?I’ll take the last five strokes if you keep your left hand inside me.? She said softly, her body pliant. I swallowed hard. ?Do you want th... paddle or the plastic finger?? She moaned again and I knew the answer. I swiveled my body around until my right hand once more grasped the handle of the prosthetic hand. Tenderly, I drew it outward, leaving only an inch left. As I pushed it back in, just as slowly, my left hand pumped inside her, eliciting a longing cry from the bound. I suppose it was her serenity that really outlined her beauty. For her beauty was enough to distract me from the gunfight that day. She really did outshine the entire event. To this day, I cannot remember what had transpired there. Was the bearded man the undercover cop? Was the cop killed? I never could remember, despite the reporters who reminded me afterwords in an interview and the repeated news bulletins that went on and on all that week. All I could see in the little mental movie that. More

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