices was a steel U-lug to which Ash locked a
chain connected to each ankle. The end result of this was that when
I walked, the movement of my ankles, forwards and backwards tugged on the
strap, which in turn made my inserts move inside me. Which in turn
gave me a sore arse but made my loins squirm and convulse whenever I had
to move too much. This, in truth, wasn’t necessary, but then, even
sitting still made me horny as hell, and I really couldn’t access my crotch
with my hands behind me, which left me with little option other than to
walk about my dungeon in order to bring myself to a climax.
But even this was hard work, for in locking my cuffs together behind my back, and in locking on the strap-to-ankles chain, I could no longer straighten my legs properly, leaving me walking in a half-squat, or at very least with a pronounced stoop. In short, it was exceedingly hard work, and one that left my knees and thighs aching from the stooping, never mind from the inevitable rubbing against the bed frame that I ended up doing. Invariably I ended up sweating and cursing as I struggled to climax, then crying out unashamedly as the spasms rising from my crotch overwhelmed any semblance of control I had left. My strength decreased in proportion to the number of times I climaxed, and once I had achieved the first one, I rapidly fell prey to further orgasms. By a hypothetical lunchtime I was ready to sleep, oblivious to the occasional stirrings (real or artificial) within my pussy and arse.
On Ash’s return I was allowed to remove the strap for the night, and
surprisingly Ash did not demand sex. Perhaps if he had been planning
such, I would not have suffered my daytime treatment.
Thus was the pattern for that week, and I desperately hoped for a change
on the weekend, for I found the saying that you could have too much of
a good thing to be palpably true, given my inability to resist the unending
stimulation from the vibrators over the course of a morning.
Came Saturday and the same routine was repeated, although this time Ash did not fasten my cuffs behind me, nor did he turn the vibrators on. While I knew something new was coming, and I welcomed the change, I did not like the thought of another of Ash’s demonic tricks.
This time I was oiled up and taken outside straight after breakfast,
my crotch strap in place and connected to my ankles, but with just enough
slack so that I could walk upright. My cuffs were not joined and
I could walk almost normally, but I quailed at the sight of the clothesline
with the clips hanging on a cord from the end of one of the horizontal
arms.
“N-no sir, please
” I whispered as he drew me towards the line by the
chain clipped to my collar.
“What?” His voice was sharp as he stopped and turned towards
me. “What did you say?”
I shook my head, staring at the ground. He jerked me across to where the cord hung from the bar. “By rights you should be gagged as a result of that,” he commented, as he unclipped the chain from my collar and fastened the two metal clamps on my nipples. I gasped with the sudden pain, biting my lip to stop crying out. “But I think it might be more fun not to, this time.” He bent down and switched on the small motor that started the clothesline rotating. There was a sharp tug on my nipples and I began walking, round and round. How long was I going to have to endure this time, I wondered?
Once again I decided that the decision by Ash not to gag me was not
a spur of the moment whim. He knew perfectly well what I was going
to suffer, and he told me so in no uncertain terms.
“There are two things you must do, Jan. The first thing is that
you must stay silent. The second thing is a negative – you must not
climax. I will assist you in this because I’m in a generous mood,
by not turning your little friends on. I suspect, however, that knowing
you, simply walking around with them moving about inside you will prove
difficult to resist. If of course you do climax, and are somewhat
vocal about it in the process, you can expect to be treading that circle
for a long time. Or at least until I think of something more appropriate.
As things stand – again, because I am so generous, I’ll allow you twenty
minutes for your walk.”
With those directions, Ash disappeared around the side of the house and returned with a folding director’s chair and a newspaper under his arm. With studied concentration he set up the chair beside the pole supporting the clothesline and settled down to read the paper.
