Journals of a Psychopath

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Clarkson and his son's creed is to punishe silvery blonde haired women.

The Segregation Cell

Running into the washroom, I glared she shivered. Some hair had fallen out and the strands drifted on the top of the water. Lady Flarice’s skin was puckered corresponding to an old prune.
      “Do you realize your error?”
      “I should be punished Sir Clarkson, even so I need some alcohol.”
      “You are to abstain from liquor for periods, this is part of your chastisement,” Smithson said.
      “Why select me?”
      “You are a silvery-blonde-haired female it is the main criteria, which led to revenge.”
The Lady Flarice was distraught.
      “The Purifiers, the Archangel and the Voice have chosen you to enhance the calling.”
She was disillusioned and anxious she did not know her outcome. Smithson untied the Lady Flarice’s hair from the faucet and heaved her out. Drying her, I wrapped her luscious body in a fluffy towel. Her hands trembled partly, because of bitter cold and terror. He checked as I chafed her genitalia and Smithson's vista-spheres bulged, I rubbed Lady Flarice’s mammary glands and her nipples stirred.
      “You are a hussy.”
The images of Lady Flarice with Sir Richard and Connor permeated my mind, I recollected Sir Richard, when he elevated the Lady Flarice’s mantle, and his lips kissed her honeyed-part. The pain seared my chest, Smithson was concerned, when I bent over and screeched.
      “Father what is wrong?”
      “It is okay just some painful memories.”
      “Your horrible past will be wiped out and you can start afresh after recompense.”
      “The pain will always be with me.”

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