Voyeur de la Nuit

He closed yet another deal. This time he had managed to buy out the sole owner of a small magazine. It was yet another acquisition for his company, something that would keep the managing director content as this now brought the company full circle. A monopoly in the local nightclub market, Razorswift, created in the late 60's by Sebastian Cohen, had grown to the degree that they now organised major corporate events that were held in the worthwhile venues all over the city. If it wasn't a major social event – Razorswift was not interested. The small time magazine that Mark acquired focused on upcoming music releases, bands, tours and nightlife events. A large slice of it's revenue was gathered from advertisers that ranged from clothing manufacturers, mobile disc jockeys for hire and of course the local restaurants and clubs. Mark was to change all this as this magazine would only feature events organised by the company or would promote artists, venues and events that were organised by Razorswift. At 35, Mark Symonds was considered a high flyer amongst the close circle of people that knew him – those that saw him in the office each day. He did not have time for social events; he abhorred gold digging glamour women and being photographed with a bevy of hangers on at social functions. An assistant managing director for the last four years, he had managed to gather a nice share portfolio that matched with the architecturally designed beach house and M3 BMW. He did not believe in taking out loans or using credit to acquire assets, all were owned outright. From time to time he would 'try before he bought', forking out his platinum AMEX card for that test drive on a brand spanking new Rolls Royce or the Eurasian 'sex' goddess at Tiffany's bordello – he enjoyed making her crawl on the concrete one cold night so he could see her pick up dollar bills, she did not like the scrapes on her bare knees but that was tough luck.

The day had come to an end Mark guessed as he strained to hear some type of noise. There was no inter office chatter amongst the 'women' who bantered each day about their boring love lives and recent purchases. He decided that it was all clear to make his way home now that he had accomplished the possible – everything was possible in Mark's mind – and Sebastian was away in Europe. Today was a day that was satisfying, not so much in relation to the company's acquisition of Edge magazine, but he did not think about the mere fact that he would once again be entering an empty house, a house which one year previously also housed his lover of five years. Natalie had seen him rise through the rungs of the ladder rapidly, she had been with him through the tough university days, through each unsuccessful job interview and had fed, cooked and cleaned for him while she worked as a direct marketing manager for a small local newspaper. He returned the favour by purchasing that long admired convertible Mercedes for her and by going down on bended knee to propose. Mark thought that was adequate, Natalie however failed to see the logic behind his need to work long hours and be at Sebastian Cohen's beck and call.

'I never see you!' came the typical comment many women the world over would make. He cringed as her voice came into his mind. This comment would always be the catalyst of what followed.

'How do you think I bought your Mercedes darling?' Mark would reply sardonically, while staring daggers through her. She had to go.

His finger pressed the button twice on his electronic key chain to unlock and disengage the alarmed BMW, the noise that followed echoed through the parking lot.

Ahh Natalie, the curvaceous trophy. That was what she had become, after all she had all the time to visit the gym each morning and more time to engage in all her extra curricular body beautiful activities. Manicures took place on Monday and Friday. Brazilian waxes took place every four weeks depending on the hair growth and every once in a while she would undergo the full facial treatment. God knew what else she did, as it had gotten to the point where he could not distinguish whether her face was of her own making or whether she had additional help on the way. Botox? Maybe. Blonde, tanned and beautiful in the Christie Brinkley type of way, she contrasted with his dark appearance. Mark was often mistaken for being Mediterranean; it was his height that threw people off track. He was way too tall to be Sicilian, yet his skin had that smooth tanned olive look and his hair was black velvet. Well muscled without added help from free weights or hydraulic gym machines, his physique together with his height – six feet four inches – made for a imposing look. Everyone literally looked up to him at work, and no one dreamt of ever fucking with him lest they would be cast into the eternal pit of damnation, which meant that they would never be promoted or trusted to handle anything more complex than typing memos. As he adjusted his rear view mirror in preparation to reverse he caught a glimpse of his reflection. Yes he was attractive, definitely. In his own mind he was a nine out of ten, if not a ten. Like Narcissus admiring his perfection albeit without the threat of contributing to his own demise, Mark did notice that he looked tired. Eyes that were jet black, piercing and framed by even curved dark eyebrows were now bloodshot. He had slept a total of four hours in three days and now that the major deal was complete he had planned on lounging at home with a shot of Dimple and the stereo playing some Sinatra.