It was another lovely morning. Good old Queensland – beautiful one day, perfect the next. Or so the tourist blurbs would have had us believe. Right then I was thinking my day was decidedly less than perfect. The electric motor driving the thing that towed me endlessly around by my nipples was silent enough so that if I so much as squeaked Ash would hear me. And the pain in the aforementioned nipples was enough to make me more than squeak. At least I could see, however, counting my blessings that I wasn’t disoriented like my previous brush with the torture. To offset that, however, I had disturbing sensations arising from my loins that I tried hard to ignore, thinking of anything but sex, and in desperation for once focussing on the pain in my breasts as a refuge from the warm fuzzies that were occurring down below. Somehow I felt the pain was more controllable than the pleasure, as I slowly worked myself into the kind of fugue state that I had managed in the course of my previous visits to Sub Space.
I must have managed it this time as well, for I was miles away when
the motor stopped abruptly and I caught up with the clips on the rope and
jerked myself to a painful halt.
“Very good, Jan,” Ash said, coming over and unfastening the clips.
I groaned and panted with the sudden pain, screwing my eyes shut and gritting
my teeth as I tried to blot it out until it subsided to a tolerable level.
Then it was the lead clipped to my collar again and I was following Ash
to the house and into the little enclosed lobby at the rear that led to
my dungeon.
But this time we passed the door to my room, instead ascending the wooden
steps to the floor above. I was startled, and for a moment I forgot
the sensations in my crotch as I wondered what was in store for me upstairs.
In my mind’s eye I had a mental picture of the layout above, not least
because of where I could see waste pipes poking through the floor above
my room. I reckoned I knew where the shower, toilet and kitchen were,
and where Ash’s bedroom was from the walking about. It was a house
pretty well devoid of architectural merit – as was frequently the case
with structures from the forties and fifties. Small windows and not
a great appreciation of sun or view were the usual features, although in
this case, since it had been relocated from some other location, I could
hardly apportion the blame on the original designer.
The backdoor opened into the kitchen with a closed door to the right, which I reckoned was the laundry. Directly opposite the backdoor was a hallway, at the end of which I could see the front door. The hall was dark and gloomy, with several doors opening off it, all of which were closed.
“Welcome to my abode,” said Ash with a flourish. I looked about the kitchen. To say it needed work was a euphemism. The linoleum on the floor was brittle and scarred from many kitchen disasters, and was coming away in parts to reveal the floorboards underneath. The cupboards were ancient and in that terribly dated fifties style with exposed hinges and handles. To say the place also needed a clean was similarly a dramatic understatement. If this was where my meals had been coming from, it was a wonder I had not succumbed to some mysterious ailment. Dishes were piled in the sink and rubbish seemed to be everywhere. I could see why he had the windows open as well. I followed him into the hallway.
He opened each door in turn and showed me, down the left hand side the
dining room, a study and the living room at the front of the house.
Opposite this was his bedroom, complete with unmade king sized bed.
Next to it was another room, which probably had once been a bedroom in
a previous life. Now it was a workshop, with a workbench and a heap
of tools scattered about. He closed the door as we exited into the
hall again and locked it with the keys on his belt. The last door
was the bathroom, and then we were back in the kitchen.
“So, what do you think, Jan?”
“Nice, sir,” I mumbled.
“But not as nice as yours was, of course,” he said with a grin.
“I’m going to do it up, you see. I like it out here, but the house
really does need some upgrading – which you’re paying for, of course, Jan.
I have a builder coming on Monday to look at refurbishing everything –
kitchen and bathroom particularly, but a repaint and new floor coverings
as well. Exciting, yes?”
“Yes, sir,” I agreed trying not to sound enthusiastic, although my
heart was leaping at the thought of other people coming to the house and
the possibilities this left for possible escape.
“But of course I wouldn’t want them to see it like this, so I’m getting
someone in to do the cleaning.” I should have seen it coming.
Nobody would touch the cleaning aspect except for an exorbitant amount
and only providing they had good health cover. “You’ve volunteered for
the job.”
“Thank you sir,” I said meekly. It did not thrill me at all,
but the break from the tedium of being locked up down below meant
I would do anything, particularly if it meant the possibility of escape,
or at least the chance to identify a future opportunity.
“Sit down, Jan,” Ash said, indicating the stained vinyl-covered tubular
steel chair next to the matching kitchen table. I perched myself
gingerly on the chair, my skin crawling at the contact with the grease
and dirt, while at the same time the steel crotch strap forced the inserts
deeper inside me. I squirmed uncomfortably and looked up to see Ash’s
face a hand span away from my own.
