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All The Nice Girls

“All the nice girls love a sailor…”

I am sure that most people of my age – early 40s – would have heard that song but for me the words never did ring completely true. Never found it easy with the ladies. That social handicap and the life-style of a sailor meant I had reached middle age and had never been married.

Sure, I’d dallied a bit, had the odd longer relationships amidst the flings and the one night stands but never found the one or been found by her.

But that did not mean I wasn’t appreciative of the fairer sex. It’s just that I had definite feelings about the way they should be treated that made my finding partners that bit more difficult than the normal man with normal tastes.

So, having done my time and still alone, I took retirement, along with a good size, hard earned, financial terminal grant, and eagerly settled down into a new life.

I looked forward to this new beginning. I had a project I had been planning with increasing expectations for some time. I had my pension which was enough for day to day needs so I combined my terminal grant lump sum with my savings and invested in what I hoped would be a fun future.

A nice big Georgian house in a big University city.

My plan?

To offer lodgings to students.

Female students.

It would give me an additional income and an interesting and rewarding hobby. A hobby that would cater in part for my ‘Special interests’ as far as females were concerned.

That’s right: I was going to do a bit of spying!

My expertise in the Navy had been in electronics, specialising in my senior years with the security and surveillance services.

Secret surveillance and spying? I was the man. An expert! And now I meant to use it for my advantage.

My prime driving expectations in this, some would say ‘obscene’, venture were to enjoy the voyeuristic delights the close proximity of the girls made possible.

Secret voyeurism, of course.

But I must admit there tickled and teased at the back of my consciousness that in gathering the video evidence of my females at play in the ‘privacy’ of their rooms might well furnish me possible blackmail material.

Not that I wanted to ruin the lives of my victims, I take pains to point out, but, given my taste for submissive women and the dreams fuelling them to this point, it was a real opportunity to experience something most of us go from cradle to grave fantasising about without once realising our cravings in a real and physical sense.

If, my rationale went, I saw and recorded young college girls doing the sorts of things they would not want their parents to see, then maybe my silence could be traded for some personal services on their part.

And the application of a little light punishment and discipline maybe?

Well, that would be good too.

The future, I’d assured myself as I put my plans in motion, could be bright.

My investment was a three storey house in a genteel and secluded neighbourhood at the edge of the campus and I had the place set up with the ground floor as mine, apart from one large general lounge area, with two bed-sit apartments on the middle floor and a third on the top floor.

Up at the top I fitted a good bathroom – each bed-sit being equipped with and en-suite but only containing a shower.
The middle floor also had a communal kitchen with a table and chairs for social dining if so required, although the bed-sits were well furnished as individual living spaces.

In all, this was as good as it got in student accommodation terms as I wanted to attract the right sort.

Female and pretty!

Oh! Yes! Did I not mention it? There was also a cellar, essential to my needs as I needed somewhere private and lockable for my ‘Equipment’.

Once the building was ready for occupation I got the Uni authorities to vet it and accept it as suitable for their students.

Then I spent a few days putting in my own personal additions, making it suitable for me.

Every room in the house except mine, I fitted with a series of miniature spy cameras. I didn’t want to miss a thing! Bath room, kitchen, bed-sitting rooms and en-suites, all covered, from every angle.

Then I equipped the ‘Surveillance room’ – the cellar itself.

The stuff that went down there –even with the equipment I already had- set me back a pretty penny I can tell you, but I knew it was going to be worth it once the pretty girls arrived.

I must admit, I was feeling pretty horny by the time the big day arrived. The day the girls started auditioning for me.

Three of them rolled up individually, list of addresses to hand, casting their eyes upon the house frontage in questioning ways as they came to my front door. All three were understandably (justifiably?) nervous about taking lodgings in a house with only a male landlord and they went away again, unconvinced of my suitability.
No problems with the rooms and furnishings, you understand. It was me. Again having my usual problems attracting young women.

One of them, though, was smart enough to return with a younger friend, a sort of chaperone who immediately turned into a prospective tenant when she saw the above average surroundings I was offering.

Offering mutual assurances to each other they both took a bedsit.

The original girl was in her third year and a bit brassy, loud of the mouth and not especially pretty, but attractive by character. She presented a challenge, being so up front. It would be specially rewarding for me to see such a cocky bird stripped off, on my electronics down in the cellar.

