It might have been twelve inches long, a kilt. Her shoes were hardly standard, spike heels, about four-inch ones."Sir," she said with a tremble in her voice, Barbie-pink lips pouting, "they said you might help me. I was late registering, missed the train yesterday." She did not seem to be able to stop wiggling and her big jugs jiggled wonderfully, bouncing in and out of her lacy bra. She knew how to stand, how to arch her back and bend her spine and thus display her fine and exciting assets."Pity. Perhaps I can help. Let me see your form and unbutton your shirt." The goal of our school, unstated of course, is to produce competent sluts, females who love to be loved, who can give pleasure in a multitude of ways. It is why so many men send so many daughters to be trained. We take them as young as 12 and graduate all of them by 18, most in a year or so, prime sex partners, eager to give and take. We have had, over our twenty-some years, no complaints and many repeat customers. Cock Suck. Other hands come, groping at you, pulling, pinching… It is like they are trying to rip you apart. You hear a scream as the music falters for a moment, a blood curdling high pitched shriek of pure terror… Shelly!!! You tear yourself away from the many arms, stepping around Chris as he leans back to look up at you… you run, naked, bleeding, across the club, searching for her. ‘SHELLY!!!’ Chains dangle from the ceiling, body parts entangled in them. Blood begins to rain from the ceiling… No matter how hard you search, you can’t find her. You slip again and again in pools of blood. Hands grab at you, trying desperately to hold you back as you run naked, covered in blood, into the street. The rain washes you clean, lightning showing you the way. There is a trail of blood that somehow isn’t being washed away. You follow it, knowing somehow where it will lead. Words echo in your head over and over ‘How could I how could you you did this you let this happen…’ Ahead you see a crumpled.
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