Jennifer explained to me that when being regressed the hormones makes the subject very sexual. She looked back at her naked lover, who stood relaxed, his arms at his sides, wearing only a maddeningly impudent grin. And, yet, she so desperately ached to feel fingers inside her, to feel each wall stroked individually at the same time, to feel the sharp but momentary pinch of finger nails, to feel the different patterns of movement all at once in a flurry of chaos inside her. With steady hands he snapped the sight to the barrel and raised the stock to his shoulder. He was nerdy, to be sure, but somehow he seemed less so to a girl in love. Jesera sighed and relaxed into the message. She was surrounded by a throng of admirers, beaming from ear to ear, and weighed down by an armload of flowers. Water fight, looked like, with a bunch of teenagers. The inside was a disheveled mess. I was trying to teach her to beg prettily for mercy when she was tied up and being whipped.
