The Mastectomy Mess

                                                by:  Book of Evils

 

 

Page 1.

 

 

          She didn't know I was armed with my faithful little twenty-two handgun and moreover, she had no fucking idea I'd planned it for months, actually over two years, working out the details and timing, getting it all just right and now I wasn't in her home office  by chance or by accident. She was my target and I was about to score the bull's eye of all bull's eyes. Indeed, I had a plan and she was the focus of it all, off all my ill intentions.

            At first, I decided to play with her a little, to toy with her, keep my vicious unfoldings hidden and then go for the heart of the matter, the crux, you might say which sounds somewhat like crotch. The crotch crux, just about sums it up, at least in part.

            'So?' I started in. It was my very first word directly spoken to her.

            She was working at a pine table she used as a desk. She looked up from the reports she was studying, startled,  but not afraid. She was never afraid, or so she thought, at least not of men. She had been scared of the cancer but never of men. She could take care of herself, was strong and assertive and knew who she was. In fact, she had made a statement in an interview, publicizing her book, that went word for word, "...and that's for someone who is," she pauses and adds, with a haughty laugh, "nasty. I'm a nasty person. I'm a strong person. You know what I'm saying? I've got a lot that defines me. I've got a full, wonderful life. I've got a lot of self-esteem. I know who I am...."

            So she was supremely defined in her own mind and so certain of her abilities and overall, finding me standing there before her she just looked mildly annoyed, but mostly surprised and didn't feel threatened at all. (stupid cunt bitch)

            I had disabled the little buzzer that alerted her when someone was entering into the outer room of her home office arrangement and had entered her inner office where she was working quietly, but had music on in the background. Her back was to me so she truly was surprised.

            'Where did you come from? I didn't hear my buzzer. It's after hours, after my regular patient visiting hours. But you're not one of mine, my patients. Did someone refer me to you? Who are you and how did you get in?'

 

Page 2.

 

            You might say she went right to the point, right to several points all at once.

            'So you're the Doc?' I questioned her.

            'Yes, I'm the Doctor. But it says that on the door. What is it you want?'

            'You're the Doc on TV, you wrote the book about having your tits off.'

            Right away she didn't like the sound of that. The crudeness and the disrespect.

            'Excuse me, I want you to leave right now. Immediately. You understand?'

            I sort of looked blank, like I was out of it. I pretended like I was spaced, on something.

            'Hold it. Don't get in a snit. You had that TV special showing what you went through with the cancer, and your book, and I thought you were pretty brave about it all. I mean, having them off, that's got to be a pretty big thing for any woman. (I should know. I'd removed a few. Mostly little ones. But always kept the nipples.)

            'I'm not disagreeing with you. I just want you to leave. You're not a regular patient of mine, so you shouldn't be here at all.'

            'Yeah, but I'd like to be a patient of yours. I have so much respect for your courage. Would that be OK?' and then I added (for fun), 'Besides I'd like to have you examine my prostate.'

            She blanched slightly but pretended not to let on, not to pick up on the significance of sticking her finger up my ass.

            'Why? No. No. I appreciate... I don't think... No. I'm not accepting any more. I have more than I can handle now and I do need to, I have cut my case load back.'

            'But one more couldn't hurt, could it?'

            'No. I said no. Yes it would hurt, so please just leave and let me finish my work. I'm giving a seminar and have a lot to do.' She paused, 'or give me your name and number and I'll refer you to another Doctor. One I know starting out who's accepting new patients.'

 

Page 3.

 

            'A man or a woman?' I asked.

            'She, yes, it's a woman, a student I mentored through Med school and now she's all set up to help and heal others.'

            'Is she as good looking as you?' (It never hurt to find out for the next accomplished potential kidnap, rape victim.)

            I was looking at her chest, through her thin beige nylon blouse which showed a good bit of her brassier underneath. I could make out a hint of nipples. She must have caught my unwanted thoughts and the gleam in my grin.

            'I want you to leave and that's all there is to it. Now! This is my office and I want you gone now!'  She really commanded with the nows.

            'OK. OK. I get the message. You don't have to raise your voice. You don't have to get all superior and snotty. You want me to leave now.' (which I emphasized also)

            She just sat there with an impatient, challenging look on her face. Chin raised, her body language authoritative even defiant. Arrogant and in command, as she always felt was her right and  her due. (but not for much longer)

            'Alright, already.' I said. 'Just one more thing, actually two.'

