Cindy Goes Home

Cindy Goes Home


Cindy was 28 years old and hadn’t been home for ten years. She’d left the day after graduating from high school vowing never, ever to return. She had completed college – working her way through, not taking a dime from her folks. She had been married, briefly, but was currently single. Two months ago she’d gotten a real scare. A sudden illness and the initial diagnosis looked like cancer. It turned out, after a biopsy, to be something else altogether – something easily remedied. But it had started her thinking about family and what was truly important in life. She decided after she had recovered that she was going to make a visit home.

She sent a telegram to her folks giving them the day, time and flight number when she would arrive. She asked that they pick her up. No explanation of why she was coming home after ten years or even how long she would stay. Her uncle picked her up at the airport. He hadn’t changed a bit – she recognized him immediately. He made an attempt to talk on the ride from the airport, but she was quiet, not wanting to talk. Eventually he gave up, but she could feel his eyes sliding over her way and examining every detail. She knew her aunt would question him mercilessly about what she looked like and what she was wearing. They would criticize her clothes and hair and makeup. Nothing she did ever satisfied them. They couldn’t understand her wanting to break out of their small-town, rural mould and be herself. She loved living in New York, she loved her job, and she loved her clothes. She was an editor for a medium-sized publishing house and she frequently bought new outfits, staying on the cutting edge of fashion. Probably as an expression of defiance she was wearing a very short, very tight skirt and a skin-tight sweater with a deep V neck that displayed a lot of her creamy breasts. Her uncle, Tom, got an eyeful. She hoped he could keep the car on the road until he got her home.

He pulled up in front of her parents’ house, which hadn’t changed a bit either. It was just as neat and tidy looking as she’d last seen it. A profusion of flowers told her that her mother hadn’t given up her gardening obsession. The lawn was neatly mowed with all the cuttings raked up and taken out of sight. It looked like an American dream home. Cindy knew that it wasn’t but she hoped things had changed.

She took a deep breath then walked up onto the porch and knocked on the front door. Her mother opened the door, looked her up and down and pressed her lips into a disapproving grimace. “Your father’s in the living room,” she said curtly.

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Cindy’s hopes of a warm welcome were dashed. She reminded herself, “I’m twenty-eight now. I’m a grown woman. These are just other adults. They have no control over me. I can get through this. Once they see how sincere I am about re-establishing a relationship they will warm up.” Her pep-talk over, she steeled herself to enter the living room.

She saw her father the instant she walked through the doorway. He was sitting on a straight back chair, looking fit and strong and healthy. For a minute she was transported back to her childhood. Nothing had changed!

“Get over here, young lady,” her father growled at her. Her stomach sank. This was going to be more difficult than she imagined. She put on a bright smile and walked over determined to start off on a positive note. One look at his grim face and her resolve melted away. She felt transformed, in an instant, to age fifteen. “We have some unfinished business, Cindy,” her father spoke again.

All of a sudden it became crystal clear to Cindy. How could she have forgotten? The night after graduation she had stayed out late – way past her curfew – partying with some friends. Knowing the consequences she snuck into the house in the middle of the night, threw some clothes in a bag and took off, intending never to return. Her father had told her once (after she had run away for three days and the police had brought her back home) that if she disobeyed, she could put off her punishment for a while, but it would always catch up to her eventually. She looked around wildly to see if she could escape, but her mother was turning the key on the inside deadbolt and she knew she was trapped.

From experience she knew the best way to deal with her father was to face it and get it over with. Once he had dealt out his punishment, whatever he decided was right and just, he would put it behind him and be warm and kind (at least as much as he would ever be). She realized that this had been a mistake, coming home, but she decided to follow through on her original intentions.

With an uncertain smile on her face she said, “What are you going to do Daddy? I’m a grown woman now, not a little girl anymore.” He remained silent, waiting for her to take her position, standing directly in front of him within arms reach, just as he’d taught her so many years ago. She edged into place and he took a long moment to look her up and down. His eyes widened in surprise. Standing before him was a fully grown woman, not a girl any longer. She was the picture of sophistication and elegance. Her reddish-blond hair was put up, off her neck, in an elegant chignon. Some whispy tendrils had escaped and were curled enchantingly around her ears. A thin layer of bangs decorated her forehead. He took all this in, along with her tight short skirt and revealing sweater.