The younger girl was enthusiastic about the rooms and willing to take the older girl’s advice that it would be fine to share. She seemed quite a catch. Pretty and just 17 years old as it turned out, with a bit of a cheeky attitude, she had shorter cut dark brown hair and bright eyes. A little charmer and a great prospect for my immoralfun.

They took the two rooms on the middle floor.

Another girl turned up but I turned her down. She was a ‘dog’, as the navy vernacular had it. As chauvinistic and choosy as the rest of my service colleagues when not under the influence of booze, I did not want to see her undressed!
Quickly enough though, my third ‘customer’` rolled up.

She was shy but after looking round and hearing that there were already two other girls booked in she was eager enough to sign a rent card.

Fair haired and sweet, Sophie made up my set.

All they had to do now was move in and then we would be away.

Fun time for Carl!

Two days later, three sets of doting parents delivered three sacrificial lambs to my door, saw them comfortably ensconced and went away, leaving them in my loving hands.

Three rooms occupied, the monitoring systems in the cellar sprang into life and we were GO!

Those first few hours I hardly came up from the cellar. There was so much to watch! Those girls teased me and didn’t even know it.

It was delicious! And more than enough to consign those few pangs of guilt I’d been experiencing for what I intended to the bottom of the cesspit that serves as a description of a lustful singleton’s morality. What can I say: I’m a man.
It was fun, getting to know them. Not so much face to face, although there was necessarily a little of that, but more on my electronics downstairs. My watching systems caught everything in the house from the top two floors and the evenings were particularly enjoyable.

There was, as you can imagine, a lot to see and listen to.

But my fun-times were not restricted just to bed time. Day-time TV proved to be quite rewarding too.

These girls didn’t spend much time at College – lazy little bitches. There would usually be something – or someone – to watch any time night or day. Late up and staggering about in their flimsy night clothes perhaps as they rustled up toast and marmalade, tits busting out of nighties or half-open PJ tops. Even when they met each other in there, it was all girls together with not too much need for propriety.

But when they came back early from their so-called ‘Studies’ for a lazy afternoon, that was the best time during the day. They would crawl in as though they had done a hard day’s work and collapse onto their beds. Dirty little bitches that they were, this would usually subtly change from resting to more sexily minded activities. I suppose they were thinking about their boyfriends – or the vibrators all three of them kept in their bedside drawers. Even shy Sophie.

More often than not that would lead after a few minutes to touching themselves up.

Then off would come the troublesome outer clothing, to be discarded willy-nilly to the floor. Then it was hands rubbing where they shouldn’t and the sighing would start. Out would come their ladies’ friends to be set buzzing and used.

I was a little aggrieved to suffer from the strange inbuilt female modesty in these youngsters. Like most women, even alone they did not like to take all their clothes off. But even so, I saw some lovely sights as they made themselves comfortable and brought their lithe, lustful young bodies to, often, repeated cums.

Anyone who thought girls didn’t masturbate much –not many, surely?- would be shocked by what went on in my house.

And I had it all recorded on the hard disks!

Even when I wasn’t there everything was set for it to be recorded and played back later in case I’d missed anything.

Being the tidy-minded sort of fellow I am, of course, I edited out the boring bits and kept the best moments, saving them onto hard disks, one for each girl. Noisy, dirty little highlights of their indecent activities. Kept for posterity for my old age.

And ready if -any chance ever arose for me- to use as leverage.

Meanwhile, they were certainly keeping me busy and entertained!

I must say, I was shocked by the way these young girls carried on. The morals of today’s young women is not as it was in my day. This sexual freedom thing had a lot to answer for – and provided this happy hypocrite with some sexy sights and sounds.

It was all quite disgusting – I’m glad to say. My only regret was that there seemed to be no prospect of lesbian play. Although there might be the occasional trying on of each other’s clothes, getting down to underwear level together had no sexual connotation as far as I could see.

But mustn’t be greedy. Can’t have everything, can we? And watching them prance around in their underwear prior to providing me with a fashion show was no small consolation.

The communal bathroom proved very fruitful. It seemed for a female a shower was mainly for getting clean but a bath was for luxuriating in. And masturbating!

Oh yes, there was plenty of that.

Masturbating!

These were very healthy, hormonal young girls.