It became 9pm when Mark emerged from the shower wrapped in his plush bathrobe. His skin now smelled of Bvlgari body lotion and his hair was wet, the thick pile of terry cloth of his robe absorbed drops of water. The small bar welcomed him with open arms as he met with the amber filled bottle and unscrewed the top. His hands reached into the small fridge and grabbed the small ice tray. After preparing his elixir he made his way to his prized possession, the home theatre which featured an array of all the latest technological gadgets: a large screen plasma home theatre, a digital stereo and a dvd player. The speakers were situated all over the room, small yet the most superior. But tonight he forgot about the Sinatra urge and instead opened up the most recent DVD he purchased online. Mark's hand trembled as he opened the cover. Right hand carefully edging the disk out of pack, left index finger in the hole, Mark carefully loaded the disk into the DVD player, grabbed the remote and made his way onto the leather sofa preparing for what was to unfold. Inwardly he could not wait, he knew that the sound quality would heighten his senses, after all watching Braveheart had made him feel like he was William Wallace right up to the end scene where Wallace was drawn and quartered. A butterfly fluttered in his belly as he saw the opening title: 'Midnight Interlude'.

It was dark, night, and difficult to see the oncoming window that was left a fraction open. Was it summer? Is that why the window was left open? Hmm they couldn't afford aircon or 'she' couldn't afford aircon. The camera zoomed to the window and the next thing that came into the lens was a gloved hand that reached to push the window slowly upward…

Mark found that he was holding his breath. The glove was made of leather, black and almost oily looking. The hand firmly gripped the window edge and pushed.

The curtain is pushed aside as he enters the study, yes it's a study because there is book shelving and a bureau with a desktop perched in the centre. Mmmm okay, upstairs is where the action will be. The camera is the eye that sees in the dark, extra special camera, built for maximum action, infrared. It walks through the study, the gloved hand opens the study door and the camera waltzes through toward the stairs, on the way up, up up we go..

He leaned his head forward as if to see in the dark himself. It surely must have been a night of the full moon as he could see light being reflected from the outside windows and into the walls of the house. As the camera climbed the stairs and made it's way to the correct door Mark was gritting his teeth in a bid to cease the palpitations that were emanating from his chest as these often meant that the heat of arousal would soon follow.

Ever so silent, the door is opened and there sprawled in the centre of the bed naked is the woman of his dreams, dark fantasies.. of his life. Waiting practically a lifetime for this moment, here it is. Her body reflects a silvery grey light…ahhhh the moon and it's wonder. From a distance of little more than a metre the rise and fall of her breasts can be seen as she inhales and exhales. Breasts the shape of curved drops, medium areolae, the perfect handful. Her legs are firm; she runs or does a twice-weekly Stairmaster? Of course she does, because she has been seen doing this as a weekly ritual. As the camera faces her directly, her left leg is spread further apart from her right and slightly bent.

It was hard to tell whether she was bare between her legs or whether she had a nicely trimmed mound. All in all she looked delectable regardless of whether she was shaved or not. Mark wanted to be the cameraman, to have the chance to run his hands all over that sleeping body. A verse from a seldom-heard song came into his mind.

" I watch you when your sleeping/ and then I wanna take your love…"

Mark could feel his cock hardening.

The lens moves all over her body, every angle beginning at her feet and moving slowly upward. Her toenails are black and shiny, painted obviously yet the colour yet to be determined and cannot be determined if the lights remain switched off. On the side of her right ankle is a tattoo of a butterfly, naughty girl. Her calves are shapely, firm yet solid. She can run more than five kilometres. Hairless legs, fully waxed in all their fineness. Her thighs are smooth as well, not overly muscular, but the shape of her quadriceps are obvious, if only the lens could take a glimpse of her ass. Onto her pelvic triangle, the lens moves closer. Nice and tasty, no hair except for the small strip, a couple of centimetres long at the most, labia completely bare and smooth. A hand breezes in front of the lens, wanting to touch her in her intimate place yet pauses as though it's in mid thought. Hand returning behind the lens, the view now moves toward her belly. There is no six-pack there. Her stomach is flat yet the appearance is soft. A metallic glint sparkles in the eye of the lens. There is a curved piece of metal threaded through the strip of flesh just above her navel. She is pierced. Very naughty girl. Moving upward slowly, in a taunting fashion…

The warm flush of relief spread throughout Mark when the cameraman's hand returned to the camera as the moment would have been spoiled if her pussy was touched, far better for the camera to be on her face when the moment of surprise did come. Mark could feel his body temperature rising simultaneously with the increasing throbbing sensation that was originating in his pelvis, yes he was hard now but he did not want to touch his cock, he wanted to take the long route to extend the sensation even though the image of her bare pussy created waves that were rippling through him. He pressed his thighs close together, rotating his pelvis slightly upward involuntarily.

