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Some superhuman effort had brought her thusfar. She looked at me, with unspeakable sadness. I reached for her, and shefainted away into my arms. I held her there. Eliza. Eliza Rathbone, who had been missing since the summer.'Eliza.' I hadn't spoken her name for so many years. I held her, limp, againstme, inhaling the scent of her: fear, dirt, blood, and something else that Icouldn't define. I lifted her up. She was light in my arms. I had only ever held one anotherwoman in my arms like this. The feeling was intoxicating. You have a cellar, don't you? Yes, yes, I must hideher. Make her warm. Keep her safe. 'Eliza,' I said again, and got myself busy. + It had once been a sort of scullery, the room below the room where I lived,so there was a fireplace with a chimney opposite the main one. No-one passingby would be able to tell, I thought, which fire was which. So I laid her downon some old cushions that I'd kept meaning to throw away, and lit a fire downthere. She was stirring, but. But she couldn't resist brushing her hands over her breasts, her sheer, tight nylon covered breasts. She gave each nipple a pinch. Her heart beat faster and she had a big intake of breath when she did that. It made her swoon a little. "I'd better not get distracted," she told herself. She pranced over to her makeup table, freshened her lipstick and added a little more mascara. When she appraised herself this time, she almost automatically brought her right hand to the edge of her skirt and snaked up to touch herself. She was a little wet through her sheer panties already. It felt so good, the slickness of wet nylon on her now slightly swollen pussy lips."Mmmm, god," she murmured. She turned to the full length mirror again to watch herself get turned on. She imagined doing a photo shoot--or even a video--to turn on her fans and her daddy. She was beginning to believe she was hot enough to do that. Just as she began swaying to her gentle strokes, her daddy called out, "Amanda, Sierra.
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