Message-ID: <24724asstr$961175419@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <20000616124621.65707.qmail@hotmail.com> From: "peter abelard" Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed Subject: {ASSM} Abelard: What I loved about Barbara (FM+, bd, sm, snuff) Date: Fri, 16 Jun 2000 13:10:21 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: english, Lambchop What I Loved About Barbara (MfMMMM, bd, sm, snuff) (C) 2000 by Abelard [Warning: If it is illegal for you to read sex stuff, my condolences, but fuck off. The events depicted in this story are performed strictly in the imagination of a professional. No not try this shit at home. If you read on, please maintain at least one hand on your controls at all times. If you wanna' publish this story for profit, ya' better ask me first. Finally, tell me what you think at <>.] The sad story of a woman possessed. If you are squeamish about heavy bd/sm and/or sexual killing, don't read this story. WHAT I LOVED ABOUT BARBARA What I loved about Barbara was her quiet, haunted look. She was a petite little blonde with the "god help us" face of a waif. Oh, she was nervous in a jumpy sort of way, but I just wrote that off to her shyness, which I found sweet. At five foot two, and less than a hundred pounds, she looked as if I could just fold her up in the palm of my hand and hide her completely. And she acted as if she would like me to do just that. Just a scared little bunny out in the big wide world. That's when I married her. She was eighteen; I was twenty-five. (An older man...to take care of her...that's what she said.) We made gentle, friendly, caring love. My little blonde fuck-bunny. Her little tits were mostly all nipple, and her flat, flat stomach ended in just little wisps of pubic hair. At eighteen, she could have passed for twelve. But after about six months of marriage, her passion began to cool. Barbara just didn't seem that interested any more. I thought maybe the poor kid was just overwhelmed by the demands my big old cock was making on her, even though I was still being very gentle. I loved being very gentle with her. We talked about it, and what she said nearly blew me away. She finally confessed to me that she had been raped by her father and her uncle. My innocent little angel! Raped by two older men...one of them her father for Christ sake! Not only once, but ...repeatedly...over a period of a four years, starting when she was fourteen. RIGHT UP TO THE WEEK BEFORE WE WERE MARRIED!! No wonder she was jumpy! She said that her father and her uncle weren't particularly rough with her...just indifferent. They'd come in her mouth or in her cunt, OR EVEN IN HER ASS (something I certainly had never tried!). And then they'd just go back to drinking beer and watching the football game. She tried to tell her mother, but her mother just didn't believe her...or didn't want to believe her. Major denial there. After we were married, she said, they wanted to keep on fucking her, but so far she had been able to avoid them. But her parents lived only four blocks away... So anyway, as I said, after we had been married for about six months, Barbara began to lose interest in our gentle and loving sex life. That's when she told me about her past with her father and his brother. The odd thing is the effect it had on me. At first I wanted to kill both of them, of course, but then I began to have these disgusting fantasies...like, watching her being fucked by her father...who was by then forty-five. Or by her uncle, who was a couple years younger. I got turned on by the fantasy of these indifferent older men fucking Barbara while I watched, and began to think of her as a slut who liked it that way. This led me to start to get a little rougher with her. I began screwing her harder. Then I started talking dirty and calling her names. She liked it. The first time I slapped her in the face while we were making love, she gasped and got very hot. It was as if a dam had broken. She began fucking me back, hard, and thrashing around, moaning and generally grabbing her own pleasure from me. This was very unusual for her, of course, but I loved it. Afterward, however, she lay there crying quietly. I felt bad, and tried to make it up to her by cuddling and promising never to slap her again. That's when she said, "No, I'm crying because I'm so ashamed that I liked it. The idea that you didn't care about me, that you just wanted to use me, turned me on. It was like I was with dad or Uncle Buck all over again, only different...like I could let go, like I could indulge myself or something. What does that make me, some kind of pervert? Do you think I may be crazy? " I said, "No, sugar, I think it makes you a woman who sometimes likes it rough. A lot of women do. Probably has something to do with Joe and Uncle Buck, but shit if I know what." "You think?" "Hell, I don't know, I'm no psychologist. But I'll bet it does. Did you ever get turned on, did you ever like it, when your father and your uncle were...