“I will only tell you this once, Jan. You are being given this job as a reward for your good behaviour.” His voice went steely. “If you so much as even think about trying anything silly, you will be sorrier that you can imagine. Picture yourself suspended upside down with weights on you nipples and pussy, with those nice toys inside you coated with Finalgon. That is after you’ve been scrubbed from head to toe with it and received a thorough flogging before the second application. How does thirty strokes with the cane sound, after all that? Is that what you want? Do you want to suffer this for days at a time, deprived of speech, sight and hearing, not to mention movement and probably food? Is there anything I have left out? I’m sure I could think up something, probably involving electricity Am I making myself clear, Jan?” He cupped his hand under my chin and forced me to stare into those chilling grey eyes. I was trembling.
“Yes – s-sir.”
“It would be your worst nightmare, Jan. Worse than anything that you have experienced so far. Let me tell you it just isn’t worth it. I know what you might do, and believe me you won’t find any knives or other instruments of destruction here. They’re locked away. The phone is in the workshop, so forget triple zero. And my workshop is locked and stays that way. Everything else gets cleaned properly. And don’t count on slipping out the back door when I’m not looking. Let me show you something else.”
He opened a drawer and extracted what looked like a large builder’s
tape measure. But instead of the tape being pulled out, a fine wire
emerged from the case when he pulled it.
“Stainless steel wire, Jan, only a two millimetres thick, but nothing
you’ll cut without a grinder, an oxy torch or a lot of hard sawing with
a hacksaw. Spring loaded into the old tape case – seven metres of
it. The end you see has this crimped loop – here.” He held
it up in front of my face. “I can lock this to your collar like so.”
He removed the lead and I felt the sure click of a lock securing the fine
wire to my collar. “The case itself now gets locked here,” he said,
walking towards the hallway, the wire unspooling as he did so. I
watched as he squatted down and fitted a large padlock through a hole in
the case then drew it down to the floor. I followed his movement
and saw a small U-bolt screwed into the kitchen floor just inside the doorway.
To this was locked another wire which disappeared down the hallway.
“This wire is fixed to another U-bolt just inside the front door, Jan. It is also only two millimetres thick, but probably strong enough to tow a car with, if I wanted to. The tape case is locked to it, which at once gives you the freedom to go up and down the hallway, while your collar wire gives you a further seven metres in any direction – enough to go into all the rooms and do a proper cleaning job. Pretty neat, huh? Strong, but unobtrusive. Of course I shall remove it before the builder comes. In the meantime, you have work to do.”
He showed me a box of cleaning materials under the sink and a packet of garbage bags on the floor, before leaving me to my task my ears still ringing with the dreadful fate that awaited me if I strayed from the path he had laid out for me.
* * *
Despite his dire warning, my mind could not help but look for anything that might help me escape. Anything I found, however, would be unless it could get me out of the confinement by the steel wire. Other than cutting the wire, I would need a large screwdriver to remove what were pretty big screws securing the U-bolt to the floor, and I wasn’t even sure I had the strength for such a task.
It took me most of that day just to get the kitchen in some form of orderly state. I found an apron hanging behind the door – one of those pvc barbeque ones that every home seems to attract at some stage. This one had cats all over it, and was the first form of clothing I had worn for many weeks. I found a pair of rubber gloves under the sink, and between these and the apron I hoped to protect some of my body from the various cleaning agents I was obliged to use.
The hours passed quickly with work to do, but that was not to say temptation did not come my way, despite Ash’s intentions. In fact it was temptation of a different sort from that contemplated by him. True to his word, the cutlery was in a locked drawer, and there was precious little else I could use to do any damage with. The temptation came from the fridge and the cupboards, which, for all their dust and dirt, nevertheless still contained food. Despite my being gainfully employed, it was apparent I was still only going to get my regular two meals a day. Having to look at tubs of ice cream, blocks of cheese and bottles of coke increased the empty feeling that seemed to grow the longer I worked. I plucked up enough courage to drink a glass of water from the tap while I was in the process of washing up, but even in doing that I was terrified that Ash would see me and object to it. The thought of getting caught sneaking a biscuit or a piece of cheese was too awful to contemplate.
