The men step back as Jodi faces precariously toward the podium, barely able to balance herself on her tiptoes with her wrists, elbows numbing, strappe... painfully behind her back. The hooded man turns, the strap lowered, slowly steps toward her, smirks. Their eyes meet, Jodi’s filled with tears. He slowly, sinisterly lowers his eyes behind the narrow slits, stares momentarily toward her heaving breasts. She can’t help staring back at him as he approaches, tanned, muscular, and. Her hand moves to her neck, her pulse beats insistently against her palm, slipping lower down between her breasts, she teases her large nipple, running slow circles around the sensitive tip. It hardens as her thumb joins in the dance now pulling, twisting, the pressure sending little jolts through her body. The other hand joins the first, both nipples get the attention they crave, but its not her soft delicate fingers she feels, its his rougher, stronger fingers that are pinching and twisting. More

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