(I looked for the right word here)... abusing you?" "NO!! GOD NO!! I hated it, hated it, HATED IT!!! At first I'd shut my mind off, like I'd go somewhere else in my mind, and try to pretend it wasn't even happening. But I couldn't control my reactions. I hated my own reactions. I didn't WANT to get hot. I didn't WANT to get wet...but I did...I couldn't help it...AND I HATED IT!! I'd get this sicky, dying, feeling when they made me strip for them. I'd go into a sort of a fever, and I'd get wet between my legs. Then I would sort of slip inside that feeling, and pretend that I WAS sick, and they were just taking care of me...you know giving me injections (in my mouth or in my vagina) and stuff. But then, of course, they didn't really care at all. They'd just use me and throw me away like an old rag. And I'd have to pretend that I hadn't felt anything. That it didn't mean anything. And then I found you. And you were so sweet and gentle and loving and caring, and I loved you...and I loved being loved." "Oh, Barbara, God, I'm so sorry. Honey, I love you. You and I, we will let it go...or close it off... or get beyond it. I'm here for you. I'll never hit you again, I promise." I really felt bad that I had slapped her and opened up this Pandora's Box. Barbara was quiet for a while, and then she said, "No, Tommy, I don't think that's the answer. You and I...well, you know, we have been kind of slowing down (which was true). It just isn't as good for me anymore, this way. I think, somehow I have to work through it, or work WITH it, or something. It's just too big a thing to keep the doors closed on and ignore. I think I NEED it rough. Oh God, is that perverse, or what?" Well, I didn't quite know what that meant...and it made me sad to think that she wasn't as satisfied with me anymore. But then I began to think about it some more, and realized that it wasn't me that was turning her off, but her own mind and her past. For some reason she NEEDED abuse. I began to speculate to myself about how we could work this out, and I must admit that it turned me on a little. As I said, I had already started to have rape fantasies about my wife, and what she was saying sounded like maybe she did too. Slowly, carefully, we worked out that she needed permission to be a whore, and if I saw her that way, and treated her that way, (at least in the bedroom) she could get really aroused, and really hot, and really sexy. She needed permission to indulge in that "sicky" feeling again, to feel that "fever" again, and not to deny it...not to suppress it, but to let it out...to let it fly...to rise with it to a realm of sexual ecstasy. She needed to think that feeling "sicky" was alright, was okay, was normal. She needed to admit that she wanted her daddy...and her uncle...and her husband...maybe even all at the same time...maybe mauling her, and pawing her, and slapping her, and hurting her...and ignoring her. Maybe then, she said (perhaps a little dubiously) she could let it all go, and get back to what was REALLY normal. So we started to play the game, and she loved it. And the fantasy part I loved too. She told me that once her uncle had held her down while her father fucked her...so I tied her elbows behind her and put a rope around her neck and tied it to the top of the bed, while I tore off her panties and fucked her roughly. Or I grabbed her hair and forced her to her knees and shoved her face onto my cock, and fucked her mouth. Or (a first for me) I spread her wide and fucked her in the ass from behind...with only my spit for a lubricant. The first time I twisted her nipples hard she came for five minutes straight. All of this kept her happy for about another six months or so, and I tried to slap her and hit her where the bruises wouldn't show, but it began to take more and more to get her off. I'd have to throw her onto the floor, and fuck her ass hard, and then cum on her face while I was pinching her nipples...and still, sometimes, she couldn't have an orgasm. But simple, gentle, loving sex...which was beginning to look better and better to me...just left her absolutely stone cold...and even contemptuous. I longed for the days when we crooned to each other, and kissed a lot, and were loving with each other. She, on the other hand, began to make fun of me for wanting it that way. And it began to piss me off. The first time she called me a queer for wanting it gentle, I punched her in the face and broke her nose. On the way to the hospital she made me stop, and she was desperate for me to fuck her in the mouth...and she came like a ton of bricks, just from sucking me off... while her nose bled all over my underpants. I remember thinking this was really getting sick. When we arrived at the emergency room, she with cum still on her face, she told the intern that we had been having oral sex in the car (fully consensual, she assured him) and that she'd lunged away as I came and banged her nose on the steering wheel. The