I was bowled overby the way she moved. She was wearing a tight black pencil skirt,black high-heeled patent shoes, a plain white blouse and a looseblack cardigan, fastened around her neck so the folds of her cardiganfell from her rounded breasts, highlighting their beauty. The whole,rather severe, effect was set off perfectly with a string of pearls.She sat next to me. I realised as her leg brushed against me, thatshe had not been wearing black tights, as I had imagined. They werethe sheerest. I couldn't do that. Instead, I just started sinking lower and lower in my seat.Everything she said was fine, brilliant even. She spoke about how it was time for a change, about how a close examination of the record of the current administration would reveal that they had done very little to benefit the average student, and about how the changes they had managed to effect had been cosmetic, or had only affected a small group of students, like those who drove fancy sports cars to school.But it. I switched hands on his throat. I wanted my right hand free to punch him.One!Two!Three!Daddy Horse lay unconscious on the ground."Owww! Motherfucker!" I shook my right hand. "Jesus, that fucking hurts!"The girls watched me dance around the alley. I put the filter in full-silence mode--I didn't want to know what they thought of me as they heard me whine about my aching hand. Aching hands! Punching Daddy Horse in the stomach with the gun in my left hand hurt that hand too.The problem with being. Then again … and again …” “That’s right!” I said. “Just pain, agony. Pure. Beautiful. And not knowing how long it will go on.” “It sounds very sadistic.” “Yes. Oh, yes! Utter bliss! Pure perversion.” Bob licked his fingers. “You know, there’s a lot of lovely cunt-juice going to waste here.” “Well—just thinking about it …” “Yes, I know—but I hate waste. Why don’t you sit on my face for a while?” I scrambled up and helped Bob lie on his back on a comfortable patch of grass near the tree..
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