'Down boy.' He muttered to himself. There was plenty of time, right now he was on an orgasmic journey where the ultimate visual prize was to hear and witness the ultimate surprise.

..such lovely breasts, the lens moves closer. Beginning with the left breast, moving over the nipple and then draping it's viewpoint to the right followed by a complete frame of the paired fleshy mounds. Moving upward, the lens barely stops at her neck, as it's eager to capture her dreaming face. Head turned toward the right; her left cheek is exposed, as is the curve of her jaw line. Her lips are fleshy, obvious. The bottom lip is thicker than her top lip, which is voluminous in it's own right. Relaxed she is, very relaxed in her own world right this minute. Carefully groomed dark eyebrows frame her closed eyes that are fanned by her eyelashes; the lens dares to move so close. Is she in REM sleep? Yes, her eyes are fluttering. Dreams, faraway places, a world that is so far removed from the present, something which she will collide with when the very second presents itself.

Lips he could kiss, a mouth he could nibble on. She had hair long enough to play with, except his definition of playing had nothing to do with braiding or twirling. Mark imagined entwining his hand in her hair, grabbing a fistful and with one swift firm yank pull her head back, watching her mouth gape open and her eyes widen with shock. Funny he had never had such fantasies while sharing five years of his life with Natalie. It was the usual foreplay, hands, mouths, fingers, oral and his entry into her pussy. Once she even allowed him to fuck her ass, but that took months of cajoling in addition to handing the bitch a Cartier watch. After he had done the deed she couldn't resist the attempt to make him feel a lesser man for it, but one thing she did not envision – something she ought to have known- was his reaching his limits with her. Mark dealt with her the following month, ensuring that she would never haunt his office, his house nor have any shred of a professional reputation. Of course the catalyst to the final solution concerned the discovery of her sucking the gardener's cock the day he decided to surprise her with an early trip home and a pair of airline tickets to Fiji, but hey there are worse things out there. No one fucked with Mark and yet he did experience moments where the urge for companionship cut through him like a jagged sliver, however he was not ready nor willing to be placed in any vulnerable situation. He opted to be in full control rather than be a 'half' shareholder in a relationship, if he was now capable of having one.

He didn't like thinking of Natalie, but the positive aspect of this was that it helped quell the hot arousal that was invading his whole body.

Her face is the central image. All is still. Her lips shift as she is dreaming, they are slightly apart. A few more seconds pass and her head slowly shifts to the other side. As her head shifts her full succulent lips come to a close that coincides with a slight smile. She is having a pleasant dream all right. How pleasant? Or is it sexual? The distance between the camera increases slightly and the angle changes as the camera is placed on a surface. From her bedside on the right hand side there is a view of her turned head, the smooth straight bridge of her nose aligns perfectly with her mouth. So close. From the left side of the lens a black shadow encroaches, a black mask appears. The gloved hand snakes over her shoulder and reaches her crowning glory to make contact in a firm grip. One second..two..three.. four…

Mark's eyes were so relaxed, his eyelids, heavy and he knew he reached a nice level of arousal, which can be comfortably maintained without going to far. His hand reached the belt of his robe and untied it, parting the robe to reveal his engorged cock. But he didn't touch it, he saw how hard he was and wanted to begin stroking his cock but the self-imposed torture of the wait is was too delicious.

"Oh yes, she is pretty, how pretty will she be when she is surprised?" He thought.

Torn between her sleeping image with that of the oncoming face of her shock faced animation, he was not sure whether he wanted to pause the image or continue. Yes the cameraman is going to yank her hair, pull her head back, something which has been flitting in and out of his mind over the last few weeks ever since he started to feel these urges, after the realisation that his ex fiancée could never fulfil the intensity he required.

… swift and electric the hand is graceful in it's movement.

'Mmmphhhhhhwha…..????????'

