He was blushing and did not want tolook at me. I felt a little playful and wiggled my bum in my pink satindress, hearing the rustle as I moved back and forwards across him. Hegrew more - I realised he was built very large down there and wasprobably at full stretch.I stared at Brad - no smile on my face - but not looking angry either. Apassive look but straight at him. He had no choice, eventually he had tolook at me. Our eyes met...... we looked at each other....There is something about wearing makeup. It makes you look stunning andbeautiful. It makes your eyes piercing - looking through your inner soulwith an intensity that men cannot resist. And with that beauty comespower. Although I was dressed as a little girl in a pink lacy ballerinalike dress, I knew I was controlling him. And I liked it.Brad blushed again and mouthed "Sorry." I looked at him more - for maybe20 seconds, feeling his discomfort. Then I leaned in and kissed himsoftly on the cheek. I don't know why I did that, but. He gawked at the dead man and then looked at me, wiping the corporal's blood from his chin and jacket. I smiled at him."Go over to that tree," I told him, "and take off your clothes." It was a fairly mild day for late January, but the wind had shifted to the northeast, and I recalled how the other British officer had looked after a few hours at Magda's well. "Faster," I told him as he sat to pull off his boots. They were too small for me, unfortunately; they were very fine boots so I decided to take them. When he had completely disrobed except for his fine stockings, I tied his wrists to one another with the sword belt which I then looped it over the stub of a low limb."Do you know what your hired henchmen do to prisoners?" I asked him.He shook his head and lost control of his bladder."Ah," I said as the stream of urine continued, splashing on his dancing feet, "I think maybe you do. They use them for bayonet practice and eventually nail them to the trees they are tied to. They do it.
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