            'What now? I want you to go. What?'

            'Let me see them.'

            'Uh?' She looked disbelieving and puzzled.

            'Let me see them.' I repeated.

            'See them? What?'

            'You know. Your fake tits. Let me see what they look like.'

            Now we were getting  into it.

            With that request, she reached for the phone set which had some kind of security alert as part of the system. I had my twenty-two out lickity split and held it about six inches from her nose.

            She fucking froze. It was the first time she'd ever had a gun pointed at her and I thought she was going to piss herself but she didn't. (That came later and more than once. She even shit herself too.)

 

Page 4.

 

            I stepped back slowly, out of reach, so she couldn't make a grab for the gun.

            'You touch it, you touch that phone, and you die right where you're sitting.' I barked ice cold.

            'But. But. What is this? No. Please just go... Who are you? What do you want?'

            'I just told you I want to see your phony tits, the reconstructed ones and what they did for your nipples. Did they use your old ones or make them up new? I've heard they use labia tissue.'

            'No, I will not. I absolutely will not. Stop being so disgusting and personal. Who do you think you are asking such things of me?'

            'Who I am, is the guy with a gun pointed at your fucking brain, which if you don't do as I say, I going to splatter all over the wall behind you. That's who I am. So what'll it be?'

            She looked at me, studied me, trying to read me and seemed to be analyzing, doing a take on the size of the twenty-two pistol in my hand. It was what you might call a lady's purse gun and I could sense she was thinking it might not be very effective. She had  been taught all her life to fight back against injustice and I could feel her readiness to challenge my pistol.

            'Doesn't look like much? Does it? A tiny little gun like this. Sort of looks like a toy, but I assure you it's not. You have my word on that. It's just a twenty-two, may be just a twenty-two and I don't know how much you know about guns and their calibers, but it's not the first bullet that may stop you. I mean, you're the Doc. You ought to know the traumatic effects of a bullet tearing unto flesh, into your brain, or if I miss, into your chest or shoulder. But I have nine shots. You really think you can keep coming at me, if that's what you're thinking to do? After I've pumped three or four or five slugs into you, or all nine? You think you're stronger than them? Faster than them?'

            She still sat there glaring at me, but I could see she was analyzing.

 

Page 5.

 

            I think I'd overcome or negated her notion that she might be able to take a bullet, if she rushed me to try to over power me, and hopefully didn't get it between the eyes or into her heart, but got hit in the arm or leg, somewhere not lethal, so she could gain control  of me. The fact I threatened to fire repeatedly at her, slowed her enthusiasm for trying, so now I think it was just a matter of would I do it or not? Would I actually shoot her the first time?

            She decided to bluff.

            Which was dumber than dumb as far as I was concerned. But then again, how could she know how much I knew about her everyday life and her situation? You might say I had her distinctly at an unfair advantage besides having a gun pointed at her. Sort of an unfair advantage double jeopardy.

            For many years, before the cancer, she had conducted her sole medical practice from the third floor office of a mid-sized building in downtown Seattle. To cope with her recovery and her new realities, she'd moved her practice to the home office attached to their substantial rural house about half an hour outside the city. It had its own separate entrance but was accessible from her home too.  She had found her new arrangements totally ideal, a much different, more relaxed, much less demanding routine (which was just what the (other) Doctors had ordered). That was up until I was there in her office visiting with her. I had been to her former city offices two times previous as I stalked her over a two year period. I'd first noticed her, she'd first caught my attention, mouthing off, all superior like, like she knew it all, on the TV about some women's issues. Of course, these mouthy bitches, so good looking and accomplished and so sure of themselves, their invincibility, always had issues and so often it revolved around the almighty penis; or how to get rid of them, neuter them. At least my penis was all mighty and she'd soon find that out first dick.

            As I said before, she decided to bluff.

 

Page 6.

 

            'I've told you I want you to leave and now I'm demanding it of you. Just go and be done with it before you end up in more trouble.'

            'Am I in trouble?' I asked.

            'Well. yes.' She answered.

            'But I don't see it. It seems more like you're in trouble. It's you who's  in the trouble.'

            'No listen. I'm trying to spare you more trouble. That's what I'm saying. That's what I'm trying to do.'

            'How generous and thoughtful of you.' I said sarcastically and then continued, 'But I still don't see it.'