In bed, in the shower, even in front of their TVs in their rooms. Even shy Sophie was not past putting her hand up under her dress if she was watching some particularly handsome young man on the TV.

In fact, to put it bluntly, these were three randy little bitches I had got and I was as proud as Punch with my selections. Watching them play was great. And it was a labour of love, cobbling together the best bits for each girl onto her very own, carefully labelled portable hard drive to be kept for posterity.

There were other perks to the job too. Being dirty little girls, they gave me reason to chastise them verbally and I enjoyed that too. Despite my request that they keep the place clean, the communal kitchen on the middle floor soon degenerated into a general disaster area. I had to call them together and give them a group bollocking.

It gave me quite a thrill to have them stood there, silent, heads bowed, eyes lowered as I berated them for not cleaning up after cooking or eating. Didn’t they know that slackness like that in a kitchen was the quick way to sickness?

Having them stood there so submissively while I tore into them was almost as great a thrill as my less in the face activities and I wished I could have taken them off one by one to apply a little personal punishment. Instead I had to settle for writing up a fantasy about it on my computer dealing with what I would have done had I been able.

I wrote quite a few pieces about my three ‘Dream slaves’.

A little bit of male power applied, plus a little make-believe to follow up with, and I was masturbating and happy. I wrote many a little wish-fulfilment tale on my computer where I had the authority and right to punish them properly. Strip spankings for each of them in turn followed by a good punishment fucking!

That would teach them!

Oh, yes!

This was thrilling stuff.

Anyway, as I put my foot down about cleanliness so I did about no boyfriends coming in. I had thought long and hard about allowing male visitors. In the end I decided they were not welcome, not even at daytime. I didn’t want to see hairy arses bobbing up and down. There would only ever be one of those in my house and it wouldnot belong to some pimply undergrad.

And that paid off I think, mostly late at night when my dirty little female companions would come in all frustrated and strip off in their rooms and get out their toys.

Plenty of dildos and vibrators.

Modern female youth; I ask you!

Their individual bedrooms were their own responsibility and I would not dream of entering any of them except for maintenance problems when they requested it. For reasons I imagine obvious, I was meticulous in observing the social proprieties along those lines. My girls needed to fell safe in their own rooms.

Safe to play.

And when they did and got all hot and sweaty and nearly naked, I was not averse to stripping off in the cellar and joining in;. masturbating with them on my own, if you see what I mean, and having immense fun trying to gear my orgasm to theirs.

All good –unclean but ultimately harmless, I told myself- fun.

Damn good fun!

Soon I had such a preponderance of personal porn that was taking up so much space on hard-drive. and USB and disc, I wondered what I was going to do with it all.

Then it was decided for me.

Everything went wrong. In a very big way!

There came the first three month property check by the university authorities and Stephanie came into my life.

I didn’t know it then but I was about to be changed in a fundamental and shattering way.

It was the first time I had met her; she was not the rather stern woman who had originally vetted the place. Steph was pretty although mature. Almost my age I guessed.

The girls were pre-warned to be present and this Steph spoke to each of them in turn whilst inspecting their rooms, then she came to me to see if I had any problems with things.

I jokingly asked if she were open to bribery, to keep the contract going. Clearly a joke –the place was really as good as students could expect- and she grinned and asked how much I had in mind.

I suggested a restaurant. I would love to buy her dinner.

She’d smiled but neatly patted my offer away.

A bit presumptuous of me, I admit. But I was so buoyant in my man-superior state that I persevered.

Not like me at all.

Lunch then? How long did she get? I had heard that the new place at Cherry Hinton was very good.

So it was that, with a little more persuasion from me, she graciously accepted and allowed me to spend a lunchtime in her company.

It went surprisingly well and later she allowed me to buy her that dinner.

And after that dinner she let me kiss her.

The pace took on a life of its own after that and within a couple of weeks she was not averse to slipping into the house and into my bed.

Of course, intimacy leads to comfort and…

Save it to say that the intimacy we shared led directly to my downfall. The fall, as it normally is, triggered by a loose tongue. My guard went down and I let slip a fatal nugget of information.

Young Claire came in while we were still in my lounge area one evening and popped her head round the door to wish us good night. Steph teased me by surmising that I would probably like to have that bright-eyed little minx share our bed.

“I bet she looks good naked!” she said, teasing me.

And I said she did!

Prat!

