You skid left toward a house; ignoring the front door blocked by a thick root and instead slam against the tall fence door.Bang. Nothing. Locked. Shit...You scramble to your hip for your handgun and nearly lose your grip, but ha, its still in your hand. You aim at the handle and fire, once, twice, sending a fresh wave of excited cheers through the monkeys above.You slam your shoulder into the broken door and barrel through just as the creature leaps at you.You curse and scramble back on your ass,. People never get to see this side of me, my cheap whore side, a fuck toy, a little BDSM side, where a slap or two for discipline, adds a little spice for a girl in uniform, gets herself out of line, and gets ground face down on a dirty mattress, like the whoring slut she is.I reach into my bag and pull out the remainder of the half bottle of Gin and take a deep swig, my long manicured fingers caress the bottle neck, not enough rimage for self-abuse pleasure, but maybe in the ass, I take another. Karen was starting to wonder if I was letting her see my breast on purpose. She did not know if I was aware that it was hanging out or the effect it was having on her. She was lonely and seeing my breast was turning her on. It had been a while since the last time she was with someone. She had a short affair with a girl she met over the summer. The fear of losing me as a friend was the only thing that kept her from making a move.The vodka was making me a little bolder and I wanted to push myself. The knife had told him so. He had found his Purpose in life. A Purpose he was good at it. And better yet, he liked it. His attention was drawn back to the bloody, abused girl in his hands. He carried her by the throat back through the door and down the rickety basement steps. Her fingers were digging into his hands, nails drawing bloody furrows, her bare feet were kicking at his legs. He didn’t feel it. All he felt was the pull of attraction to the knife. The pull to the power, the omnipotence.
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