On this particular day the sky was overcast as a cool breeze blew across the park. I love to run without wearing a bra or panties and today was no dif...erent. There is nothing so invigorating as the cool breeze being blown up inside my shorts as I ran. I also loved the way my tits would bounce with every jogged I took. Today was the perfect day to run. The park was nearly empty on this day as I started to do my stretches. I love the feeling of my shorts riding up on me as I bend over to. So, in The Stalker, the central character/narrator is untrustworthy; her version of ‘the truth’ is distorted and filtered through her own discordant interaction with the world around her … put simply her narration is to be only partially believed and it is for the reader to determine what is truth and what, perhaps, might be untruth. In Stalker Part 2 she actually tells the reader:"I owe you an apology, dear reader, for I have been a little economical with the truth. I have drawn you pretty. When she lifted her body up by her arms, she found another refinement to the hook. It was barbed and it tore her inside. She screamed some more.Then, the whipping started. Two other girls owned by her master began to whip her with whips having sharp chunks of metal embedded in the tips. Each stroke left her bruised and bloodied.Then she heard a pop and felt the hook push into her an inch as it moved up the wood. She strained and screamed again as the pain came from so many directions within her. Following her movements he noticed the rest of the room. There was a sitting area with two large seats and a sofa. A fire burned in a stone hearth. Candles were lit on the ledge above it. An arrangement of red and white carnations in a vase decorated with hearts sat on a low table. Something nagged at his mind that he should grasp the significance of the vase, but as he thought about it he was distracted by music filling the space. The slow, soothing seductive music of brass and strings pulled.
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