I could feel myself colouring up and had to take our wine glasses for a top-up to get away for a moment. Never-the-less, when I returned I still got a funny look and an awkward question. When had I seen Sophie naked?

I made up some cock and bull story about her coming out of the bathroom and dropping her towel
but the confusion and bluster gave me away.

A woman can always tell when a man is lying about sex. And that came home to roost not long after. Nothing further was said at that time but the atmosphere had changed. The seeds of doubt were sewn and they took root and grew.

When I tried my old trick of holding her arms above her head as I fucked her, she asked, “What do you think you are doing?” in a voice so cool that it cost me my erection.

I gave it a couple of nights and then tried again.

“Can I tie you down?”

“No you fucking can’t!”

More awkwardness between the sheets and more suspicion on her part.
I should have cut and run right then, but I didn’t.

More fool me!

Shortly after that little contretemps, I had a Naval Reunion to go to and asked if she could pop in and keep an eye on the place in my absence.

What had I been thinking?

I would be away from Friday morning to Monday and it would be all time she required to satisfy her female suspicions.

When I returned she was there, waiting for me, hands on her hips and practically steaming.

I had seen women like this before and thought: “Fuck! What the hell’s wrong with the silly bitch now?”

I had hardly put my bag down when she told me.

“I found the key to the cellar. I had a look down there!”

I froze. Jesus! What did she…..

Then my anger snapped in.

“You had no right……”

With a snarled and vicious, “I had every right! Professionally and personally!” she cut right across me. Louder than me, angrier than me, she silenced me.

She threw a set of photographs onto the coffee table. One of each of my three student tenants – naked!

My world froze.

She knew!

I had thought everything was safe down there. I had been indulging myself, building a card index system, a photographic record that would grow over the years as these girls moved on and were replaced by fresh flesh. I had been that confident and now I had been discovered!

“What would the authorities say if I took these and showed them? Took them to the police?”

Her face was distorted with fury and disgust.

I stood in shock. The roof of my world had just fallen in and…

Wait a minute; what was that oh-so-important little two-lettered word she had used:

If!

She had said it, hadn’t she?
Clutching at straws, I hoped against hope that what I had heard was correct. That she was NOT going to report me.

She stared at me – hard.

“So now I know what sort of man you are and what sort of dirty thoughts you have about women.”

She paused and sat forward on the settee to emphasise her words.

“I understand now why you wanted to tie me up.”

There was all the accusation in the world in those last few words.

Contempt you may take as read.

So my secret was out, at least to her. Shaking with shock, I wondered, could the damage be confined? Would Steph keep my secret?

I started to babble apologies and she silenced me with a vicious: “Shut up! That’s not all!”

It got worse.

With an expression of true accusation she told me she had looked at what I had on my computer too and had found my porn. Including my masturbation writings, stuff I had written myself. Some of it old stuff but, damningly, some new, written about these three girls who lived in my house and what I would do to each of them, given the chance. Detailed descriptions including rape.

Lips curled with disgust, she told me she had seen the other stuff too. Illegal stuff, that showed me up for the pervert that I was. Stuff, she knew, and knew I knew, that was worth years in jail!

I was almost in tears, tears of self-pity, now; what was she going to do?
“I only wrote about it. I never did anything!” I whined, wringing my hands in despair.

Then; far from the dominant man of my own stories she had just read:

“Please don’t tell the girls! Don’t tell anyone. I will do anything you want!”

She was staring up at me scowling.

Suddenly she went calm. She sat down and surveyed me, eyes cold and calculating, letting me suffer. Then she sat back and told me what was going to happen and I see now that she had thought it all through carefully while I had been away.
Both her deliberations and her actions were watertight.

All that porn stuff of mine that she had found on my computer was all safely saved. Safe for her use as required. That and copies of the individual hard drives of the girls that I had recorded. Saved, but not here. Not in this house and not in hers either. Safe where it where it could be automatically sent on to the police with a single short phone call from her if I wasn’t…. amenable.

Or indeed if anything happened to her.
I had better hope, she had told me, that she stayed lucky and accident free.

She had thought it out from all angles.

I could beat her with neither superior logic nor physical violence.

I was in her hands!

She underlined the fait accompli by telling me that, if I did as I was told, the really criminal stuff would remain a secret between us. But, if I wanted to argue, it would automatically be released to the police.

I nodded my understanding and gave her genuine thanks for not reporting it.