The light, camera and the eyes, at first half closed and in one second wide open. The left gloved hand is ready to cover her mouth and it does, tightly. Her eyebrows rise up, she then knits them close together in confusion all the while her dark eyes are staring right into the lens. Like a rabbit stunned by a spotlight, she cannot move, even if she wanted to she is aware that her head is held back and her mouth covered.

'Shhhhhhhh now.' The masked man murmurs. 'So very sweet, I hope you are intelligent enough to not make one sound.'

Her head makes a small shaking movement as if to say 'no', her eyes are still wide.

He slowly takes his hand away from her mouth and reaches down, away from the camera. A light clicks on, her bedside lamp and colour is instantly born. Her lips are slightly apart, her eyes staring ahead of the lens into another place. His right hand still entwined in her hair. A roll of duct tape is brought into view as he deftly moves her head so she faces upward and her profile is seen. He takes her face into both of his gloved hands and glides his hands under the small of her neck, moving all her hair out of the way and up over onto the pillow, way out over, it appears he anticipated it would be more than half the length of her back.

The skin of her face and chest is a porcelain colour, untanned. Lips a slightly dark shade of pink are now trembling. Her white pillow is adorned with her black highlighted hair. In front of her, facing her, sitting on top of her is a black figure, black long sleeved buttoned shirt, equally opaque trousers. His head is covered by a close fitting mask, modified so the wearer can see and breathe comfortably.

She doesn't make a noise, but her breathing is laboured and heavy. The rise and fall of her chest is more obvious now. Her eyes avoid looking directly at the man; they look downward toward his chest as he removes his left glove with the aide of his teeth as he covers her mouth with his right hand. Once removed he grasps the roll of duct tape with his left, moves it to his mouth and separates the strip of tape from the roll. He shifts position, until he is balancing himself over her naked body as he kneels over her torso, knees covering her hands and arms. She cannot move as he begins his work, his weight covering her, the potential to smother her easily if she struggles. Quickly removing his hand he adheres the duct on her mouth and then proceeds to wind the tape around so it slightly covers her earlobes and encircles the area around her jaw and lower scalp, a full circle that is wound up three times before it's torn off with his teeth.

'Oh baby, and I wanted that mouth of yours on my cock, but now is not the appropriate time for such things.' He says mockingly.

Left hand bare, right hand gloved, he proceeds to stroke her hair with his left. His right hand moves toward his hips.

The camera is a short distance away and all that can be seen is his right hand unbuckling his belt. She is lying down and can only be seen side on from the chest upward. Silent and still her eyes only focus on the man's chest. Pulling the belt free from the trouser loops, he fully brings it into full view of the woman.

'Especially for you..' He trails off

The picture changes momentarily as the camera is lifted and brought closer, the continuity flows as the lens now has a complete view of the woman's face, head on. Face to face with the camera she is ordered to look directly into the lens. Dark long lashes fan her eyes as she blinks rapidly and in those eyes was the mixture of fear, shame, terror and anxiety.

'Focus bitch!' He growls.

Her eyes immediately widen. The image rapidly fades away from the camera as the masked man shifts position ……

Her eyes were perfect, the way they expressed fear. Mark could almost smell her terror, and wanted to reach out to begin stroking her face, but with gloved hands so she could feel the smooth texture of leather. As he reclined backward, his cock rested on his lower abdomen, erect and full of heat. This felt so good; he made a mental note to ask his anonymous online dealer if there were more films in the same genre on the market. The woman in the film did not resemble anyone that he had ever come across in his daily life, which was most probably why he was so aroused. All the women he saw day in and day out at the office were mundane.

Initially Mark would entertain the fantasy that each conservatively dressed woman was a wildcat underneath. He imagined that underneath the beige coloured skirts and striped shirts lay a myriad of black lace or black pvc, yet upon listening in on conversations he realised that most women at his work lead reasonably uneventful sex lives so the fantasy eventually faded out. One day it would be his secretary whinging about the difficulty in meeting men, another day it would be a sassy wannabe young 'thang' ranting about how all men wanted sex and little else and her boyfriend was 'lucky' to get what he wanted. Similar stories followed, so many that Mark stopped listening, lost interest and without realising initiated himself into the world of the workaholic who lived for work. It had dawned on him the very same afternoon he left his office early to surprise that cocksucker Natalie that he had sacrificed his urges. This was pointed out casually by a colleague who had met him at the elevator and expressed surprise that Mark was on his way out. In his mind he questioned whether Natalie was the reason why he remained behind. Sure he had made the excuse that without the time there would be no money, however this wasn't entirely true. As each day progressed it became natural to think of many excuses that kept him away from his beachside haven despite Natalie's protestations, he always reigned supreme. Even if he had been home at a reasonable time, she would always come out with something that would put him off the remainder of the evening. It had been a bad idea to transform her into a kept woman. He tired of talk concerning who was screwing whom amongst their circle of friends, what story development occurred on the Bold and the Beautiful and what happened at the gym that very morning. When it came to sex, she was content with the half hour 'standard' ritual. Natalie moaned, panted and screamed at all the right intervals that it bordered on ridiculous.

