Oh you slutty tease! She's ducked out of the room, probably to get some more oil or maybe she's just a little shy and needing le madam to start me off.
Oh she's back now and her hands return to my back and nape, really concentrating on my neck bones and jaw. I don't know whether to get frustrated, like maybe she needs a firm voice, (I can do a firm voice because I'm the bossman) but I'll just wait a bit because its actually nice, strong fingers at the base of my head. I want to check out that tattoo again, It'll make great post material and gonna get Fee Fo Fi Fum (You)'s, Oh yeah!

Frustration comes back as I notice she's put on enormous combat boots. It doesn't last long tho, suddenly I'm in Panic as the warm oil on my neck boils into reaper chilli spicy heat in my head nugget just as the icy cold of the void takes my body. Somehow her giggling gookenese gibberish is now brutal abuse but all I can understand is this word Degenerate. Boner is kill, not just turtle heading but forgotten like it's yesterday.

That smell. That sachharine smell. Behind the incense. Behind my darkening eyes. I know that smell. I don't know how I know that smell, but I know its the last smell I'm going to smell.

Its the smell of chainsaw oil on fresh cut wood, its the smell of Spars.