Harder and harder, my fingers moved as the nipple clamp bit into me. The palm of my hand pressed tightly against her hard clitoris, stimulating that,...too. It was a way of transferring my pain to her - but not as pain, but as pleasure. And she came. Yes, all the old cliches about the woman's moanings and cries for "more" are all true. How else does one decribe actuality? But this woman I knew was different and sure enough, as I expected, I felt around my now aching fingers in her cunt an. Why couldn't things come out the way I wanted? I sometimes thought that the characters in my books and stories were alive and that they mocked me at times by doing exactly what I didn't want them to do. Or saying things that were out of character and changed the whole line of the story. Why couldn't they just behave?The first slice of lightning that cut through the sky seemed to land almost right outside my house. The thunder behind it was a low rumble to start then built to a bass drum beat. More

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