They were muddied with dirt; and there was a tear in one heel.Her white blouse was unbuttoned and it was separated from her skirt, and it billowed in the wind. There was nothing beneath it, no bra to shield her breasts from the uncompromising face of their fate, because she, and they, were staring blindly at the unflinching grimace of an imposing old English Oak tree.It was gnarled, ugly and Cecily fidgeted awkwardly as she looked at it. She was experiencing an uncontrollable urge to pee because she was scared of what was about to happen and there was a numbness in her fingers and an overwhelming sense of panic.It was only a tree, she was thinking... only a tree... but it wasn't. It was an instrument of torture. The evidence was seen in the holes puncturing its bark. The holes were at chest level, and Cecily knew that countless other women had previously stood where she now stood, shivering and frightened, and waiting to have their breasts nailed to its wood. It never got easier.. As he said and started shifting his position, kept his head over my lap and kept talking. Not that big a deal I guess looking at his normal pace of conversation. I dont know why you have to butter me up, thats what your dad is for. Jesus, cant a guy give a compliment without complications? He uttered those words in a mocking way, and I gave a slap on his forehead. He shouted Oww, and glanced back at the TV screen. I felt some movements of his head as it came closer up my thigh, maybe he was doing it not knowing, but it seemed far too frequent and his head movements were like rubbing my thigh, like a massage. I felt something. Not down there, but my heart began to beat faster. It does so when you are lying or in an excited state they say, but Why does it feel so now. I dont know. He kept doing it, now more subtly, but I noticed. It felt different. And after a few minutes I reached over to the table to grab the bowl of chips and my boobs were so close to his face that my heart started.
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