Jon's words and void and presence had hinted at things, given Hannah visions that were hard to resist.  But now it seemed that those things were happening.  She could feel the slight tug of her hair pinned to the chair and knew that any twist of her head would make her scalp burn in pain, while giving her no escape.  She felt the heat and the weight of his cock, caged in his jeans only a hair's breadth away.  And now his hands were on her face.  Not in the way she was used to, for Hannah was used to any numbers of hands on her face working the day away.  Those hands even treated her like an object, something to work on to earn their pay.  But they treated it reverentially.  Jon's hands twisted her mouth, pulled at her lips in a demeaning way that shot a white heat to her very core.  The rough pads of his fingers dragged across her throat, and she knew that he would be the one to do everything she had dreamed of.  There was no reverence in his eyes, no mercy even, or in his marauding hands.  Just dark pools that seemed as good as limitless.<br/><br/>He pulled away, his voice changing so suddenly that Hannah jumped, thinking someone else had just appeared in the room.  Her heart raced faster than she thought possible, all her fears of being caught, being outed, rushing into her bloodstream in that nanosecond before she realized what had happened.  She sat up, glancing down at her cast to be sure she hadn't ruined it in her sudden movement.  Yanking on her legs she suddenly remembered her precarious position.  "Perhaps you'd better unstrap me," she said in a mild voice, her eyes glancing towards the entrance to the props room.  She couldn't help looking again at the device he was covering however.  She shivered as she imagined herself on it.  What would he do to her if she let him?  She thought she was going to find out.