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“For me?” I yelled back at her. “For you!” she said as she shut her bedroom door behind her. About a half hour later, Sarah opened her door and asked if I would help her with something. I put down the newspaper, got up, and walked a few steps to Sarah’s partly opened bedroom door. Sarah was on her knees on her bed, totally naked, with a leather restraint attached to one of her wrists. She looked at me with a sad, pouting expression of her face. “I can’t seem to be able to get this attached to my other wrist. If I can’t get it on my other wrist, how am I going to attach it to my bed? If I can’t attach it to the bed, how are you going to be able to fuck me any way you want?” She tilted her head to one side and frowned. This was no ordinary restraint. Sarah had it made just for her by a friend who made leather clothing. The thing was about three feet long. In the middle were three pieces of “climber’s rope”, braided together; the ropes were attached to thick leather “cuffs”, each of. Ringing the door bell, I adjusted my suit jacket to try and bring some extra warmth to myself – the morning was crisp and cool, even by Tarantian standards – and the skies threatened rain. In fact, before the door had even opened, one single raindrop had fallen from the skies to pat gently upon the ground by my foot. The door did, at last, open upon the solemn face of a suited footman. He looked at the lot of us, his lip curling more and more as he took in each of our features.“May I assist you, sir?” He asked, his voice thick and droll.“Good day, sir,” I said. “I am Rayburn Cog and-”“Doctor Cog?” the footman stood up ever so slightly more. “The inventor of the accelerated pistol?”“Ah, you’ve heard of me?” I asked.The footman opened the door a mite wider. “The master was quite impressed by the design, I believe. What brings you to our door on this day of mourning?”A frisson of nervous tension slid along my spine. It was now that I realized that the black on black that this gentleman.
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