Shaking his head, as if to clear it, he said, “It doesn’t matter how much older you are, you have a spanking coming to you. I’ve thought about it every day since you left. If you’d faced your punishment the next day it wouldn’t be as severe as letting it compound over ten years! Now, I’m going to put you over my knees and paddle your bare bottom.”

Cindy gasped. This can’t be happening, she thought to herself. She realized she ought to get out, but her legs turned rubbery and weak. The opportunity vanished as she felt her father grasp her wrist and pull her towards him. When she was close enough she felt him unbutton the waistband of her skirt and pull the zipper down. It was like she was in a dream and watching this happening to another girl. She couldn’t move, she was so shocked and surprised. The skirt dropped to the floor and then her pantyhose were puddled around her ankles. A distant voice told her to stop out of her shoes and pantyhose. She did. Then the final humiliation. Her father pulled her panties down and made her step out of them also. She stood before her father at 28 years old, naked from the waist down.

His firm grip pulled her petite frame over his lap until her head hung down and her bottom was pointed up. She knew that she was completely exposed to his view and was quite embarassed by the thought. He took a long handled wooden hairbrush that was next to his chair and gave her fifteen hard whacks on her bare bottom. He aimed carefully so by the time he was done there were red marks covering nearly every inch of her bottom. Cindy’s internal strength (that and biting her lip, hard) kept her from crying – for the first 5 whacks. After that she couldn’t help herself, she let out a groan and then a sob and for the last few, loud screams.

Holding her in place with an arm around her waist, her father said, “So, Cindy, what do you have to say for yourself?” She knew that he expected an apology, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. He should be apologizing to her – spanking his 28 year old daughter! Through clenched teeth she said, “You have no business spanking me like a little kid. I’m a grown woman now!” She cursed him with carefully chosen words designed to shock him and let him know how much he’d offended her.

The next thing she knew he was standing up and her mother was sitting in the chair. He positioned Cindy on her mother’s lap. She gripped Cindy’s waist firmly to hold her there and with her other hand captured Cindy’s flailing arms. He unfastened his belt and pulled it out through the loops, doubled it over, then whipped it through the air making swishing noises that she remembered so well. When the first stroke landed she screamed at him. Four more quick ones nearly took her breath away. She let loose another torrent of words – cursing and swearing – saying things that had never been spoken inside this house. After a pause he gave her five more had swats with the belt. Some of them had drifted down onto her thighs. There were big welts all over her backside and legs.

“Cindy, I can keep this up for a long time. Unless you admit you were wrong and apologize we’ll just keep going until you do.”

She screamed another obscenity at him. The belt came whistling down again and again. After five more she finally decided to swallow her pride and apologize. Her mother lifted Cindy up so she was sitting on her lap and held her close while sobs wracked her slim body. Her hands gently stroked Cindy’s soft, shiny hair. Tucking loose strands behind her ears was oddly comforting. It made Cindy feel like a child, secure in her parent’s world. Finally she calmed down. Her mother let her stand up and her father gave her a long hug. “Come along, honey,” her mother said, “let’s go get you a nice warm bath – you’ll feel better.” Cindy followed her mother up the stairs to the bathroom.

Her mother ran the bath water while Cindy finished disrobing. She eased into the warm sudsy water, tensing at first when it touched her tender bottom. After a while the water seemed to draw some of the pain out and she began to relax. Her mother sat on the side of the tub and with gentle hands washed her back, massaging and rubbing her neck and shoulders. She felt her mother unfasten the clips and pins holding her hair in place. It tumbled down around her shoulders. She was proud of her hair – it was one of her best features and she took good care of it. The strawberry blond color was nearly natural – she helped it just a little, wanting it to be more blond than red. When dry, the thick tresses fell six inches below her shoulders, but when it was wet it hung two or three inches longer than that.

Cindy’s mother urged her up onto her knees in the tub and then using a hand-held sprayer she wet down Cindy’s hair and worked up a lather with shampoo. She rinsed it out and then lathered it up again, using her strong fingers to massage Cindy’s scalp. It felt wonderful, like being a little girl again with no cares or responsibilities. She relaxed under her mother’s ministrations. Her mom even toweled her dry when she stepped out of the tub. She worked the towel around her wet hair patting and blotting it – drying it as much as she could. Then Cindy sat in the vanity chair while she combed it out. When her hair was dry her mom pulled it up into a girlish ponytail. Cindy hadn’t worn it like that in years, but it fit her mood, so she didn’t say anything.