doctors were more amused that skeptical. After that, my attitude toward Barbara began to change. No longer was she the pretty shy little girl I had married, or even the pretty, shy little wife with a major fetish. I began to see her really as a slut, a whore, an object to be used. I began to fantasize threesomes again... When I finally got around to suggesting that she fuck somebody else while I watched, she didn't even blink. Instead, her eyes got wide, and she got a sly grin. "Oh, Tommy...could I? Would you? Oh, God, I've been fantasizing that for the past three months. But I was afraid to say anything...I do love you." Yeah, right. As if the bitch even knew what the word meant. So I got Ralph, a buddy of mine, to come over one night. He'd never met Barbara (who was, by this time still only nineteen) and when she came into the living room with a tray of drinks, he was polite, but distant. When she went back into the kitchen for the rest of the snacks he whispered to me, "Tommy...what the hell is your daughter doing here? I thought you said..." When I told him that that wasn't my daughter, it was my wife, I could practically see his hardon rising! "OH, WOW! SHE'S the one? SHE is who you want me to fuck?" She came back in with the snacks, and I introduced them formally. She smiled up at him shyly, and made a timid little squeak. She sat down in a chair across from us, blushing. We sat around after that, pretty uncomfortably, trying to make polite conversation about the weather, and the latest political scandal, and internet stocks. Barbara, who was wearing a simple cotton skirt and blouse, ankle socks and light sneakers, was sitting opposite us with her legs tight together, her heels on the floor, very prim and proper, and very scared. Finally, she asked me to come with her into the kitchen to get some more dip. When we got there, she grabbed me and gasped, "Tommy! MY GOD! he looks JUST like my uncle! Did you realize that!" Well, I didn't think he looked anything like Uncle Buck, and I almost said so, but then I stopped. I realized that whether he did or not, she wanted him to look like Uncle Buck. So I just mumbled something inane and got the dip. When we came back into the living room, Ralph looked up expectantly, and I figured it was now or never. I had worked out in my mind how we could proceed, so I just simply said to Barbara, "Okay, girl, there's a ball game on channel 7. Go turn on the TV and then take your clothes off for Uncle Buck and me." Ralph said, "Who's Uncle Buck?" And I said, "You are." And he said, "Huh." Meanwhile Barbara was getting more and more agitated, and she began to blush and fidget. After she turned on the tube, she came back in front of me and began whining, and lifting the hem of her skirt (which was a full, light cotton number, just a girl's summer print skirt, with no slip underneath). "Aww, please, Daddy...I don' wanna. Don' make me take my clothes off...please?" She began writhing in fourteen year old agony...or ecstasy...it was hard to tell which, and she pulled her skirt up, clear to her chin like a six year old, revealing her plain white cotton underpants. "Girl, do what I tell you, now. Don't get me mad at you!" I was improvising here, trying to guess how her father had approached it. However close I was, it seemed to be working. Barbara stopped whining and took off her blouse, skirt, sneakers and ankle socks. She stood before Ralph and me in her bra and panties. Ralph/Buck was practically drooling has he looked over my wife's skinny little body. She was built wide legged, so that there was a gap between her legs at the top, which was emphasized by her thinness. And her tits hardly filled the A cup bra, so that there was even some loose fabric in the cups. She really still looked about thirteen, even her face, which was now flushed and excited. "Now give me my beer, girl." She picked up my beer from the coffee table and tried to hand it to me. I pulled her into my lap and popped her bra hitch. Then I took my beer from her as she shrugged the bra off her shoulders. When it was down by her wrists, I held her by the shoulder with one hand and touched the cold beer can to her left nipple. She gasped as her nipple hardened. As I said, she has practically no tit flesh at all, just these marvelous puffy nipples, one of which was now tight and hard and wet. Ralph was sitting beside me to my left on the couch. Barbara was in my lap with her knees hitting his right knee. He hesitated for a second, looking at me, and I said, "Go at her, boy, she's all yours." That's all he needed. He quickly spit on his left hand and rubbed it on her other tit, which now glistened and hardened like her left one. He pinched both her nipples and stood up, pulling her up by the tits, and drawing her close to him. She stood pressing against him, his fingers still pinching her tits. She bent her head way back and looked up at him, wide eyed. "How did you know...? Oh, God, you ARE Uncle Buck... Oh, God, please