A green net round the garden kept some of the wind out.

A nip not a pinch made me jump.

It's not for you.

So slide closer & closer & closer to the warm moist lips.

The slap cut my sleep.

The conversation lasted about 13 minutes. A certain plum pudding takes 13 hours to cook. There were not 13 people in the meeting. They talked about more than 13 identities but only one subject. And there had to be more than 13 words spoken. It took place at night. Which was frosty.

. . .a net hurling through the air. . .slide quickly to one side. . .

"Slap your palms down hard if you slip."

The three women were all on him together as they had to be to hold him & the net down. They hammered the pegs furiously until it was sure he couldn't escape. Then a woman sat on each arm & tied thin twine to the thumb & pegged that into the turf. Out of sight he heard their whispers. They took off their rough clothes. The smell of perfume & sweat wafted up as they fastened down the net either side of his legs. Two hands clamped heavily over his eyes, hands tugged off his belt. . .his cock delicately prised out. Each stood over him & slipped out of her knickers. One deftly sat on his cock. Another balled two pairs of knickers up & forced them into his mouth; the other one twisted her panties into a tie & pulled it tightly down forcing the gag in. One still rode gently pushing up. The other two looked on waiting their turn. One stepped forward & slapped the riding girl hard & took hold of her hair yanking her back & off.

The victim squealed, "Fuck off. That hurt."

The third woman stepped over & mounted while they rolled in tigerish melee. The attacker was much stronger & quickly subdued her prey kneeling on her arms making her helpless while she pinched her nipples & slapped her breasts. She pulled each breast high by its nipple then took the twine & while she sucked she looped each one & deftly tied the end of each breast. She then leaned back to caress the moist cunt. The woman riding was increasing her pace & grunting; sweat running down her face & body. As she reached her climax she threw her arms up squealing & jabbering, it's lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely I love it. The other two women came over to her & each took an arm, kept it straight to keep her where she was, then slowly forced her down onto her face. She gasped as the cock popped out. Then they each sat on her arms & pegged her wrists down. They took little lengths of string & tied her thumbs tight & pegged those. She was spread-eagled on top of the man. One of the women leaned over & stuck her forefinger up her arsehole & told her to piss. The warm liquid bubbled from between her swollen red flaps & the acrid smell worked a switch in the fighting pair. The one with her nipples tied took control & deftly snapped a tiny manacle on the thumb of the other, pulled her arms behind with a dancing swing fastened the other thumb & then lifted the arms high without a break of action. Unceremoniously she tripped her manacled victim by kicking her legs out from under her. She flopped down awkwardly onto the net. A collar was quickly threaded through the net, round her neck & buckled. Then she was roughly pushed & pulled & rolled onto her back. Now three figures lay amongst the net. The raven-haired woman secured this fair-haired woman's legs wide open with straps so her knees had to come up. . .

"Was there any real flesh in the fantasy?"

"Oh yes. And the pale viridian net was thick & strong; a piece of deep-sea trawl cut to clear the lines & washed up in the bay. It cut into their flesh. They have the scars."

"You were there?"

"No. I found them."

Then the black-haired woman took a short stick. The stick was black. And forced open the mouth of the splayed woman with it. Tied it in to bridle her. A slice had been taken off the wood so her tongue would protrude as the jaw clamped down. The raven woman stretched down beside her & sucked the tongue hard. Bit it & kept on sucking till her mouth was crimson. The captured woman shook her head again & again & flecks of blood began to appear on her blonde hair.

"You found them?"

"Yes. I found them one by one."

"At different times?"

"Yes. And in different places."



"Why is that in upper case?"

"I don't know. I think it referred to the space between the dreams & sheer events."

"Can there be a space there?"

"Not one we can be alive in because its time is distorted. Or perhaps its space is compressed making organic life impossible."

She had a dream in October 1975. The Bitter Ship would arrive at 4 o'clock. . .a woman & her 6 or 7 year old daughter went past. . .the girl wore a turquoise & white floral patterned dress. . .the woman stopped & asked us what the time was. . .she said 10 to 4. . .the woman said the Bitter Ship left at 4 o' clock & we ought to be on it. . .She died at 10 to 4. . .eight years later.