            'Well yes it is  generous of me. I should call the Police. My husband will be home anytime. In fact, he should have been home by now.' She looked at the wall clock (for added effect) and continued, 'It's after six-thirty and he's usually here by six-thirty and if I'm not in the house, he always looks in on me to see how I'm doing or how my day's been. Just to see how I am. So you better go now.'

            She'd now asked or demanded that I go ten times. I was getting fucking high on it, that she just didn't seem to be getting the message I was going no where without her. I just stood there for a few moments, appraising her. Loving every drawn out second of it. I backed up a bit more and sat down on a hard wooden chair that was off to her side.

            I looked and stared at her.

            (Fucking, lying conniving bitch cunt.)

            I studied her some more, took in her facial features (she was  beautiful, what you would call a real looker but with a decided arrogant element - just perfect for bitch busting and bashing.  The three B's of good raping). I studied her body, as much as I could see, her shoulders, her chest and what I could of her hips and legs now that I had moved to her side.

            She squirmed slightly. I believe her face flushed. But all in all it was more of a silent stand off. She'd made her bluff and I hadn't responded but there was a building sense of dread, of impending doom.

            Of her fucking doom. For me it was a thrill approaching orgasmic.

 

Page 7.

 

            I rested my fore arms on my knees and looked down at the floor, taking the gun off her directly but still in a position to respond in a flash if she tried anything, like to rush me or to flee.

            It was time to let her have it. Both barrels (right in the cunt) you might say or at least one for each tit or to blast her nipples out her back.

            Still looking at the floor, I asked, 'From China?'

            She was quiet and tense, sort of getting scared for real. For the very first time in her privileged, sheltered life she was getting afraid of a man or at least something male.

            'China? What about China?' she played dumb.

            'Your husband's going to be checking in on you any moment after arriving home from China? Is that it?'

            Now she knew to be afraid. I knew more than I should for this to be  an impulse thing.

            'Oh. But. I. Oh..' she sputtered, flustered.

            'You think I'm fucking stupid? You think I don't hear the news or read the papers? The big announcement yesterday about his trade mission, the trade initiative to China. "William Archer, husband of well known Dr. Elizabeth Wells-Archer, (of course, her name was hyphenated) the breast cancer survivor, arrived in Hong Kong for the start of high level  trade talks..."  What do you take me for? I hate it when I'm lied to. Fucking, I hate it when I'm lied to. I fucking hate it. I hate lying cunt bitches.'

            By now, I was glaring at her (all pretend outraged since I loved it, every second of it, so much) and held the gun sideways (like the blacks do) sort of wiggling and jerking it at her, pointed right at her head.

            She knew even more now to really be afraid. "Be afraid. Be very afraid."

            'I. But. I. I...shouldn't have lied. You're right, I shouldn't have lied to you but you're scaring me with your gun and I had to try something. I had to do something, or at least try. You understand, don't you?'

 

Page 8.

 

            She was so trying to reason with me, to be reasonable, thinking I should be reasonable in return.

            'Stand up. Stand the fuck up.'

            It was the very, very beginning of her starting to obey my commands and orders. The very beginning of her giving up control and giving it over to me. She wasn't standing up because she wanted to. She was standing up because I ordered her to.

            Her cunt was doomed.

            Stupid bitch.

            It was all so fucking great.

            She put her hands on the table top and slowly rose. She remained bent over, hands still on the table but now standing. She was looking up at me nervous, trying to figure out, what could she do now?

            'Straighten up. Right up straight.' I ordered.

            She didn't want to but even more slowly complied.

            Now I could see all of her, all of what I was going to repeatedly fuck and horribly abuse. I looked her up and down, making it rudely obvious.

            She was squirming inside. Her crotch was getting uncomfortable. The clit knows. The clit always knows.

            'Turn around.'

            She did, again very slowly, like she was being inspected, like her ass was being  graded. Grade A double cheeks and great fucking legs.

            She was forty-two and looked ten years younger. Her body was firm and toned from working out (but not all muscular, ugly and un-feminine) and she didn't have an ounce of fat on her.

            I hated fat and resented the good looking ones who were  because it ruled them out as potential victims. It was good for them, I suppose,  but since they'd  never know how good could it actually be? Anyhow, who cares? I never fucked a fat one but had to waste one to get her skinny girlfriend. I used a bigger gun to blow her chubby cunt apart.

 

Page 9.

