No Flamers, just genuine honest criticism. Thank you, and enjoy reading. *Note this is my own story* You may share it, but cannot claim it or reproduc... it on another site, blog, or such. Doing so shall be considered plagiarism.I am just finished with my shower, the steam still evident in the mirror. Slipping on a pair of well fit jeans, I hear a knocking on my door. Padding from the bathroom hallway across the hardwood of my floor, faint tracks from my still damp feet leading a path through the. I used an ice cube to raise her nipples and then showed her the clamps I would apply to them. She tried to breathe deeply to prepare for the pain but the chest ropes did their job and instead of relief she felt only frustration and immobilisation. The clips were spring loaded and adjustable; she wouldn’t have known how hard they would grip. That day I had set them relatively light as I knew the chair would be doing most of the work during the session. As I applied the first clamp she turned her. Thus, however, I arrived at the very top of all my wishes, by an accident unexpected indeed, but not so wonderful; for this young gentleman was just arrived in town from college, and came familiarly to his mother at her apartment, where he had once before been, though, by mere chance. I had not seen him: so that we knew one another by hearing only; and finding me stretched on his mother’s bed, he readily concluded from her de***********ion, who it was. The rest you know.“This affair had however. Too much mental turmoil. Add in my eagerness to move beyond the theoretical and to ... just fucking do something. Get out there and kick some Wexler butt. Hoffstatter too.I was sitting up in bed, my eyes closed in the Georgetown darkness. My right palm rested lightly on Matt’s chest as it rose and fell evenly.I’d started my quest to find Wexler. To neutralize him, somehow, and bring him in. A naive plan — hang around the Nazi compounds where he’d made the rounds for the Meriwethers. Matt pulled.