She would need blood. She considered tomato ketchup, but no, if she was to destroy The Knife in order to get the ultimate pics of it thrust into her b...lly it would need to be real blood. The butchers? No, what would she say she wanted it for, making black pudding wasn't blood used for that? Too much chance of being asked questions she would be embarrassed to answer, anyway The Knife deserved a real victim before she ruined it forever. Then she remembered the pet rabbit the couple two doors up. In his assailant's practiced hands however, his hormones proven quicker than his righteous indignation so his virtue was well on the way to being compromised. In fact, before Ron fully comprehended his predicament, his pants and boxers were around his ankles. His erection stood out from his body as straight and proud as the flagpole on the front of his schoolhouse. She took it in her hand with that combination of judgment and worshipfulness that a wine connoisseur reserves for twenty year old. More

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