 

            I guessed  her waist  at twenty-four inches and her hips at thirty-six. Her fake tits looked to have been reconstructed at thirty-four B or C cup. All I knew was she looked fucking, fuckable great and I was just the one to do it , over and over, and now it was time to get into it. (pun intended)

            'Turn around again to face me and keep on facing me.'

            I sort of gulped.

            I was all rubber inside.

            My dick was really stirring.

            My nipples were aching to be pinched hard.

            It was time.

            It was her time.

            'Now take your clothes off.'

            Oh fuck. The Doctor bitch was fucked. I was really starting it with her after two long (glorious) years of fantasizing about doing it to her.

            She just looked at me, half nervous, half defiant. Half pleading and half arrogant. Four halves made her twice as special. The situation was right over the top spectacular.

            Oh fuck, what a cunt.

            She still just stood there struggling with her emotions, trying to manipulate her way out of actually doing it, actually starting to do it. I mean, she knew and so did I, once the first button was undone, in a matter of time her cunt would be out bare and so too those new tits of hers (for all the world to see - I'd take lots of pictures of them and post them on the Web on the torture sites.)

            Actually, that wasn't quite accurate, what she was thinking at that moment. The surprise still awaited her. Slowly she reached to the top button of her blouse and started to undo it.

            'No. Your skirt. Take your skirt off first.' I ordered her.

            'No, but you said. You said you wanted to see my chest. You know, my replacement breasts.' She sort of wined for the first time. The strength was seeping out of her voice. Her knees were weakening and it would just be a matter of time until her resolve did too.

            'And your nipples. Don't forget your fucking nipples. Are they your old ones or they make you new ones?'

 

Page 10.

 

            She just looked at me dumb and dumbfounded. How could I be so crude and disrespectful of her ordeal? So disgusting?

            'You said you wanted to see my....operation.' She went to undo her blouse top button again.

            'Hold it.' I ordered her. 'You hard of hearing or you just don't do what you're told? That was then and this is now, before you lied to me. Now take your fucking skirt off first.'

            You see, I wanted to watch her crotch, her cunt area inside her briefs as she trembled and struggled with the rest of her disrobing. I wanted to watch her inner thighs tremble and resist and her crease try to hide.

            'Oh no, please. Just let me take my top off, as you said. Please.' She was fucking almost  pleading, begging to show  me her tits and I couldn't believe the power bitch was caving in so quickly. Of course, being the hard ass that she was, she wasn't really. She was trying to act her way out of it, to manipulate me, control me away from having to reveal her crotch, uncover her cunt area since she suspected seeing it, seeing her could excite me, spur me on to worse travesties, like raping  her. She knew men were visual  in their sexual excitements and not seeing her might protect her while seeing her would endanger her. Stupid deluded cunt, her nipples were already showing through as bumps.

            Through her blouse.

            Teeth and needle and BB gun targets.

            Stupid bitch.

            No, raping her  hadn't been mentioned yet, the six-hundred pound pink dildo in the living room, but I was  getting that excited, rubbery air about me and I think she could smell it or at least sense it.

            Female cunt intuition about to be buggered and yes, indeed, the clit always knows, like a cat's whiskers.

            'You lied. You pay. One last fucking time I ask, then I shoot you in the fucking leg. Take your fucking, cunt covering skirt off.'

 

Page 11.

 

            Now there was no where to run. No time left to resist. I'd threatened her with non-life threatening injury and it would hurt like Hell but not kill her. This she knew as a Doc.

            She had on a blue rayon pleated skirt above the knees and undid the top button at the side. She slowly slid the zipper down as far as it would go.

            She really, truly didn't want to drop it.

            She didn't have a slip on.

            'Please, stop this now. Please. I'm sorry. Look. Look at my chest.' She pushed her breasts out and forward.

            Her nipple bumps grew bigger through the fabric. I'd need extra needles.

            She sort of held the position, pleading with her eyes and saw it was no use. I wasn't about to waver but I didn't need to rush her either.

            So she held off for more time and after about ten minutes of (my) just feasting on her and her predicament, she slowly slid it down over her hips, down past her crotch and her knees, to the floor and stepped out of it.

            So there they were. My fuck holes and labia chews.

            Now there was just her panties covering her area.

            Written across the top of her briefs, at the front, was the word, 'bride' in capital letters. They were excellent. A sheer transparent pink with no extra detail at all. Just a thin ribbon of binding at all the seams and a sweet little gusset to cuddle and protect her labia. They left nothing to the imagination and I couldn't have chosen a better pair for her if I'd tried.

