chapter 7

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It was the kentucky man. The kentucky man shot garlic dip out of his male genitals and had fried chicken for fingers. It dripped with grease and occasionally diabetes. He stared at me with eyes made of shiny retinas.

"Do you know why you are here?" He asked over my screams.

"To have sex with me," I cried.

"You are right, you are my sex slave."




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