Cindy took a little nap in her old room (which hadn’t been changed a bit) and then it was time for dinner. The three of them sat around the old, worn kitchen table sharing memories of years gone by. As they talked Cindy’s father said, “Oh, your aunt and uncle invited you over for lunch tomorrow. I told them I was sure you would want to go and see your cousins again.”

The next morning was pleasant. Her dad went off to work. Cindy got up late, ate a leisurely breakfast and then went outside where her mother was working in the flowers. Cindy watched her for a while and they chatted. When she finally looked at her watch and said, “I’d better get ready to go,” her mother pulled off her gloves and said. “Let me do your hair for you today. O.K.?” Cindy just nodded. It still felt nice to be pampered so.

Cindy took a quick shower, and washed her hair again. When she got out her mother was ready. Once again Cindy sat in front of the mirror while her mother used the blow dryer then brushed her soft locks until they shone. She then used electric curlers which left a profusion of sensuous curls around and below her shoulders. The sides and top of her hair were pulled smoothly back and fastened at the back of her head with a barrette. From there on down the soft curls moved and danced like they were alive. Her mother stepped back and Cindy turned her head to admire the effect. It was pretty, she had to admit that, and she liked it. She smiled at her mother, gave her a quick hug and a peck on her cheek and said, “Thank you.”

Cindy was right on time for lunch at her aunt and uncle’s house. They welcomed her warmly and had dozens of questions about life in New York city. They seemed fascinated with the life she’d made of herself. The afternoon went quickly. Cindy heard the front door open and close and soon her cousin, Joyce came running in. Joyce pulled up short and she and Cindy stared at each other. Joyce had grown up in the ten years since Cindy had last seen her. She would be seventeen now and a senior in high school, from what she’d heard over lunch. She had developed into a very pretty young woman. She was not tall but well proportioned with nice legs and a teenager’s tiny waist. Her straight black hair was cut in a cute, chin-length bob. Joyce sat down and they got caught up on recent developments in her life. An hour later Joyce’s two older brothers came in from work.

Joyce suggested that the “youngsters” take a tour of the property to wallow in nostalgia and remember the “good old days.” Her brothers led the way out the back door. Joyce turned back and asked her mom to call Cindy’s folks and tell them that her cousins were taking her out to dinner and they’d bring her home later. The four of them walked around the yard remembering some of the games they had played on warm summer evenings. Joyce walked behind Cindy admiring her shiny curls bouncing up and down in lively animation. Her fingers itched when she thought about touching that lovely head of hair.

They ended up in the old barn. Joyce’s dad had fixed up one side of the loft for the kids to use as a playroom. It held a lot of memories for the four cousins. The childish toys were gone, now there was a set of free weights in one corner, a wall of mirrors and ballet exercise bar in another, and a heavy library table. Cindy didn’t notice that Joyce had locked the door and pocketed the key.

They sat around the table talking about their childhoods. “Do you remember the games you used to play with us up here?” Joyce asked Cindy.

“I sure do. You had lots of board games and we’d play with your toys.”

“There were some other games you played with us. Games you made up. Do you remember them, Cindy?”

She looked puzzled, “What do you mean?”

“Once we played ‘old-fashioned house’ where there was no plumbing and you made me pee in a chamber pot in front of you three. And I remember a bunch of times you pretended to be a mean old school marm and spanked me on the bare bottom. I also remember when you wanted to play doctor – I was the patient, you were the doctor and my brothers were interns. You took my temperature with a rectal thermometer and decided that I needed an enema. Then there was the time you had my brothers hold me down while you gave me a haircut. I had a long braid and you cut it off. Then you told my parents that I had taken the scissors to my own hair – and they believed you instead of me!”

“Oh, yeah, I remember some of those,” Cindy said a little nervously. “Kids will be kids, you know. I hope you don’t hold all that against me.”

“Well, I must have inherited our family’s long memory because I remember each of those humiliations vividly. And I vowed to myself that if I ever had the chance you would get a taste of them yourself.”

“What?” Cindy jumped up. “What do you mean?” She edged over to the door watching them carefully. When she was halfway, she made a dash for the door only to find that it was locked.