don't...please don't do that...please d...d..do that...Oh, do that...do that....DO THAT!! Barbara dropped her hands limply at her sides, and sagged against Ralph, her knees threatening to buckle. She was a rag doll, completely available to his every whim. A fuck doll. An abandoned whore, willing to let him do anything with her. He raked her panties off her, scratching her belly with his fingernails, leaving angry red streaks. He pushed her down on the carpet in front of me, and rapidly shed his clothes. She lay there naked, her legs bent, her cunt open. She gasped as his angry purple hardon popped out of his underpants. Ralph practically threw himself on top of her, and she all but disappeared beneath him. He slammed into her hard, sliding her four inches up the floor, undoubtedly giving her rug burns on her shoulders and butt. He humped her hard for several minutes, both of them sweating and groaning, growling and gasping. She locked her legs around his back and fucked back as hard as she could, bucking, shoving. Then she put her feet on the floor and was practically bridging, with him on top of her, lifting his whole weight with her pelvis, her cunt. She was screaming, "Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me, Daddy. Oh, fuck, fuck, fug, fug...fu...fu..Oh, God! Oh, fuck, Oh, piss, Oh, Buck, Oh Fuck, Oh, Buck fuck, Buck fuck, Bu..Fu...Oh, mmm. Oh...ohh...oooooh... While all this was going on, I got out of my clothes too, and was sitting on the couch, mesmerized by the scene in front of me. I couldn't keep my hands off my own erection, which swelled with every gasp and whimper my wife was making. Suddenly Ralph pulled out of Barbara, knelt back on his haunches, grabbed her legs, and flipped her tiny body roughly into her stomach. Her reddened ass, high and rounded, rose as if by itself as she struggled to her hands and knees. Ralph shoved her shoulders back down, and spread her ass cheeks. He spit into her crack and began working his cock into her rectum. She groaned, and then howled as his knob penetrated her anal sphincter. Then she went limp again like a rag doll. When he was well seated in her ass, he lifted her around her chest, pivoted both of them on one of his knees, and virtually threw the top half of her into my lap. He continued to fuck her in the ass while he grinned at me. He said to her. "Okay, little missy, suck your daddy. Fuck your daddy with your mouth, while I fuck your ass with my big old cock.." Barbara was sweating, and drooling, and sobbing, and her nose was running, but she was also in a trance. She really was just a little fuck doll, a hot, wet piece of meat to fuck and throw away. I loved her and I hated her. She disgusted me and attracted me. I felt the need to come IN her and ON her and OVER her and even THROUGH her. I wanted to kill her and to save her. I came as hard as I've ever come in my life, practically half way down her throat, and I kept fucking her mouth and fucking her mouth...until I began to realize that she was gagging and choking and nearly unconscious. I pulled my cock out of her mouth and she lay gasping and panting on my leg. Her saliva and my cum drooled out of her slack jaw. Her hot and tearstained cheek rested on my thigh, her wet eyelashes flicking. I gradually realized that Ralph had come some minutes ago, and was really just holding Barbara up so I could fuck her mouth more easily. He backed away, leaving her kneeling in front of me with her head lolling in my lap. "Far fuckin' out," was all he said. Ralph and I then just turned our attention to the ballgame on TV. We were just flopping there on the couch in the nude, drinking our beers. Barbara eventually got up and went upstairs, with Ralph's cum and a little blood running down the backs of her legs. Ralph finally grinned sheepishly at me, and started to find his clothes. "God damn, Tommyboy, you got one hell of a vixen on your hands there. No wonder you needed help." But I could tell that he was feeling a little uncomfortable too. The experience had been pretty intense, and not altogether positive...even for him. I don't think he liked what he had learned about himself very much. And I was beginning to feel depressed too. I had had an intense orgasm, gone into outer space even, but, I mean, where the hell did we go from here? How would I get my shy, loving little wife back? Eventually, Ralph went off home, and I went up to bed. We made no plans for a repeat performance. Barbara was quiet and serious for the next couple of days, and we even made love gently once or twice. But it wasn't the same, somehow. It was like we were being formal and careful with each other while she convalesced from some illness. After a week or so our reactions to each other began to get a little more normal (or pre-fetish normal), and I began to have hopes that maybe that was it. Maybe we had exorcised the bogeymen and Barbara was getting back to her old sweet, shy self. That's when I caught her with the