And then she fell into a musing about Capes. He had grabbed her in the stream, embracing her naked body tightly, running his hands over her breasts and clutching her buttocks. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. The chair was torture. She writhed in ecstasy as she wrapped her legs around his waist, then raised her knees to his shoulders.
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