One evening he purposefully made little effort in the sack. Yes he kissed her, but his hands did not take that extra time to caress her in her special places, they just roamed over her skin. Who cared whether her nipples needed extra attention that he would give by pinching them slightly? Mark even risked not licking her out, only roughly fingered her just for the sake of it, just to see her reaction. Yes she moaned, yes she writhed and so he just stuck his cock inside her and thrust in and out of her four or five times without warning her that he was about to cum. Upon eruption he smiled at her and just let himself go. Yes she moaned and raked her nails down his back. What a cunning bitch she was. The very next day she even had the cheek to bring home a thousand dollar Escada handbag and parade it instead of addressing his sexual err from the previous evening. Somewhere along the way Mark had lost control of the entire situation and he found that he did not like it. The gardener – with the mediocre cock – saved the day and gave him the insight that he deserved better and it was his plan to acquire something better, something that would completely satisfy all his urges, whether they were light or dark.

He heard a shuffling noise and his eyes went back to the screen. Lost for a brief moment in Natalie thought, he chastised himself and pressed the remote to go back a few segments. The light is switched on… the cameraman fumbling with his belt and removing it.. the shift of the camera to capture her entire facial reaction….and her eyes….the fear. Mark wanted to see the very same thing facing him. He wanted to taste the small beads of perspiration that began to form at this woman's forehead with his tongue. Would she move her head to one side? How would he reprimand her for that? Oh he would slap her of course. One firm, yet unmarking slap across her right cheek so her face would swivel to the left. Then he would verbally chastise her for being so insolent and remind her that she was powerless to stop him in addition to being in store for more treats that he had up his sleeve.

'Beautiful bitch.' He muttered breathily to the big screen that faced him.

…the picture is obscured while the sound of movement continues. The lens comes alive once more as the woman is now on her stomach. The distance retreats as the man sets the camera down once again on the bedside table. Both of his hands are now free of the leather gloves, they are large and menacing. Each of his fingers is long and reasonably thick. He grasps her arms and brings them directly behind her, positioning them and warning her not to move. His body is now positioned on her ass, sitting on it as his legs are kneeling on either side of her hips. Her head is positioned so it faces the lens and her eyes are now tightly closed. She if frowning and he notices this as he peers over.

'Now now baby.. don't be all sour for the camera.. make love to it..like you will be making love to me in good time…' the soothing voice says from behind the black shroud.

He begins to bind her arms with his belt, bringing the belt under her arms just above her elbows. Looping the belt twice over each arm, so that each arm is fully encircled, he then brings the ends together anteriorly so he is facing the buckle. Threading the notched end of the thick leather, he firmly secures the belt on his new possession. Hands free, he runs one hand down toward her ass, over her right buttock and gives her a firm squeeze. Her eyes widen once more and she frowns yet again despite his previous instruction.

'Is that a sound that your making sweety? Did you grumble?'

'Mmmmphhhhhh.' Is the reply.

He squeezes both of her buttocks simultaneously. The depth of the squeeze is captured by the lens as his left hand digs into her flesh.

'MMMMMMMMMMGHHHHHHH!!!!! She replies from underneath the gag, accompanied by a short struggle against him.

'We aren't going to have that kind of attitude!'

SLAPPPPPP. The sound is loud. It permeates through her room. She squeezes her eyelids shut. Once, twice, it continues. He slaps her rear a total of five times. Hard. The impact of his hand against her smooth creamy ass immediately forces her to open her eyes in reflex mode.. The camera shifts again, brought closer to her face, capturing her shock, her eyes are watery and her forehead is now covered with beads of perspiration.