She turned around to see Joyce holding up the key. “Is this what you are looking for? Now, here’s what’s going to happen. I AM going to give you a haircut, but I will wait until you ask for it.”

“Huh, that’ll be a cold day in hell before I ask you to cut my hair,” Cindy retorted, touching her soft curls nervously.

“Let me finish. We will start with some of the other ‘games’ you used to like so much when I was your victim. Depending on how well you co-operate I will decide how much of your pretty hair to cut off. If you do really well, you might still look like a girl. If you don’t co- operate with our games then you will get a really short haircut. I might even shave your head.” Joyce paused. “Are you ready for me to cut your hair now?”

“NO WAY,” Cindy shouted.

Joyce went to a cupboard and pulled out a white enamelled pot. It was the chamber pot Cindy had made her use years ago. Joyce put it in the middle of the floor and then motioning to Cindy said, “Go ahead, it’s time for you to start. You now have a pot to piss in,” she laughed at her humor. “Be sure to face us so we can see you go.”

Cindy turned to the boys (they weren’t boys anymore – they were men, one was three and the other five years younger than Cindy). She couldn’t believe they would be a part of this. “Are you going to let your sister do this to me?” she asked them.

They gave her their crooked smiles. “We sure are,” the older one said. “We never thought it was very nice of you to make our baby sister do the things you did.”

“Plus,” the other one chimed in, “we got our share of spankings and doctorings from you, but for some reason you never got spanked or doctored in our games.”

Cindy wasn’t sure she could do it with them staring at her, but seeing no other choice she stood next to the chamber pot and reaching under her short swirl skirt she pulled off her panties. She then squatted over the pot and tried to relax enough to relieve herself. She tried not to let her cousins see too much, but she didn’t want to get her skirt all wet so she held it up out of the way and they could see plenty. Finally a stream of liquid arched into the pot and the three spectators clapped appreciatively.

“Thank you Cindy, you are co-operating quite nicely so far. Now it’s time for you to go to school. I think this time I will be the harsh school-marm, you will be the naughty student,” Joyce said, “and my brothers will be the principal and superintendent. You have been a naughty girl so often it isn’t enough to have the school-marm spank you, you’ll be paddled by all three of us. Now, Cindy, assume the position you so carefully taught me years ago.”

“Oh, no,” Cindy said, “you can’t do this to me. I’m a grown woman, too mature for these childish games.”

“Humm,” Joyce mused out loud, “so you aren’t going to co-operate on this one. Of course we can have the principal and superintendent hold you down over the table, but that will cost you a shorter haircut. Which will it be, Naughty Cindy?” Joyce spoke with unconcealed relish. She had obviously thought this out long and hard.

Cindy slowly moved to an open area and bent over at the waist, putting her hands on her knees. “Oh, Cindy,” Joyce said shaking her head sadly, “surely you haven’t forgotten the proper position?” Cindy gave Joyce a hateful look and then reached under her skirt and lowered the panties she had just put back on. She then lifted the hem of the skirt above her waist and this time when she bent over she went all the way down and grabbed her ankles.

Joyce walked over and squatted down by Cindy’s head. She reached out and unfastened the barrette that was holding her hair back out of her face. Joyce ran her fingers through the soft thick tresses, barely holding back a groan of anticipation thinking about what she would soon be doing to that mane of hair. The hair tumbled free down over Cindy’s head touching the floor in a blond puddle. Joyce stood up then went behind Cindy and rubbed her hand over her smooth bottom cheeks. “Cindy, it looks like you’ve been paddled recently! Did your daddy paddle you when you got home?”

With a red face Cindy muttered, “None of your business.” Joyce and her brothers laughed, certain in their knowledge of their uncle and of what had happened.

Joyce pushed the panties all the way to the floor and made Cindy step out of them. Then she directed Cindy to spread her legs wide. Her fingers darted between Cindy’s legs touching and tickling in her most private areas. Cindy tensed and jumped a little but gritted her teeth and refrained from saying anything. She was remembering with belated regret what she used to do to a much younger Joyce.

