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I went out onto the landing outside my flat and removed all the lightbulbs from the stairs from the floor below upwards. That way I reckoned only someone who knew what they were looking for would notice what we were about to do because we'd be cloaked in darkness.Cheryl was still sound asleep when I returned to the bedroom with my supplies. Round each wrist I knotted some stout cord, which I then tied round her thighs. I wanted to keep her hands restrained, but be able to release them one at a time. I then tied a thick blindfold round her eyes. Cheryl started to wake up when I inserted the ball gag but it was too late, I had her under control.She tried to struggle, emitting weird humming noises of protest through the ball gag, but I told her to relax, that this was her special present and she was going to enjoy it. After a few minutes she seemed to realise that her protests were to no avail. I got her out of bed and led her, still naked, onto the landing opposite the stairs. I forced. "Come on, let's go to bed, I really need to show you how much I love you. How much you really mean to me and how thankful I am that you are in my life."The next morning, Grace left for the store and got everything set for her to be gone for a couple of weeks. When she got home, We had Mr. Johnson, the butler, drive us to the plane.Now all my other flying had been limited to commercial large jets during movements around the country reporting to one duty station or another, or small helicopters in the Marine Corps. This was the first time to ever fly in a small private plane.The pilots were waiting for us and the plane was ready to go. Our bags were stowed in the luggage compartment and we got on board."Miss Grace, everything is ready, there is food in the galley and drinks in the ice box. If you need to stop anywhere along the route, just let me know and it will be no problem." Said Stu, the pilot."Thanks Stu, we are ready to go when you are." She said.I was excited to be going home.
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Over the years it has changed – adding on bits, losing bits – becoming larger and smaller, but always mine, the colors and patterns always familiar. At last my fingers ache and I can do no more today. I stand and pull the sweater over my head, feeling the heavy wool dragging down on my shoulders. I hold it close around my throat and step out into the wild weather. In spite of my best efforts, the sweater does not offer much comfort against the cold – the wind pierces the wide gauge of the stitches and touches my flesh with its chilly fingertips. The freezing rain soaks the wool until it drags me down heavily, and the fabric freezes stiff in the icy blasts. I am shivering with cold, but instinctively still clutching the miserable sweater against my skin. When all of a sudden I spot a seagull, high above me, riding the swirling winds expertly in the drumming rain to dart down swiftly at me from the lowering sky. I cower, my hands upraised to protect my face, but the gull pays no mind,.

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