#44659 - The hands that found their way to his waist we soft but insistent, and they pulled his shirt from his trousers, tugging it over his head, nails scraping his skin just slightly. What shall we do with you now, young Brentt, since you're here, hmm? Brentt said nothing, facing the tree he'd been stopped in front of, unable to move. Taking a crumpled packet of cheap cigarettes from his pocket, he found he was shaking slightly in fear.
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