magazine. She was in the bathroom, sitting in the nude on the toilet like some teenage boy, masturbating to heavy S & M pictures. She was so engrossed in the activity that I actually walked up and looked at the magazine for maybe ten or fifteen seconds before she realized that I was even there. The sequence I saw showed a woman literally hanging from five or six hooks actually imbedded in her back. (They showed the "after" pictures too, where her back was lacerated and the wounds looked dangerously angry, so they were really doing that to her). [Author's note: if you think I'm exaggerating, try <> some time.] The poor woman was dangling there, suspended on wires. Her cunt was shaved completely, and hooded men moved around her wacking her with switches while they jerked themselves off. Then I spoke. "My God, Barbara. What the hell is this?" She jumped and dropped the magazine on the other side of the toilet. Then she sat up like she was just going to the bathroom, but she looked up at me with major guilt all over her face. "I... oh...I, well I was just..." "I know what you were `just,' Barbara. What I don't know is why. What the hell is going on in your head?" Barbara broke down and started sobbing, but she managed to say, " Oh, Tommy, I don't know...It's like I have this demon inside of me that's just got to have this stuff....Did you SEE that woman? My God what that must be like..." I said rather coldly, "Barbara, I don't want to talk about that woman. That woman is sick or a victim, or both." "I know. But maybe she likes it...or some part of her likes it....maybe she's like me." I knew I was being co-opted into this sickness, but I couldn't help it. I should have just cut off the discussion, but I was still trying to reach her, to pull her back from the abyss. So I said, " But Honey, look at her, look at how sick that is." And this meant, of course, that Barbara now had to look at her again. She had to pick up the magazine and open it to those terrible pages, and study them. And I had to look at them with her. We went into the bedroom together, and Barbara lay on the bed in the nude, holding the magazine. I stripped down to my boxer shorts and joined her on the bed. I intended to croon and cajole her into putting down the magazine and making tender loving love. But first we had to look at the magazine. So we studied it, and I found it more and more repulsive, and she found more and more erotic. I began to get really frustrated. I didn't see any way to get back to the gentleness. Finally I knocked the magazine out of her hands and knelt up facing her. "Alright, Barbara, you want it rough?" She looked scared, but I grabbed her arm and wrenched it behind her back, twisting it up painfully. The fevered look came to her eyes. I grabbed a hairbrush from her bedside table and scratched the inside of her thighs with it, leaving red marks where the hard plastic bristles raked her skin. She was gasping , and clearly going into some sort of sexual frenzy. I forced her onto her stomach and rammed the handle of the brush up her ass. I left it there while I jammed three fingers up her cunt from behind. Then I grabbed her hair and began banging her head against the headboard. She was so small, and helpless, and at the same time so wild and crazy, that I couldn't help myself, something sort of broke inside me. . I flipped her over (the brush still in her ass, now being driven into her by the bed under her), and began slapping her face while I forced my whole hand up her cunt. I was fisting her and crying...and then I threw up. That night I slept on the couch in the living room. The next day, I had to take Barbara back to the emergency room. The hairbrush had done some damage to her rectum. The doctors took care of her efficiently, but this time they were considerably less sympathetic toward me. The same intern who had fixed Barbara's nose several months ago now insisted on taking a statement from me. What the hell was I going to say? They sure weren't going to buy that it was "all her idea." I finally settled on, "Well, we just got a little carried away, sir." Fortunately, Barbara meekly corroborated this version of the truth, and the doctors (and the nurses) settled for just glaring at me and treating Barbara with even greater sympathy. Barbara spent that night in the hospital. I went home and stuffed the S&M magazine into the back of my closet. Don't ask me why I didn't just throw it away. When Barbara came home the next day she was moving very gingerly. She had four stitches in her ass. I was feeling very sorry for her (and for myself) and I was very solicitous. I began to like taking care of her...at least it was a gentle undertaking...one where I could indulge my desire to be loving and kind. But it occurred to me that maybe being loving and kind was a kind of fantasy too...at least it didn't seem quite "normal" anymore. Well, things calmed down again...for about three weeks...while she healed. Then I came home one day a little