They swayed. There were dozens of them per breast. “Don't you? You're just a naughty slave that loves the pain.”Mrs. Armstrong whimpered and nodde... her head.“Do you see, Daddy?” Stefani said, her hand grabbing another clothespin. She pinched this one on her mother's stomach between lengths of red rope crisscrossing her torso. “Mommy's just a submissive whore.”“She is,” groaned her father. “She just needs to be controlled, doesn't she?”“Yes, I do,” moaned Mrs. Armstrong. “I'll just be wanton. I. Skeletal branches touched the drenched grey sky. A figure stood in that torrential downpour. Being watched.The figure in the rain walked barefoot across the muddy grass, moving almost in slow motion, each pace measured and careful. There was mud and grit on the soles of his feet. Good blond hair that was now long enough to tickle his collarbones was plastered flat to his skull by the rain. Loose blue jeans were soaked through, as was the long sleeved white shirt he wore. The water had turned. More

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