Another temptation was to stop and look at the newspapers that were stacked up in one corner. I used some of them to wrap rubbish and others I simply piled into a garbage bag pending instructions, but all the while I was looking at dates on the papers for the most recent I could find. I scared myself as the numbers reached March 5th. My God, I had been captive for at least two months!
Given that I was now experiencing a weekend, and this was Monday’s paper, I figured it was now Saturday 10th March. How was this possible? I was now determined to use my new knowledge and the apparent easing of my restrictions into some sort of routine, to keep a record of my captivity. Exactly who would ever get to see it I wasn’t sure and that was something I didn’t really want to think about.
Ash spent most of the day either in his study or his workshop. By the time I had cleared the rubbish from the kitchen, done a major washing up and had then cleaned the floor, it was well into the afternoon. Ordinarily I would have been finished in half the time, but the chains limiting my hand movements were frustrating in the extreme. I ended up kneeling on a stool to do the washing up, and climbing on and off one to put dishes away in some of the higher cupboards. Cleaning tables and benches left me standing on one leg, the other raised in ridiculous fashion as I wiped down a surface. More than once I turned to find Ash standing in the doorway smiling at my discomfort. It was not a warm smile. It was the smile of one who intends worse fates to lie ahead.
As a result of all this climbing on and off stools and leg-raising, I suppose it was inevitable that my inserts would rub me up the wrong way, so to speak. They moved about inside in a way that both frustrated and excited me, and eventually I had to get on to my knees with a bucket of water and a scrubbing brush, to go through the act of washing the floor, while managing to grit my teeth as an orgasm finally burst forth. I rocked back and forwards on my scrubbing brush, panting and squeezing my legs together, trying to remain silent and to block out the roaring of blood in my ears. Three times it happened within the space of an hour, and what with that, the unaccustomed activity level and the lack of food, I felt the first faintness assault me when I stood up. I was still scared that Ash would catch me, flushed and aroused, and I dared not think where that might lead.
I finally finished the kitchen - as much as I could reach, anyway.
I moved into the laundry opposite and was starting in here when Ash wandered
into the kitchen and started rattling around in the cupboards. I
poked my head around the door and he beckoned to me.
“Time to earn your keep Jan. I assume you can cook? “
“Yes sir.”
“Well cook something out of that. Use whatever you want if it
will mean something passable. Okay?”
“What about cooking implements, sir?”
He unlocked the drawer containing the cutlery.
“I still don’t trust you, Jan. Take off that apron. No hiding
places for sharp knives. You will wash all implements and replace
them in this drawer before serving dinner, save for those knives and forks
needed to eat with. You will serve dinner to me on a tray in the
living room within an hour, and you will wait beside me while I eat.
You will eat only if and when I tell you. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir.”
He left, and I marvelled at my luck. I saw it as a chance to gain favour and to further reinforce my subservience until the right time came. I removed the apron and busied myself with dinner. He had left out a plate of minced meat, which I turned into a cottage pie and eventually served up with grilled cheese on top. The hardest part was carrying the hot bowl, which I could only manage on a tray in a half crouch, petrified that I would spill some of the hot food on my unprotected body.
Ash was sitting on the couch, enjoying my waddle into the room as I tried not to trip up on the thin wire attached to my collar that was spooling out after me. Ash took the tray from me and pointed to the floor. I knelt beside him and waited passively as he ate. I should have put some weedkiller in it, I thought rebelliously as he turned up the cricket game that was on the television and pointedly ignored me.
He finished the meal without a word of comment and concentrated on the game, motioning me in front of him with a couple of snaps of his fingers, so that he could stretch out his feet on my exposed back. Strangely enough it was this move that in a way riled me almost more than all the indignities that he had inflicted on me so far. At least under those circumstances I had at least been treated as a human being – albeit a slave – but the idea of existing purely as a piece of furniture, not even to be talked to – or at – left me fuming. But of course there was nothing I could do, not chained and secured to the anchor wire, and not with dire threats hanging over my head if I flouted this newfound “freedom” from the dungeon.
