AUDITOR ------- They don't make walls like they used to. I mean, there's no privacy anymore. You might as well be right out on the street. I'm lying in bed the other night, and my neighbours upstairs have just come home after a night out. Sarah and Lianne. They're nice enough people - you know. We nod in the hall. We pass each other in the store and say 'Hi'. Nice enough people. They play back their ansaphone messages. I can hear every word, lying there in the summer dark. Some guy called Alan is okay for dinner Wednesday. Sarah's mother expects a call on the weekend. I can hear every word. But, I dunno, maybe it's the frequencies, but I can't hear what Sarah and Lianne say. They come through as a muffled rumble. The rhythms of their speech, the tenor of it, is clear enough - but you can't quite catch the words. I'd love to hear the words. Sarah and Lianne are S&M dykes. I always wondered, but then once I saw them in the audience on a sub-Oprah talkshow about bondage. "Jesus," I told the cat, "that's the women upstairs!" It certainly explained some of the noises. They're in the bedroom now, right above me. They're murmuring; one of them laughs aloud. There's a delighted squeal - "No!" What are they doing, huh? Are they undressed yet? Down in the pit of my bed, something stirs. I put my hands behind my head and gaze up at the ceiling. A cupboard creaks open. More shrieking laughter. Then quiet. No. No, they can't stop now. What are they doing - going to sleep? Too drunk? Too tired? Did they slip into some alleyway on the journey home? Is it all over before it's begun? I lie there fuming. Down in the pit of my bed, something subsides. They can't do this to me. But the silence holds. "Oh-h-h-h..." Hello? "Uh-h-h-h..." Aha! One voice, moaning. Why only one? Obviously the other has her mouth full. Think of that. One lying with her legs apart, feet dangling over the edge of the Laura Ashley duvet. The other - Lianne, the dark one, at a guess - flicking her tongue along Sarah's pink gash, from pouting pucker to light brown curls. Or possibly dark brown curls - I dunno. Or maybe Lianne's just teasing a hand across Sarah's stomach, never straying quite as far as the elasticated band of those pink? white? jet-black lace with embroidered cobalt? panties, simultaneously sinking her teeth into one pale shoulder - bruising the skin that Sarah will wear tomorrow like a trophy. I push back the covers and fold my arms across my chest. I cross my legs at the ankles and wait. "Uh-uh-uh..." Sure. "Mmm-uh-uh-yuh..." Certainly. Take your time. "Muh, muh, uhsssssss..." Yup. Nearly. "Murmurbermerwer. Yumurmurmurberwer..." What? What'd she say? They've stopped again. This is ridiculous. I take time out to coach the primary interested party - hang in there, kid, I say, looking down. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible. There's more opening of cupboards upstairs, and a pair of feet moving around. The bed creaks, as if someone's climbing across it. Then, after a couple of minutes, someone leaves the room and walks down the corridor toward the kitchen. I close my eyes and try to picture the scene. Actually, it's blatantly clear. They've moved into bondage mode. Lianne, right, brings Sarah to the brink of orgasm with her cunning and merciless little tongue - running it from nipple to mound and back again. Sarah's moaning softly - as I heard - and willing Lianne just to move down an inch or two further, just to touch her quivering clit, just there, there. Lianne's grinning, with her tongue out, looking up at Sarah's face. Down she slides once more, past the navel, across the slight swell of the lower belly, into the curls. As her tongue reaches the fold of Sarah's cunt, she jigs slightly to one side, sidestepping the desperate clitoris, and skipping lightly along the outside of one unfurling lip. It's good, but it's not enough. Sarah's breath catches - "Oh, please, lick it, for God's sake..." "Not yet," says Lianne. "I don't think you want it enough. Wait there." Or, as it sounded to me, "Murmurbermerwer. Yumurmurmurberwer..." So, I reckon, Lianne went to the cupboard and got out the handcuffs or rope or whatever, tied Sarah spreadeagled to the