Joyce used a wide, stiff 18 inch ruler for her paddling. It stung awful and soon Cindy was crying and pleading for her to stop. Joyce enjoyed this too much to let her off easily, but eventually her arm got tired and her first brother stepped in to take over. He used a ping- pong paddle from the game cupboard. That really hurt, the face was covered with fine sandpaper and by now Cindy’s bottom was very sore and tender. He gave her fifteen hard whacks then let the other brother take over. Cindy, watching over her shoulder, saw him remove his belt. An inch and a half wide, soft and supple. He doubled it over and wasted no time in applying it to her fiery-red bottom. Cindy was sobbing out her anger and hate, begging and pleading for them to stop.

“I haven’t heard you ask me to cut your hair yet.” Joyce declared. Cindy just shook her head, no way would she ask this vengeful girl to cut her hair. Cindy heard the sound of leather dropping on the floor and looked down – between her legs! Before she could react, the tip of the belt flipped up off the floor right onto the lips of her vagina. Her legs snapped together, involuntarily and she collapsed on the floor in agony.

They left Cindy alone for a few minutes while she regained her composure. Joyce had her brothers move the weight bench out into the center of the room. She directed her brothers to bring Cindy over. They picked her up easily and carried her over to Joyce.

“Cindy, it’s time for your doctor’s appointment. This time, the ‘interns’ you trained so well have become ‘doctors.’ They don’t have a lot of experience, but they are looking forward to giving you a full examination – external and internal! I am the nurse and have to get you ready for this exam.” Joyce lifted Cindy’s dress up over her head and then removed her lacy bra. She pushed Cindy into a kneeling position at the end of the bench then produced an old rectal thermometer and dabbed the end with vaseline. After putting a glob on Cindy’s anus, she pushed the thermometer deep inside. Cindy let out a grunt and a groan. She had done this to little Joyce, but never had it done to her. She had no idea that it was so uncomfortable. She wondered what it had been like for Joyce as a tiny girl so long ago. After a few long minutes Joyce pulled it out and announced that her temperature was normal.

Joyce then sat at one end of the weight bench with her legs straddling it. The boys placed Cindy on it so that she was laying face up with her head in Joyce’s lap. “Do we need to restrain you or will you let these curious ‘doctors’ examine you?” Joyce asked Cindy. “You know, you can stop this by asking me to cut your hair.” While she was talking Joyce ran her hands through Cindy’s hair smoothing the curls back into place. It felt so soft in her hands. She couldn’t wait for the haircut – it was difficult for her to breathe she was so excited. This was something she had dreamed of doing since Cindy had cut hers off so long ago.

Cindy looked at the boys whose eyes were wide in anticipation. They were rubbing their hands (which looked none-too-clean) together and licking their lips. Cindy shuddered at the thought of those hands on her, but she waited too long to say anything and all of a sudden she felt hands groping and kneading her breasts. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth against the pain. She couldn’t tell who was doing what (she didn’t want to know) but she felt fingers probing into her body cavities.

“All right, do it!” Cindy yelled.

The fingers kept probing and Joyce said sweetly, “Do what, Cindy, dear cousin?”

“You know what,” she yelled back. “Trim my hair.”

“Oh, no, that’s not right – I don’t want to trim your hair. Plus you’re ordering me to, not asking nicely. Now if you want the ‘doctors’ to stop, say in a nice voice, ‘Joyce, would you please give me a haircut.'”

She felt them lift her legs high up in the air. Then she felt more fingers at her tiny rectal opening and one brother said, “I think this patient is constipated, we should give her a large enema. She’ll probably need two or three to really get her cleaned out.”

Finally Cindy’s pride gave way. “Please, Joyce,” she said in a soft, pleading voice, “please give me a haircut.”

“That’s enough boys,” Joyce said. “It’s time for Cindy’s haircut.” They stopped their examination and stepped back. They grinned at Joyce – they were glad to see her finally get revenge against this bossy manipulative cousin. They never liked her much either but couldn’t resist her when she led their games.

Joyce helped Cindy get up and led her to another corner of the room where a stool was waiting. Cindy climbed up on the stool when Joyce pointed to it. Joyce then took a hairbrush that was sitting on a nearby tray and began brushing Cindy’s soft curls. Cindy looked at the tray and went white. There were three scissors (different sizes), combs and brushes, but worst of all a set of electric clippers (already plugged into the wall outlet) and a can of shaving cream with a couple of disposable razors.

