Then it squeezed. Yes, definite squeezing, I was surebecause it happened again. My instinct was to turn, find the owner andberate him for molesting me...on a packed tube train but for some reason Ididn’t.Instead I did something that I still don’t believe today, I let him carryon. Maybe the memory of my recent failed orgasm was so fresh in my mindthat my hormones were over ruling my sense of decency and then I started topress back. His hand paused for a moment and then resumed his. She kept me at a steady walk all the way back -for which I was grateful, for I was very tired - then drove me into the garagewhere she unharnessed me. Then it was on with my leash and "Down, Fido!" as I reverted todog role. She led me from the garage, through yet another door, into a small,fenced, concrete-paved backyard. Two large trash-cans stood in a corner, and,under a short coiled hose-pipe, there was a dripping tap set low in the wall,with a large bucket beneath. In the centre of the yard. More

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