The game ended, but not the way Ash obviously wanted. Australia was beaten and that was clearly not a satisfactory outcome for Ash. He turned the TV off and made me kneel on a cushion seat from a large armchair, placed on the floor. He produced two padlocks from his pocket and locked my left wrist cuff to my left ankle cuff and then did the same for the right ones. This left me with my head hard down on the cushion and my arse in the air, and I did not like where it was going at all. He removed the crotch strap, together with its accompanying intruders, in a manner that was swift and clinical. It felt strange after having contained these devices for the whole day to suddenly be emptied of them.
Ash’s idea of foreplay – as so often seemed to be the case – was to give my bottom a thorough spanking, first with his hands, then with a belt. I could not help myself, and the tears began to flow, nor could I prevent small whimpers escaping through my gritted teeth as I ground my face into the cushion. Several times Ash’s belt flicked between my legs and I fought to stifle the yowls from the pain that exploded from my crotch. Ash’s answer to this was to take the belt and wrap it twice around my head, passing through my mouth, before buckling it tightly behind my neck, leaving me drooling and slurping uncontrollably.
He was in a savage mood, and I got a thorough screwing that had a ferocity
that scared hell out of me. First I got it in front, then he finally
came in a painful arse-reaming exercise that could barely qualify as anything
other than an animalistic rutting. And all the while he said nothing,
other than to grunt as he thrust into me before climaxing in a sudden frenzy.
He withdrew and left me there, pushing me on to my side before leaving
the room and turning the lights out. I heard him go into the bathroom
and the sound of a shower. God, what I wouldn’t have done for a hot
shower, both after what I had just gone through, but also because I had
not had one for over two months.
I lay there trying to get myself as comfortable as I could, for perhaps two hours while he moved about the house. He was in one of his uncommunicative moods, eventually returning and unlocking my wrists and ankles but leaving the belt in my mouth obviously just to spite me. The wire was unlocked from my neck and I was given a plastic container of the remainder of the meal, which I took downstairs with me. He pushed me into my dungeon without a word and slammed the door, leaving me in darkness to remove the belt and eat my food, before falling on my bed and crying myself into an exhausted sleep.
* * *
Sunday was almost a repeat of the previous day, except this time I was spared the torment of the clothesline. I suppose I had in fact got off lightly the previous evening, given the temper Ash was in. On this particular day, after breakfast, I was again secured to the hallway anchor wire and made to clean all the rooms except the workshop.
Again I had the steel crotch strap locked on, with the butt plug and dildo securely inserted inside me. I was to later find that my restricted movements in vacuuming, requiring me to bend constantly at the knees to give myself enough arm movement, subtly worked the inserts around in a way that again forced me to find a place away from Ash to reach a climax as quietly as I could. Ash’s idea of variations on a theme in this case was to chain the vacuum cleaner to the U-lug on the strap between my legs on a metre of chain. This inevitably meant unexpected tugs at the strap and the devices inside me, which proved most disconcerting.
I passed the day dusting and wiping everything I could reach, while taking the opportunity to have a good look around the house. Predictably it was about six months since the place had last been cleaned, and I got the decided impression that Ash was somewhat of a slob. Having dusted and vacuumed the place, I was shown the washing machine and drier and directed to the clothesbasket, not to mention the clothes strewn around the place in various rooms. Which was how I ended up ironing most of Ash’s wardrobe late in the evening after having again made dinner. I could see the potential for my becoming some sort of full-time maid here, and much as I hated the idea, it was at least preferable to the endless incarceration downstairs, and it at least offered some hope for escape.
