Ali Katal was whisked from the Tehran airport in an unmarked car by members of the Revolutionary Guards and was taken to see his old teacher. He was s...ocked by the number of lines that had appeared on the face of the imam and how gray the hair that showed from beneath his blue turban had turned since he had last seen him nine months earlier. The Ayatollah Makhtol looked at least twenty years older than his fifty three years.Katal clasped his hands together in a show of his devotion to his. The little ember of fear that usually accompanied her ghost lover’s first signs of restraint failed to form inside her. Perhaps it was her state of lethargic arousal. Perhaps it was a confidence – or at least a belief – that she *could* escape this time if she wanted to. But escape would mean that the warm, cradling rub would stop, and she’d be left to her own devices. It was too nice to want to stop… but she wanted more.She realized her legs had drifted wide apart now. With her back arched and. More

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