She works as a window dresser for some top High Street stores, and is used to posing and photographing the shop-window display dummies. I suppose it i... only natural for her to treat me like one of them, when she wants pictures of me.The villa was lovely, off the beaten track, and quite isolated, which suited us perfectly. Behind the house was an enclosed yard with a small pool, and a horse-shoe shaped seating area. It had wooden seats, which meant you put a cushion or towel down first, to avoid. She wanted to verify whose name I used on the reservation. I used hers. She told me to go to bed and she would wake me when she got home.My mind was racing. I logged off the computer and went into the couch. I turned on the tv but no way I could concentrate. Should I call her and stop it now? Would she pick up? If she did would she say go to bed and don't call again? While all these thoughts were racing through my brain, I noticed that I had a huge erection, or as big as my erection gets! To be. But being able to tell her story to others will have a therapeutic effect.I kept her negative feelings in check enough for her to get through it. What if they come back and overwhelm her?She’s got to grieve. It’s appropriate for her to feel the pain. PTSD perpetuates itself by keeping sufferers from dealing directly with the source of their anguish. They keep shying away from thinking about the incident and the issues involved. I’m cautiously optimistic for this girl.“Marsha, I know it hurts to. And now I am, and I love my life.”“And what did Jackson do?” I asked fearfully. “Oh he killed the bastard. He does love me an awful lot to be honest.”This didn’t shock me in the slightest. Typical Jackson to kill a guy who raped and murdered his beautiful little sister Cassandra. But now, 300 years down the line, she was dressed like a sexy grown up woman, fucking god knows who, and what was he doing… turning humans into puppets so his friends could have a laugh. She sighed, turning to me..