Working with gentle fingers Joyce untangled Cindy’s hair section by section. It was a sensual thrill to touch the soft, silkiness of her blond curls. Finally she stopped and made herself move on to the next part of her plan. Opening a box on the tray Joyce pulled out a long, thin, flexible object that turned out to be the braid Cindy had cut off of Joyce’s head years ago. Her hair had been long, then – a source of pride for Joyce and her mother. After Cindy had cut it off and then told Joyce’s mother that Joyce had done it herself, her mother never let her grow it long again. She insisted that Joyce keep it above her shoulders, even telling the hairstylist how to do it rather than letting Joyce make the choice for herself. All because she thought Joyce had cut off her own long braid.

Joyce took the braid, tied tightly at both ends, and used one end to rub Cindy’s cheeks and face, like a paintbrush. “Do you remember the day you cut my hair, Cindy?” Joyce asked. “Do you remember brushing my hair for me and telling me you were so jealous because it was longer and prettier than yours? You brushed it until it was nice and soft and then worked it into a braid. Then without any warning you took a pair of scissors and cut off the braid! Once you’d done that the ends looked rough and uneven, so you had my brothers hold me down while you ‘trimmed up the ends.’ Only you just kept cutting until I was nearly bald. My mom screamed and then cried when she first saw me. I cried when I looked into a mirror. I’ve never forgotten that day. Now, I’m going to give you a haircut that will make you cry.”

“Please, Joyce, I’m so sorry that I did that to you. It was wrong of me. I was a stupid girl angry at the world and my parents and taking it out on someone younger and smaller than me. I shouldn’t have done that. Please don’t cut my hair.”

“Fancy speech from someone who now has good reason to feel remorse. Why didn’t you ever call or write and tell me that. If you had said that sometime in these last ten years then we wouldn’t be here right now.” She lifted up Cindy’s bangs and slid the scissors under them, right next to the skin of her forehead. With a pause and a look into Cindy’s fear widened eyes, she closed the scissors with a decisive snap. The short hairs tumbled down onto Cindy’s chest. She glanced down in horror.

Joyce put down the scissors and grabbed three sections of the longest hair at the crown of Cindy’s head. She quickly worked them into a braid and fastened rubber bands around both ends. It took a moment, but the scissors finally gnawed through the braid and the severed hair came free. It left a large bald spot at the crown of her head. She used the soft end to tickle Cindy’s face and arms. She leaned down and whispered in Cindy’s ear, “Remember how this feels, Cindy, because it will be a long time before your hair is long enough to tickle anything.”

Joyce picked up the electric clippers and snapped them on. Cindy flinched. The buzzing sound filled the room. Bringing the clippers up to Cindy’s eye level, Joyce paused and then placed them at her right temple and mowed a swath around her ear down to the nape of her neck. A layer of thick reddish-blond hair peeled off revealing a white scalp underneath. Joyce lifted the severed locks and placed them in Cindy’s lap. “Say good-bye to your lovely hair, Cindy,” she said cruelly. Going to the other side of Cindy’s head she buzzed off an identical swath on her left side.

Working slowly and savoring each moment, Joyce methodically made swipe after swipe with the clippers, denuding Cindy’s scalp. She alternated back and forth on both sides of her head leaving a smaller and smaller mohawk stripe down the middle. A mountain of shiny blond hair piled up at the feet of the stool. Finally with one last pass, right down the middle, the mohawk was gone and a bald scalp was left. Joyce took Cindy’s hands and rubbed them over her stubble. “Do you like the feel of that? That’s what my mother had the beautician do to me after you butchered my hair. I didn’t like it too much, but maybe you’ll like it better.”

Joyce finished the job by wetting Cindy’s head with a damp washcloth and then lathering her scalp with shaving cream and scraping it off with disposable razors. She did it two more times in order to get it as smooth as possible. Cindy’s head now looked like a cue ball. Joyce stepped back and said, “We’re done with our games now, Cindy, let’s go out and get some supper.” She said it like they had just finished a tennis match and it was time to eat. They handed Cindy her clothes and took her out to a restaurant. Joyce noticed all the people who did double takes or stared at Cindy’s new hair style. Some children laughed and pointed rudely at her. Joyce felt Cindy shrivel up each time that happen, her face and neck would turn beet red making the white scalp more pronounced. This revenge was sweet.



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