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While the innocent are no strangers to violence, and never have been, the recent upsurge in criminal activity has taken a particularly grim toll of the unsuspecting bystander. And the reasons for their molestation’s have been more sinister.
Today’s newspapers are filled with stories of oil company executives kidnapped for political purposes, of young heiresses taken to insure the extortion of foodstuffs from their wealthy parents, or diplomats gunned down in foreign capitals because they represent views of a government hostile to some particular minority.
Some of these acts have been committed in the name of some cause whose philosophy is probably suspect and whose means of executing same are sordid. All this is done because, supposedly, the end justifies the means. Additionally, there are the crimes that bring monetary gain to the perpetrators, and suffering to the victims. But in either case, it is the guiltless individual who suffers.
The story of Tish Flancher is a case in point — an innocent woman suffering at the hands of cruel and depraved people. Her story holds a lesson for an uncaring society.
Suzy Flancher lay on her back and soaked up the warm Florida sun, her eyes closed to the sky. Laughter came from somewhere up the sugar-sand beach, maybe from her brother, Matt, and the girls he’d located at the resort motel already.
From the other side, she could hear the low tones of her father’s gentle voice as he talked soothingly to her mother and flipped shells into the tiny ripples of surf.
She started to sweat suddenly. She could feel the panties and halter of her yellow-and-green striped bikini becoming damp with it. Her young, ripe breasts seemed to swell firmly in the halter cups and stretch toward the sky, as if wanting to break free of the hot cloth confining them.
She parted her thighs slightly, and she could feel her virginal cuntlips bloat inside the panties, slick and moist with heat, and surprisingly sensitive.
She opened her eyes and sat up quickly, looking out over the ocean. She worked her mouth. She could taste it again. She could feel the sensation of it filling her mouth and throbbing and then spurting the thick, syrupy wads that had coated her tongue and burned at the back of her throat.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.
Note: This story is the same as catalog number AB-5053 in the original publications (a duplicate).