early, and caught Barbara on the phone. "Oh, god, Oh god. YES! I WANT you to cut my nipples off...Yes, YES, shove that knife up my cunt. Cut me, make me bleed. KILL ME, KILL ME..." Horrified as I was, I just stood in the doorway and dropped my briefcase. Barbara whirled around, caught sight of me, and slammed the phone down. She had her blouse open, and was toying with a razorblade. I screamed at her, "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" "OH, Tommy! Oh, god...I didn't expect you home for another half hour...I was...I was just..." "Jesus, Barbara! No `just' about it this time. Good Christ! Who the hell WAS THAT? " She looked down, "I don't know. Just a guy." "You don't know? YOU DON"T KNOW?? You're talking to strangers about having them KILL you??" "Yeah, well... See he called here about a week ago. Just an anonymous dirty phone call...and I began... talking to him. He wanted to do all these silly, conventional things like come on my face and stuff, and I began to think `Well now, here's a guy I could really educate. No harm done...all talk.' ...So I started talking to him." "About killing you? Jesus, Barbara, don't you realize how dangerous that could be? He's got our phone number...He could get our address..." Barbara was silent. I screamed. "HE ALREADY HAS OUR ADDRESS...DOESN'T HE?" Barbara nodded glumly. Then she said, "But it's not what you think. He would never...." "HOW DO YOU KNOW? How do you know that he would never?" "Because I was talking to my Uncle Buck." The room started moving. I sat down hard on the kitchen floor. After that, things went down hill fast. A week later Ralph came into my office with the personals section of an underground newspaper...just the sort of thing he would be reading, I thought nastily. But in it was this ad: Fuck my wife while I watch. Anything goes. Come in her ass. Tie her up. Beat her. All races, either sex. Bring the gang. Anything short of the hospital or the morgue. Incredibly, it had MY phone number on it! Ralph said, "Did you...?" I was too stunned to respond at all. I thought, of course, that Barbara must have put that ad in the paper herself. I was so upset that I left work right then (It was about ten o'clock in the morning), and went storming home. I should have known better. There were three strange cars parked in front of my house, and one more in my driveway. I didn't even want to go in. With great trepidation I went around to the back door. I let myself in quietly...I'm not sure exactly why...but maybe I thought if I snuck up on this quietly it wouldn't be as bad as I feared. Maybe it was four women who were just gabbing away over coffee in my livingroom. Yeah, right! Good luck... The smell of cigar smoke disabused me of that illusion almost immediately. I stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the livingroom. What I saw made me just turn right around and just sneak back away. Nobody there even noticed me. Barbara had a noose around her neck, which was attached to the hook in the ceiling where we hung the swag lamp. There was a stranger behind her, fucking her in the ass, and one in front of her fucking her in the cunt. A third man was sitting on the couch watching and jerking off, and Uncle Buck (good old Uncle Buck) was burning Barbara's tits with a lit cigar! But it was the look on Barbara's face that finally got me. She was in a fevered sweat, her eyeballs were rolled back in her head, she was gasping in the throes of an intense orgasm, going limp, sagging on the weight of the rope around her neck. After I fled, I stayed away all night. I just drove and drove and drove around. Anyway, about six o'clock the next morning I went home. Barbara was apparently just asleep in our bed. I didn't disturb her. I didn't want to look at her. I showered and changed, and went to work. About two o'clock that afternoon the police came and arrested me. Her mother had found her when she came to pick Barbara up to go shopping. So that's my story your honor... ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Yes, the rope that strangled her was mine. Yes, I smoke that brand of cigar. Yes, you found the S&M magazine in my closet. Yes, You heard from the doctors. (It's ALWAYS the husband's fault, right? ) Yes, you heard from the newspaper. Maybe they're telling the truth when they testified that it was a man's voice who placed that ad, but it wasn't mine. (Did he sound like Uncle Buck I wonder?). And yes, you heard her father act outraged that I would even suggest that he had abused his darling little daughter. Even Ralph told you that it was me who invited him over. But, so help me God, all I ever wanted was a quiet, shy, loving little wife...what I loved about Barbara was her quiet, haunted look. The End (Oh ... Ralph got twenty years to life.) ________________________________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free E-mail from MSN Hotmail at http://www.hotmail.com -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+