Terrified, the women’s hearts pounding as they frantically jam their manicured fingernails repeatedly across the buttons on the pad, the back of the elevator creaking, somehow thumping open, the brunette’s back buckles by a ramming force against her kidneys, her bowing, curling body thrust out from the elevator like a rag doll, breathless from the incredible pain shooting up her spine as her flailing high heels skip across the floor from her bare feet.Uncountable silhouettes of the dark clothed creatures pouncing, circling her, rip at her clothing from her spiraling body as she’s jerked, pushed, stretched by the gripping, clawing fangs mauling at her quickly baring flesh as she’s harshly raised, tossed about in mid air. The sound’s raw; curling above the brunette’s breathless screeches even as she gasps for breath, struggles to plead. ?No? Not? Not me!... Not me!!... Noooooooo!?The blonds’ knees buckling as she drops, her tensing body sliding down against the side of the elevator,. But it was out on the table. Her husband wanted her to pose for a photographer -- a German photographer -- in the nude. What he said was true. He loved the photographs that appeared in "Penthouse" and "Playboy." They both took great care to make certain that none of the copies were left out in the open where the kids or visitors to their home might see them. She stopped fighting with him about bringing those magazines into their home years ago.Kevin saw that she was troubled. Let her stew he thought. He knew her, in some ways better than she knew herself, and felt certain that the subject wasn't closed."What else do you want to do?" She asked after a moment of dead silence."Nothing." Was his abrupt response."Come on Kevin, don't be like that. What you want seems pretty extreme to me and, of course, you caught me totally by surprise." Does that mean that if I had warned you of my idea yesterday we wouldn't have a problem today?" Stop it. I didn't say that. Don't twist my words. What I.
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