Emma Hand stood before him brandishing a fireplace poker. Her auburn hair was down and running wild, the strands sloping over her shoulders like a dozen hungry snakes. She was also completely naked, save for a pair of black boots on her feet and a white, six-tape diaper around her waist.
With a glint of satisfaction, Emma tossed down the fireplace poker and grabbed a straight razor from a dresser drawer. The blade glistened as she opened it up.
“This was Simon’s,” she said. “He hated the disposable kind. He said they were an abomination. He’ll be happy to know I’ve been keeping it sharp for him. Nice and sharp and used.”
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