I stood for about two minutes when I heard footsteps getting closer , they were slow and the noise of the leaves and little twigs got closer and close... until they stopped . my heart started to race , oh god what have I done ? I thought to myself. i slowly turned my head to look over my shoulder and saw a middle aged man looking at me with his hand leaning against his zip on his jeans .I turned back , but soon heard more footsteps , this time coming from another area . they stopped , and again I. Releasing both of Staceys hands Jessica tied them behind her back tightly, then releasing her ankles and tied them tightly to the spit, seeing that Stacey was now ready to roast Call the spit crew for pickup, use the phone there dial 6500 and tell them, you have a pickup for them he said pointing to the phone, Jessica made the call and within seconds two large men came in and picked Stacey and her spit up over their shoulders and carried her away. As she watched the men carry Stacey away her. There didn’t appear to be any major muscle damage, although the cut was long and deep, probably from a knife or saber, and would require several stitches to close so it would heal properly. I figured it hadn’t become septic because of the steady bleeding. It wasn’t a gusher, but he would still weaken from loss of blood if it was left untreated. I tried to give him a local for the pain but he refused it so I handed him a piece of leather to bite down, on telling him it was going to hurt like. How did men ever survive without women to help them? I was Sarah now completely. Or *we* were her. I'm not sure which. All I know, is that it was a wonderful feeling as the feminine thoughts completely filled my mind, surrounded me, and washed over me. Like stepping into a hot shower, washing away the dirt and sweat of a hard day, femininity washed over me, cleansed me of any last vestiges of maleness, and left me clean, pure, and exhilarated. Then there were the emotions. It was like a dam had.