. or not."Shall I go on?" I asked."Please." There was a faint note of pleading in her voice.I did her other breast the same way. She left her eyes closed, but didn't make any noises. Even with the warmth of the water, though, her nipple popped up in ways that made my mouth water.I was mostly hard in my shorts, now.I did her ribs, but when I went over her abdomen, she gasped and her belly sucked in so far that I could actually see the lumps made by the organs under it."Sorry," she said. "That tickles ... I think."Then I was doing her hips, and the tips of her iliac crest, and her stubbly mound, and those fleshy labia were right there in front of me.Again, I delayed, unsure of myself. I did her hips and thighs and legs."You want another foot rub?" I asked."No," she said, and I realized she was panting. Her eyes were tightly closed now.When I took the cloth away from her foot, she pulled that foot up and bent her knee. It moved her thighs apart and opened her up.The permission was. It could have been two, maybe three weeks. One of the most disturbing aspects of my imprisonment was that I lost any notion of time. Being kept below ground, I was unable to observe the cycle of the sun. I never knew whether it was morning or evening, noon or midnight. Only occasionally did I get a chance to see the daylight; not often enough to have an idea of the passing of time.Life at Sainte Jacqueline did not follow a regular pattern which would allow me to count the days. Yes, there were certain activities which were repeated frequently, like meals, but even there the length of the intervals between meals seemed to vary significantly. The meals, regardless of whether they were given to me in my cell or whether I took them in the refectory with the other women who were held there, consisted of a thick soup and chunky slices of bread. The ingredients and flavour of the soup varied, but there wasn't any meal which could be identified as breakfast, as the start of a new day.When I.
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