How I missed Helen! I wanted to talk to her about my personal misery and my increasing concern for my friends. I thought Katrina was becoming addicted...to heroin. Maybe Magda was, too, though her main refuge was vodka. Jagoda seemed close to clinical depression. Helen would have a better idea than I how to handle it. I was too preoccupied with holding myself together to be much help to the others.I’d also tell Helen about the limits of Stockholm Syndrome; I’d never forget what the owners had. It was in the middle of September, and I was out riding my motorcycle on a late Friday morning, when I first met Diane. I was starting to get hungry, so I was heading North through Santa Ana, planning on going to this little sandwich shop that I knew over by Chapman College in Orange. I had first discovered it when I was driving around with Donna the year before. The sandwiches were good, the prices were low enough to be affordable for the college students that mostly frequented the place. The. Then, there was also the murderous pimp whose fate would be decided bythis very meeting."Why would we believe anything you've said if you're not even willingto show us your own face?" the former Dr. Kenny Smith said in the guiseof the lovely Melissa Ingram.His clone shifted uneasily in the body of Oliver Wilson who stood bythe side of his wife, Katherine. Inside the well-preserved middle-agedwoman was Rocky Wallansky. His curious gaze shifted up and down thefigure of Rachel through his stolen. The boys were too stupid to realise they had been drugged and any controlthey had over their inhibitions were well and truly lost.The evening was one rampant orgy. Each of them at some stage fucked Tinaat least once and by the end of the night her sphincter was so loose shewas leaking semen. Not that it mattered; she had cum drying in her hair,on her face and all over body.But so did the boys. They seemed unable to sate their lust no matter howoften they orgasmed and their need for release.
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