Eleven

Me gets up from her chair. “At last, we’ve reached the magic number eleven. Time to let you out of those manacles, time for you to get between my legs.”

The manacles on your arms open and with relief your arms finally come down, the muscles in them aching.

Me removes her leather coat, revealing her sexy figure, covered in a black skintight bodystocking. She walks over to you, and then bends forwards and does a handstand against you, her legs locking round your neck.

“Please don’t think the game’s over,” she says, her thighs gripping you tightly, “I’m thinking of another game, also with numbers and colored balls.” You struggle in her vice-like grasp, your hands unable to pull her legs apart, as her grip around your neck gets ever tighter. “Bingo!” she says, as you collapse to your knees, and she lowers her top half to the ground, her legs still wrapped around you. “Bingo has the phrase legs eleven,” she says increasing the pressure, “although you’re going awfully red there. I’m not sure you’ll make it to eleven before I break your neck.”

You fall to the floor, your head pounding as she lies there laughing at you, and then things go dark.