            'Bride? What does that mean?' I wanted to know.

            'What?  What about bride?'

            'On your cunt coverers, it says 'bride', on your panties, across the front. What does it mean?'

 

Page 12.

 

            'Oh nothing.' she begged off.

            'Fucking tell me or I'll cut them off you.'

            'My husband. They were a gift from him. He says I'm always his bride, even after twenty years of marriage and they fit me nicely.'

            Well she got that right.

            Fuck was she beautiful.

            'Oh, isn't that sappy. You think they fit you nice? Your cunt looks good in them? Bride. Bride.  So now you're going to be my bride? Instead?'

            'No. Oh no, stop it.'

            She had her hands somewhat across her front trying to shield her cunt from my view. I stared right at the tops of her legs.

            'Take your hands away.'

            She didn't.

            'I'm getting so fucking sick of saying everything to you twice , or more times, and it better stop or...'

            She let her hands drop to her side.

            'Fantastic. You're fucking fantastic.' I groaned.

            'I. Please..'

            'Turn around.' I ordered her.

            She did so more willingly since I guess she'd rather have me looking at her ass than leering at her crease.

            Her ass and her hips were incredible, well rounded but not fat. Just the right amount of sex meat.

            'Stand with your legs apart.'

            She put her feet about a foot apart.

            'Wider. Wider.'

            She moved them about three feet apart.

            'Perfect.' I moaned.

            It took every ounce of self control and resistance not to go right up to her and grab a handful of labia. Fuck, I was swirling.

            'Bend over.'

            She did slightly.

 

Page 13.

 

            'Right over. Right fucking over. Hands touch the floor.'

            Well she did.

            Well, how could any red blooded rapist worth his cum control himself while seeing that?

            Her briefs pulled tight right into her crease. Some of her minora were the kind that protruded and  they made the silk of her panties all bumpy and sort of crinkly looking, along the center. There was fuzz out the side of her panty leg holes and her majora were like two small parallel bananas. My cock wished it was an arrow.

            I got up and she looked back and up at me in fright. She went to straighten up but I told her if she did, she'd have a bullet in the back of her knee.

            I put the gun to her ass cheek and she gasped. I drew it across towards her slit. I brushed the barrel across her bigger labia on one side.

            'Stop it. Oh, please, stop it.  It's not right.' She was trembling.

            I drew the gun farther over  onto her crinkly minora and right to her crease.

            I pushed in through her panty fabric.

            I turned the gun, sort of twisted it back and forth.

            Next thing I knew some of her juice stained her briefs.

            'Oh, you like that, do you?'

            I pushed harder.

            'You like that. You..'

            'Oh no. Oh no. I'm just scared and nervous. Please stop it now.'

            I gave her one last little push and twist and said, 'OK, let's see the rest.'

            I stepped back and sat down, almost panting.

            She was standing upright now, with her back still to me, but really shaking and for the first time, crying softly.

            'Let's see the rest.'

            She started to undo the top button of her blouse for the third time.

 

Page 14.

 

            'That's fine. Stop blubbering. (I loved her crying and wanted to see her face, the tears.) That's OK now, but face me.'

            She did and undid the five buttons in fairly quick succession. She was determined to get through it, stay focused.

            She paused and then pulled back, pushing her chest out and let it fall to the floor.

            There she was, like a lingerie model, just bra and panties.

            She was trembling even more and then stopped and sort of went all calm and peaceful, like she was at peace.

            'So what are you waiting for?' I asked.

            'I'm finished. I've done as much as I'll do. If you're going to rape me, it'll have to be rape because I won't cooperate. I'll never cooperate, so just do what you feel you must, what you have to do and get it over with.'

            'You mean do it quickly?'

            'Yes. Just do it. Just get it done, if that's what you intend to do. If that'll make you feel like a man.'

            'You mean rush it?'

            'Uh? Whatever..'

            'Why the fuck would I rush it when I can take all the time in the world, all the time I want, feeling like a man?'

            'I don't care what you say. I won't cooperate.'

            'So your tits, they look pretty normal in that bra. Is it a special one, a special bra for mastectomy bitches?'

            She defied me with her silence and her chin was high in the air. I could have punched her jaw into the back of her skull, or at least re-arranged some of her smile .