'You can nod if something is unpleasant you know, oh I know I did not tell you that, how clumsy of me..' He trails off, chuckling as he now bends forward nearing her ear.

'That behaviour deserved my reward, don't you think so pussycat?'

She shakes her head from side to side all the while looking straight ahead.

'A nod means 'no more', a side to side headshake means 'more'..no means yes and yes means no, understan

She shakes her head once again.

'Good. I'm glad we now understand one another.'

He raises her upward so that the lens focuses on the far wall behind. Her breasts come into focus. Pale and full, ravishing and fleshy.

'Look at the camera.' Comes the firm order.

She casts her eyes downward to look into the lens. Her mouth is covered by layers of silver tape. Her brown eyes are downtrodden and had they had a mouth they would be screaming blue murder. Placed like a doll on his lap, she doesn't help; her body is lifeless as her eyes stare at some distant spot somewhere ahead. The only inkling that she breathes is her very breath. Her head is next to his covered face; he peers toward the camera through small slits. She remains in her world and is rapidly jerked out of it by his right hand pulling her hair and head back, holding her in position. Left hand snaking over her chest, his fleshy hand circles over her left breast. He plays, caresses the flesh as she is forced to make eye contact with the camera lens. Index and middle fingers of his hand clip against her nipple and begin to tweak it repeatedly. In her ear he leans as he begins to tell her how much he wants her and how she is going to want him. He talks of how she likes this, how it makes her feel and how he can tell as her right nipple is getting hard without any direct stimulation. She turns her head to the right and downward as he takes a firmer hold of her hair and pulls her closer to his head. The left hand makes its way to her right breast and begins more of the same, his fingers directly closing in on her nipple, softly caressing it before pinching it firmly. She makes a sound that can be barely heard from underneath the gag. His masked face rubs against her neck as his hands increase their momentum and squeeze her right breast firmly. He mentions that the fit is perfect, had he not had his mask on he would attempt to take it all into his mouth and then gradually let her flesh escape until his mouth reached her nipple, of which he would ravenously suck hard.

"Just fuck her, forget the caressing, part her legs and fuck her!' Mark mutters to the screen. He is impatient and he can feel it. His hand has wandered to his cock and has begun stroking it slowly. Raking his free hand through his black thick hair, he lets out a sigh and leans forward and takes a gulp of whisky. Feeling the burning sensation all the way down his throat, he takes a second to pause the film so he can gather his thoughts. The sound quality was damn excellent, so much so that her muffled protestations rapidly excited him, as did the cameraman's instructions. He could not wait; he decided to go forward a few segments with the image on (in case he missed something).

Hands caressing each breast one after the other then back…fingers pinching the nipples.he stops as it looks like he is squeezing very hard…. so much so she her eyes appear to be widening. The cameraman's left hand reaches downward. Oh yes.

'Let's see shall we?' The calm voice states.

The left hand lets go of her breast and moves downward. Her right leg is shifted so that her knee is over his right thigh; he repeats the same with her left leg. His hand begins to stroke her mound.

'Mmmm.. smooth aren't you, little girl?'

She does not move, merely breathes in a set rhythm with her eyes fixed on his left hand, eyeing it as if to exclaim that it's size is too intimidating for words.

Her eyes blink rapidly as his hand appears to change position. His hand moves rapidly against her flesh.

'I'll start with one finger, we shall see how many you can take as we go along'

Only his arm can be seen up to his wrist, moving in an even in and out rhythm, sometimes stopping at intervals where it appears to be making circular movements.

'Oh you like that don't you? Is that the way you do it as well? Yes that's the way you do it. How can I tell?…Your so moist.'

His tone of voice caresses her ear as he continues playing with her. Stopping only momentarily, he reaches forth and brings the camera closer as he raises his knee upward between her legs. His right hand comes forth and around her hip to settle on her mound and his fingers spread her open for a moment so the lens can have a decent view before his fingers, two this time, made their way deep inside her in one swift movement.

The sound coming from the woman's mouth was a mix of a moan and a wail, having digital surround sound was a bonus for it animated the sound, made it all the more real. If anyone walked in on Mark at this very moment and happened upon the wide screen the assumption would have been that the man in the movie did not give a toss about his present action – deeply exploring a helpless woman in extreme discomfort, with his fingers – but upon closer inspection, as the lens zoomed in, the cameraman's fingers were sliding in and out easily for the sheen of her wetness could be observed…….

©2003 l'étranger