I was not so stupid I didn’t know when I was well and truly in the shit and I was certainly not above crawling – though my facility for so doing; despite the undeniable pressure; seemed to come to me in a worryingly natural way.

Putting that particular worry aside for the time being and sweating with tension and relief, I wondered how deep the damage was and what form it would take.

I had to ask the question.

“Have you told the girls?”

Steph shook her head: “Not yet!”

Not yet?

What did she mean by that?

Coldly, calm-voiced now, she laid down her conditions:
“I am not going to tell them about what you have written about them on your computer. Not unless I have to.”

I gave a sigh of relief for that at least.

“But I am going to show them what you have been recording down in your cellar.”

Fucking hell! NOOOO!

“I am going to let them decide what to do about that.”

Now I really was sweating. They would tear me apart! And I actually said as much to her.

Steph disgustedly observed it was what I deserved. However…….!

Another magic word to hang on to. However…..what?

Steph told me with a leer that she would do her best to persuade them to deal with me themselves and keep it –literally– in house.

I would have to be punished of course.

Her words having calmed me a little; this last, said with a grin, frightened me all over again.

She went on to say she thought she could maybe persuade them to do all the punishing themselves. It would have to be long term, of course. A sort of permanent arrangement. And maybe I should spend the few minutes we had before they started arriving home thinking up suggestions as to how I could be treated to pay them back for what I had done.

Meanwhile, I could get stripped naked. That is how she wanted them to find me when they came in!

“Please! No!”

My begging was of no use.

“GET STRIPPED!”

It was almost a shout – and I was in no position to argue, as she pointed out, and I needed to remember that.

“Your choice,” she told me in a lowered voice that was no less menacing. “Strip here for me and the girls or strip for the prison officers.”

Her eyes held mine and I could see the bitch who’d recently shared my bed was enjoying herself.

“Your choice,” she finished.

As I undressed she taunted me, saying my being naked would help with persuading them not to involve the police. “Give young girls a helpless nude man to play with and most of them will leap at the chance. Specially one who has to be punished!”

She made me stand in front of her, all clothing removed, hands behind my back. I was tight as a drum, listening for the dreaded sound of their arrivals.

“You better learn to control that,” she sneered. I was getting a half-erection! Being nude in front of her was doing that to me even under these terrifying circumstances.

The three colour photos lay in full show on the coffee table. Clear indictments of my crimes against society and particularly against the three girls who lodged in my house.
They were still laying there when the front door opened and Kate appeared in the hall.

“Oh! Jesus! I am sorry!”
Her apology and rapid withdrawal from the open doorway on seeing me naked was quickly stifled by Steph.

“No, no, Kate! Come in. You need to see what this bastard has been doing!”

Still Kate was a bit dubious about entering the room with me being naked. She probably thought she had walked into Steph and I doing something sexual. All the same, she did give my nude body a good quick check up and let her eyes linger on my cock as she grasped the tension in the air.
“Done something pervy, has he? Doesn’t surprise me!”

Then she saw the photos Steph had so conveniently left on show.

“You bastard! You fucking pervert!” Kate exploded, holding up the photo of her using her vibrator as though I hadn’t seen it before. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

She checked the other photos and muttered and swore again.

“You want to know how he got them?” Steph asked. “The cellar’s full of surveillance equipment. There’s tiny secret spy cameras all over the house. Bathroom, toilets, everywhere!”

Right on cue, the front door opened again. Claire and Sophie were coming in together.

“What the hell’s going on here?” Claire was into the room only a fraction behind her question. Then she saw me and her eyes went wide like saucers. She too checked me out.

Sophie, being Sophie, averted her eyes, hesitating, not even entering the room. Well, not until Claire reacted to the photo she found of herself.

Before anybody could intervene, before I could take evasive action or even see it coming, an incensed and infuriated Claire had stormed across to me, photo waving in the air and smacked my face.

Hard!

She held the photo up to my face. On it she was posed nude in front of her mirror, one hand cupping a breast the other busy at her groin.

She called me every dirty name under the sun.

“Put your hands behind your back!”

That was Steph from the settee, her voice calm and clear. Establishing her control over me in front of the girls. Very much in charge.

I obeyed. I needed her to keep the depths of my abuse secret. If these girls read what I had written I would do to them once I blackmailed them…………

It didn’t bear thinking about!

