She turned and smiled, her hands on her hips, looking back at me.“Why do I get the feeling,” she began, ‘that you’re not listening to me?”�...Carrot cake,” I stammered. “I like carrot cake.”Evelyn took a step in my direction.“What else do you like?” she asked as she approached me. She stopped directly in front of me, her hands clasped behind her back, just mere inches from where I stoically stood, watching her every move.“You know,” Evelyn spoke softly, “I have a huge crush on you.”“That would. I can't move my hands up from my sides.. the partition he had placed into the box I'm now locked into secures my hips and wrists alike, not unlike the way a stockade secures a prisoner's neck and wrists between two slats of wood.Partitions sectioned off each part of my body within the box.. a partion held my neck in place.. creating a single compartment for my head that prevented me from lifting up at all within the confines of the bondage coffin. A large diameter hose had been attached to my. More

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