My mother felt comfortable, there. It was totally different from my birthplace, if I had but known. I did not find that out until much later.It was di...ferent, yet it was more similar than she could know.It was in the sixth and seventh grades that I discovered a world that was totally different from that which everyone else was aware.I quickly learned not to say a thing about it, either! Children are not stupid! The few experiences I had earlier with my mother, in mentioning what she considered. Stepping behind me you kick my knees apart, I overbalance and my face hits the carpet. My ass is in the air and before I know you grab hold of my thong and rip it from me, you unhook my bra and it falls forwards, I then hear the rattle of handcuffs. Bending my arms upwards and crossing the wrists you click them closed and I hear you walk across the room. If I thought I was nervous before, it was nothing to how I feel as I hear you return. ‘You are on-time, that’s one less punishment for you –. The word came out as a breathy whisper. The gasping word of someone hardly awake. I was dreaming. It felt like a dream. But unlike my dreams, his touch was real.His hands moved over the swell of my breasts and cupped them. I gave a start, letting out a sharp gasp like a swimmer diving into cold water. His fingers closed over my nipples and tweaked them, rolling them around between index finger and thumb. My mouth was open, but I wasn't aware of breathing. I arched my back and thrust my breasts. They survived for three days before finding shelter in the only building in the entire island: a shrine to a deity called Ragaraja at the top of a mountain that sat in the middle of the landmass. One of the survivors, a Japanese soldier, found an old book inside the shrine, its pages crusty from the general humidity and heat of the island’s climate.The book told of an ancient ritual to Ragaraja which would grant its participants gifts to transcend humanity’s limits. It consisted of an offering.