Mr. Alien is gesturing for me to come over to his machine, so I guess it’s time to save this. Hopefully he will be true to his word and post it.***W...w! He had me lie back on a big table and then taped some sort of probe thingie right at the base of my skull. I can see on a monitor that it is recording my thoughts. He says that he will edit the raw thought stream before he posts it.I expected to be connected to something that pumped everything out of me and then filled me back up, but this is. Not even letting her skin know what was happening to her. Again. Again. Again. How long did he stay? Maybe just a day. Maybe a week. She didn’t know, because she was already dead, and when you’re dead there isn’t any time. Isn’t any body. Isn’t anything to feel anymore. He moved her here and there, and the plastic against her skin became her skin as she became plastic, just plastic. Just dead.Jaguar awoke with a start from the old nightmare. She had been nine when that happened. Now,. I like it,” I said.“Something we can work on over the next month or two. It’s another one he recorded with the Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section.”“Where is Muscle Shoals, anyway?” Lisa asked.“The northwest corner of Alabama, on the Tennessee River,” Mary Beth said. “Lots of musicians recorded albums at Fame Studios, it was the place in the late 1960s and early 70s to record, Aretha Franklin, Lynyrd Skynrd, the Rolling Stones, as well as Bob Segar recorded there, and their house band, the Muscle. None of it mattered as he slipped the shirt from my shoulders and hung it on the peg behind me.His smooth young hands ran over my shoulders again and down my back, reaching my waist before sliding over ass, squeezing my buttocks through the silky cloth.Dropping to his knees my seducer traced his hands over the length of my legs encouraging me to step out of the wrinkled trousers, I did as he wished and stood now only in my socks and the bright orange silky panties.“They suit you perfectly sir,.
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