I dropped my fingers to the next button, never taking my eyes off Joyce's... then the next, her breathing got a little heavier. 2 more buttons and her...blouse was completely unfastened. Bringing my hand back up, I opened her blouse enough to fully see what I'd had a glimpse of just an hour previously. Joyce's breasts were about a B cup, which is probably why they didn't sag much. Her areolas were about an inch across. A dark brown against her pale skin. What captivated me most, though, was her. He withdrew his penis from her ravished body and stood for a few seconds regarding her from his hood, he turned and was about to move away when she croaked, “what are the initials for,” she wanted his name, the last man ever to have her. Without a word he re-secured her wrists with a rope to the chain and lifted her body. Then from the shadows he fetched a wooden horse its legs body and head decorated and painted like a bizarre fairground piece taken off some fantastic roundabout, on its neck. More

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