Mother's into Sado-Mazo

Начало книги

"No! No! Don't whip me, Uncle Jim! Please, don't whip me!" Cori Foster pleaded.

Her bare feet whipped back and forth against the dead autumn leaves. It was cold outside, the night wind stirring the bare branches overhead and whistling through the small grove of pines.

But Cori felt nothing but the sheer power of her terror as she hung there from the overhead branch. Her naked asscheeks jiggled against one another while she banged her knees painfully against the bark of the tree trunk. Uncle Jim had dragged her out stark naked from the shower by the hair, throwing her into the dirt and backhanding her into a stunned semiconsciousness. When she shook off the stupor, Cori found herself tied to the tree, the quarter inch line crisscrossed around her wrists in figure eights biting painfully into her flesh.

He was drunk again. Uncle Jim was always mean when he was drunk. But he had never abused her this badly before.

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