She was good. Flattery to butter me up, then subtle insults to manipulate me into doing what she wanted. I was full of admiration. And I was NOT rusty.
This was hell. Not that medieval painting of horned dudes gnawing on limbs and fucking asses. Wet jeans were far worse than chewed up limbs and a sore rectum. I knew this for a fact.
I very much wanted to hide. Maybe if I stood really still, he wouldn’t see me. Wouldn’t see me here, all bloody, in a wrecked house, holding a mangled arm.
“And she’s naked again,” Candy said, getting to her feet and dusting off her pants. “There doesn’t seem to be a day that goes by that I’m not treated to the sight of your naked body. Can’t you possibly do this without losing your clothing?”