So far Steph had kept the real damning stuff from the girls. I had to obey!

“Do you want to give him a good slap, Sophie?” she asked.
Sophie had edged into the room to look at the photo of her. She looked up from it and at me with absolute loathing, There were tears in her eyes. I had printed a photo-shot taken from a video of her in the bath, hand between her soap-bubbled legs and her face distorted in midst orgasm.

“No! I’d like to cut his balls off!”

“Maybe later!” Kate only half-joked with an icy, bitter calm.
Kate told her two companions about the secret cameras. Steph elaborated further and told them about the recording equipment and how there were mobile hard disks down there, “One for each of you, with your names on. What he calls his highlight collection.”

Gestured at me, Kate ground out the shattering truth:

“He’s been watching us ever since we moved in? Recording everything?”

She had the grace to blush a little as she spoke. She knew what I had seen her doing.

Claire, still close by, punched me – wham! – in the middle of my stomach.

Ooooh! I folded over as much with the shock as with the weight of the blow. Claire was a slight girl and young – but very, very angry.

“Hands behind your back again! Stand up straight!” snapped my new Mistress.

Steph’s orders to me impressed everybody, I could see that, and perhaps at that moment ideas about the future started to be born.

I was doing as I was told.

Possibilities?

Claire voiced something that was probably on all their minds.

“He hasn’t been in our rooms has he? Touching our knickers and things?”

I anxiously assured them I hadn’t and Steph turned on me sharply.

“Shut your mouth! Don’t speak unless you have permission!”

My words didn’t help any, anyway.

As if they would believe me!

Kate said she wanted to see down this cellar. Steph flashed the key and we descended, me in their midst, shepherded along naked!

Six monitors flickered gently, four bedrooms, the kitchen and the bathroom on display.

Three pairs of startled female eyes surveyed what my cameras saw and the array of equipment, all red lights aglow as recordings were made.

Claire and Sophie picked up the Portable Hard Drives with their names on and clutched them as though preventing the world seeing what was on them.

Despite the low lighting down there, I could see they were both pale with shock.

Kate though was red-faced with anger. Not for her the timid way. Now she slapped my face! And she called me a cunt.

As she made to slap me again, I raised my hands to protect myself and she stopped me dead with an icy glare and snapped, “Don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking dare! Put your hands where they should be!”

She was following Steph’s lead and in my confused state I didn’t know if that were a good thing or bad. It kept things literally `in house` but I had to take what was coming from them.

In this case, another hard slap to my face. I had tears of shame and pain in my eyes; I could feel them. But I kept my hands clutched together behind me.

This emboldened Sophie, who suddenly burst out of her shell in fury. She pushed me in the chest, moving me physically backwards, face distorted with hatred. She told me they could all see what I had been doing and I would be going to prison for a long, long time and I fucking deserved it.

“Yeah! I’ll phone the police now!” screeched Claire, brandishing her phone.

As she pressed buttons, one of those crazy momentary thoughts ran through my head. Would she get a signal down here?

Of course that was entirely superfluous to this situation. She could walk up the stairs and phone and there was no way I could stop her. There were four of them and one of me.

As it was, Kate stopped her. There was time for that later – if they wanted to play things that way.

“Maybe we can fix this pervert ourselves.”

Sophie joined in. “Ugh! It makes me feel sick. Him down here looking at this sort of thing then watching me – us – probably doing …things to himself.”

There was a telling hint of shame as her voice tailed off. She was recalling too what she had done; what I had watched. The things she had done to herself.

“You mean wanking?” piped up Kate “Yes. Of course he did. He is a wanker. Aren’t you – you fucking pervert?”

She stepped close to me and raised her hand as if to strike me again.

“Answer me!”

I admitted I was and tried to explain that I had never been any good with girls or women.

She sneered that she could understand that. I was a weirdo!

“Him wanking while I shower.” said Claire, disgusted..
“Or using the toilet!” Kate obligingly pointed out.

“So are you going to call the police or see to him yourselves?” Steph asked, bringing the voice of calm to the maelstrom of emotions.

She offered her assistance if they would accept it. “I owe him some bad times, some `pain`, myself!”
Her more mature slant on things certainly interested her listeners. Her use of the word `pain` got attention too.

“I’d like to hurt him, give him some pain,” declared Claire.

I believed her…

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