bed and then - and this is the good part - went to the kitchen and just left her there! Incredibly fucking sexy! Quite deliberately left the room and went to get some OJ or something! Astonishing! I uncross my arms. Also, my legs. I've got to admit that Lianne's showing remarkable self-control. She's been gone for nearly five minutes by my digital. I don't know what effect this is having on Sarah, but it's winding me up like a neurotic carjack. I've got a hard-on I'm having to push to one side just to keep my eye on the ceiling. At last, the footsteps return from the kitchen. More murmuring. Determined murmuring, low and threatening. Oh-oh. There's a silence - and then the sound of a slap. "AHH!" That was Sarah. "Uh?" That was me. I'm momentarily thrown, and I have to re-adjust my mental picture. Of course - Sarah's face down. Another slap. "Ohh, yeah!" Slap! Slap! Okay, I grab it. I deserve it - I've been a paragon of restraint so far. The spanking goes on. I've got my eyes shut, but I can see perfectly clearly. Lianne stripped to her bra and panties, bringing her hand down on Sarah's lilywhite ass. Sarah, arms and legs flat and spread, rising hopelessly to meet and cushion each stroke. Her pussy is gaping and moist, spilling rivulets onto the crisp sheets. Lianne's right hand lingers after each blow, whilst her left wanders absently over her own silk-covered slit. Uhhngg... not yet. Wait, boy, wait. The spanking stops. Sarah and I relax. There's more climbing on the bed - Lianne is undoing the shackles. There's an almost whispered, gulping sentence from Sarah. What's she saying? 'Thank you'? 'More'? 'My turn..'? Lianne speaks, again in that uncontrovertible growl. Sarah begins to reply, but she's cut off in mid-sentence. "Nermurb...guk..." she says. You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes, do you? Lianne has straddled Sarah's face, smearing her still-clad cunt across the other girl's nose and mouth. Am I guessing? I don't think so. There's a throaty moan from Lianne, and a steady, rhythmic creak, as she rocks to and fro on her knees, pressing her box down onto Sarah's tongue. They're really putting me through it here. Lianne lets out a sudden 'AH!'. She's pulled her panties away from her crack, and Sarah's tongue has slipped right in. She must be working it hard, because the tempo of the creaking has moved up a gear. Lianne's a chanter, it turns out. "Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!" She sounds like Laurie Anderson on speed. Me, I'm trying hard to keep up, but desperate not to get ahead. And then - oh, Christ, they must be doing this on purpose - I hear that unmistakeable electric buzz. Which one of them's got it? Which one of them would I like to have it? I decide it's Lianne. She's leaning forward as Sarah licks her frothing cunt, and she slides the vibrator across the raised nub of Sarah's clit. There's a gasp - more muffled than I usually hear. It's Sarah, feeling the vibrator as it noses along her split, as it pauses briefly on her ass, as it inches back to her hole and slides in like a Jag into a Director's parking space. I nearly lose it, at this point. "AHHHH, FUCK...." I shout, but I hold back, just in time. There's a sudden silence. Then low talking. Jesus, of course, they can hear me as well as I can hear them. And they must be thinking that I may well be hearing them, as they heard me. I wait, with my breath held, as if that would make any difference. Nothing. Come on, come on. You can't stop now. You know you're dying for it. Don't mind me - I'm asleep. Really. Fast asleep. I don't know what they do next. Maybe they finish off real quiet. Or maybe I broke the mood, and they've just gone to sleep. Anyway, apart from a few creaks of the bed and the click of a light switch, nothing else happens. I pull the covers back up to my chest, and slump back onto the pillow. Shit. I was enjoying that. Beside me, she rolls over and opens her eyes. "You still awake, honey? What's the matter?" For a split second I consider pushing my luck, but I'd only end up disappointed. And what the hell - the first Saturday in the month is only eleven days away. "Nuthin," I tell her. "Go back to sleep...."