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She wiped a couple of tears from her face when she stood up and got her phone. I suggested she stand in front of me and bend over and put her hands on...the coffee table. Mostly I just wanted to see her in that position. Her breasts hung beautifully. I snapped a couple of photos and she took the phone and sent them to her husband. I sipped my water while we waited and she started to sit down in the chair opposite me but seemed to think better of it and just stood beside it while we chatted some. " she screamed out loud, a nurse dropped a tray of surgical instruments, another one dropped a bedpan and everyone in the ward turned to look at me."HE'S AWAKE!"It was her hand that I'd felt in my dream, her breath on my face, it had been her talking to me, but that's bloody ridiculous, she's dead.She felt real though, she even wore that perfume I'd bought her, the one she said she liked, but the dick head didn't.Wait a minute though, mum and dad had been at her funeral and that didn't make any. "Yes master." Wordlessly, I follow my master down the hallway, down some steps, and into his Secret basement/chamber. Before I belonged to master, he used this room as a torture chamber. It still has the same equipment in it, the knives, probes, a chainsaw-looking contraption, and a few other torure devices and machines I dont recognize at all... which both fascinates and terrifies me. “Get on the table,” He orders, motioning to a kind of black, metal examining table with restraints. I quickly. Back on the east coast on the sweltering summer streets of New York City, I had visualized the Great Pacific Northwest as being a vast wilderness with precious few people and dangers that matched the risks of the violent Civil War.On the trek westward, the wagon tracks and the rutted roads dominated my field of vision and we only came into contact with the railroad tracks and the actual trains on rare occasions.Now that I was becoming familiar with the railroad hub of Portland, stretching not.
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