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And some other things where included inthere as well.I wasn't sure where it all went so "Ma'am? Where do I begin?" and withher help she instructed me what to do and where it all went. I put onknee high white stockings over which I put on this long pale pink FrenchBloomer pants. The bloomers had lace around the top and just below theknees. There were three ties at the crotch, and I did them up into bowsas instructed.The boots out of the bottom of the closet where the old fashion buttonup kind, and I pulled this on my feet and buttoned them up. She directedme over to the machine over off to the side and told me it was a corsetlacer. She instructed me to get into the corset, pull it up around mywaist and hook the ties to the four different arms. After I had donethat the machine turned on, and the laces began to tighten. It hummedalong for a moment and then stopped. I found it harder to breath but notextremely so. That when she told me to reach up, and grab a hold of thehandles above me.. The dizziness grabbed at her again and she heaved dry, wracking heaves. For an eternity, she lived in that world between waking and the ghastly nightmares of sleep. She could not tell what was real and what was still a bad dream clinging to her mind.At last the body came into focus. He was familiar, but he was not Ryan McGuire. There was no blonde hair. No bloody Athamé held in his hand. She turned him to look at the face and tears flooded her eyes. Wesley! J. Wesley Allen. Her beloved. Her husband. What had she done?She raised him and cradled him in her arms, whispering his name over and over, unable to believe that she had injured him. Wesley would not awaken. She raised her head to the heavens in accusation and wept. The sound of her voice died in the empty distance without an echo.Wesley’s head fell back on her arm as she gathered him close. She looked into his glazed eyes and he looked back without comprehension. She moved her hand to brush his hair from his face and was.
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