It was this latter idea that was foremost in my thoughts when at one stage in my cleaning routine, in Ash’s bedroom at the front of the house, I was trying to get the vacuum cleaner into the furthest corner of the room. It was at this point that I was at the furthest point from the anchor wire in the hall, and in the process of cleaning the corner, my head jerked back as I reached the limit of the spooling wire attached to my collar. I noticed that when I retreated from the room, the wire failed to retract into the tape housing. I squatted in the hallway and studied the small case locked to the anchor wire and saw how Ash had fastened the neck wire. From the housing a small tongue or strip of flexible steel, like that of the tape measure, protruded maybe a centimetre or so. The stainless steel wire had been looped through a hole in the steel and then crimped to itself. The steel tongue was obviously part of the retraction spring mechanism, but somehow it had become jammed. I fiddled with it, trying to make it retract. That was when Ash caught me.
He was furious. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he
demanded.
“The w-wire
” I stammered. “It got stuck when I reached the f-far
corner in your room
I was trying to make it go back in
”
He glared at me, suspicion in his eyes, then looked at the device attached to the anchor wire. He made me return to the extreme point of the wire to verify that such was the case, and eventually seemed satisfied. I was trembling with fear and desperate to show my innocence. He fixed the retraction mechanism and made the wire rewind, and finally appeared satisfied that I had not done anything untoward, but just to make a point he forced me to wear small plastic nipple clips for the rest of the afternoon. I recognised them as being weights that were normally clipped to the edges of tablecloths for outdoor or picnic situations. They were of white plastic with small weights in the shape of strawberries hanging from them. Ash appeared delighted with the way they hung from my nipples and swung about when I moved. I did not think it at all amusing and had to put up with the dull ache in my nips for the rest of the afternoon.
But all through my trials - including a repeat screwing on the cushion in the living room - until I was returned to my dungeon that evening, my mind was preoccupied with that connection between the neck wire and the steel tongue protruding from the tape case. I had seen metal measuring tapes break before, and the tongue in that casing was no different from the tape itself. I reckoned a decent pair of scissors might even be able to cut through it. Suddenly I was filled with real hope – hope that there was an end to this enslavement I was being forced into.
* * *
I found it hard to sleep that night, my mind hairing off at various tangents as I tried to still my excitement – and my fear. Dominant in my mind was the thought of what would happen to me if I failed in my attempt. If I escaped, Ash’s life would be in tatters when I got to the authorities. If I didn’t, my life would not be worth continuing with.
Ash was in a good mood the next morning, I guess because the builder was coming to do a measure up and inspection. Regrettably, the presence of another person upstairs – the first time it had happened since I had been captured – meant trouble for me. That was how I ended up bound to the post again. The chains had been removed from my wrists and ankles – presumably so I didn’t start clanking them against the steel post – and my hands crossed and bound in front. A large strap joined my elbows behind the post, securing me to it very effectively and immobilising my arms save a possible fluttering of the hands. Further straps went around the post and my body at waist level and below my breasts, while Ash used about a hundred metres of cord to bind my legs tightly together before tying them to the post. Then it was discipline helmet time.
Expanding plugs went into my ears, then a firm but slightly squishy
rubber ball was forced behind my teeth before the leather hood enveloped
my head and everything went black. He did not do it up completely
at the back, instead using multiple turns of tape to meld my head firmly
to the column.
“Wiggle for me, Jan,” he commanded in my ear. I tried, pretty
unsuccessfully. Smack! The flogger struck my right breast.
I jerked with the unexpected pain and struggled as best I could, whimpering
into the rubber ball. His hands tightened the belts a notch, and
then he was gone.
I guess I stayed there in that position for the morning. I thought
I heard multiple footsteps at some time, but my hearing was fuzzy under
the tape, the hood and the plugs. The minimalist nasal whining I
was capable of would not go far, I knew. I was sure it would be unable
to be heard upstairs. If it was I had no doubt Ash would explain
it away as a dog or something, and I could be sure of some very unpleasant
consequences when the builder had left. My only consolation was that
in an effort to keep me quiet Ash had not stuffed me full of vibrators
or plugs, nor was I obliged to wear clamps on any susceptible part of my
body. It was thus a long, drawn out day, where I finally caught up
with some of my lost sleep from the night before. It was to be the
beginning of a number of such periods as the builders began their work
– work which at once gave me hope and left me in despair as I was to be
secured immovably and silently while my possible saviours began their work
only metres above me.
updated: 26.06.02
story continues in Vanishing Act 11
o0o