But in the living room, there was no sense that she lived there—not photographs, no knick-knacks. It was just a bit too sterile or too lonely for me... It made me a little sad. Once I’d finished poking around in Chris’s life, I decided I was hungry after all, so I fixed myself a large salad and a beer and read the new Michael Connelly novel as I ate. Connelly is one of my heroes. If I could write like him, or at least half like him, I could die happy. After I’d finished the food, I checked in on. Then the hard leather lefther body. She shook in fear. She heard the loud crack, and feltthe stinging pain of the belt making contact with the soft skin of her ass. Again,and again, he hit her. And it was always hard, because there is no kindnessin punishment. He hit her back, her ass, and the backs of her legs. Theentire time the man played with her nipples, flicking the clamps, keeping thepain constantly cutting through her breasts. Tears poured from her eyes,dripped down her face, and. More

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