Nor was it just one level of cameras. We descended a circular stair that passed through the first floor, to the basement, and even a sub-basement belo... that. Each floor contained more shelving with more cameras, like some vast Noah's Arc devoted not to the preservation of a male and female of each species, but examples of what seemed to be every model of camera constructed since the dawn of photography. At the base of the staircase, Jillian pushed open an airtight door. "Climate controlled,". I glance across at him and he's staring at me. Behind us, the shuffle of shoes indicates we are not alone. Someone is making their way in and out of the shelving, searching. I turn my head. A dark skinned man stops close by, he wears wire rimmed glasses and an expression of concentration. He searches on a top shelf, retrieves a book, leaves. Obie curls his fingers in between my legs. I'm lush, waiting. He pushes a finger into my slit and languidly strokes all the way upward, missing the nub of. More

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