            'Take it off.'

            She finally swore at me.

            'Fuck you. Fuck you to Hell. I told you I won't do any more.'

            'Not to smart.'  I got all poised.

            I took aim like I was going to shoot her in the leg just above her knee. I cocked the gun all set to actually blast her.

 

Page 15.

 

            She cried out, ' No. No. You wouldn't. No. I..'

            I was a breath away from doing it and she whipped her bra off.

            Well, I must say, I was amazed and pleasantly surprised. She looked just about normal, in large part due to the fact her old nipples had been sewn back into the exact right place on her new mounds. Very often this isn't done since the nipple and areola and milk ducts can hide cancer cells which would come back to threaten her life again. But there was some new test/procedure and they determined her nipples and all were totally cancer free so they re-attached them. Now they didn't have anywhere near the degree of feeling the once had, but they had managed to re-connect some nerve endings and she could get semi-hard erections. The thing was, the nipples were hers from before so, of course, they looked natural and perfect. The flesh mounds taken from her abdomen were slightly different. Almost, but not quite odd looking. For one thing, they'd made them both the exact same size which isn't really natural. It's unnatural of itself since women's breasts are virtually always asymmetrical. The surgeon should have know better but then again, who was supposed to see them other than the Doc and her husband? Certainly not a raping, murdering sexual psycho who could make them uneven for her at any time.

            'Hold your arms straight up.'

            She did. She was resigned.

            'Turn sideways.'

            She did. She was resigned.

            The side profile was pretty well perfect also. Her nipples even pointed slightly upwards.

            She had every reason to be proud of her reconstructed chest and I knew I'd have a great time deconstructing her chest.

            'OK. We're there. Now the bottoms.'

            This would be the invitation to rape her and she knew it too well. She had to keep her briefs on. Somehow she had to thwart me.

 

Page 16.

 

            I wasn't really paying that close attention, I was so jittery at how she looked and the prospect of fucking how she looked in a very few minutes, as she moved to the table. She managed to scoop up a heavy crystal vase and  hurl it at me  in a smooth, fell swoop. She was a pretty good aim, or extra lucky, and caught me to the side of the head at my ear and as I cried out in pain and let lose the gun, she was over the table and onto me like an attacking shark but trying to pummel me.

            Then she grabbed me by the hair and pulled my head back and punched me in the temple. She used her closed fist and her ring cut me. I think I saw stars. I managed to pull away but the gun had skittered across the floor and she was onto getting it. She was  face down, sort of on all fours, crawling to retrieve it  and I jumped up into the air and sort of dove, sort of crashed right onto her back. She pancaked to the floor and gave a big gasp and groan and swung back  like mad trying to connect hitting me. I got my hands under the soft inner parts of her arms and wrenched them way up above her head. I managed to pin her like this to keep her from reaching the last six inches to the gun. She was bucking her ass up, trying to throw me off  and I grabbed her by one ankle, sprang up and dragged her back away from the pistol. Now she was turned facing mostly up and I jammed my foot into her crotch, onto her cunt and pulled really hard on her leg.

            She shrieked out, 'Stop it. Stop it. Stop. I'm sorry.'

            I pulled harder        

            Her labias were mashed.

            Now I raised up and was basically standing on her inner thigh right at her  crotch.

            She let up on the struggling.

            It fucking hurt and she was afraid I'd stand full on her cunt.

            I moved forward and ended up standing on her belly and she groaned and gasped.

 

Page 17.

 

            Her face was contorted and I think she knew she was losing the fight.

            I dropped down to sit on her mid-section, gripped her head by the hair, both sides and with one good bang to the floor she was out cold. She'd have one Hell of a headache. That was for sure.

            Just like that there was no more fight. no more struggle.

            She was old cold helpless.

            I slid her panties down and thumb fucked her and tongued her and put a crease in her clit.

            Her tits didn't feel natural so they were some what of a disappointment. The rest of her body would have to compensate for that.

            I decided I wanted to keep her, kidnap her to hold her prisoner and take my time getting to know her and to abuse her to the fullest extent of breaking the law.

            I collected all of her under clothes from inside her house and other sexy items of her clothing. In about an hour I had her hog tied, gagged and in my special van on her way to my special torture prison.

             What happened to her over the next few months, at some point, I'll recount, but for now, suffice to say, she was one unhappy camper with one unhappy cunt who, the same as before, ended up with no tits.