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He was going to finish this once and for all.Where was the bloody hammer? Where were those damn nails? He was going to nail her! He would nail her breasts to the Oak!Impervious indeed! What folly! He could feel the anguish and the terror with which she was fighting him. He could sense her weakness! The intensity of the charade was sapping her energy and blocking all thinking.It was opaque. All of it. None of it was true. She lived in a three bedroom suburban house with a husband called Charles and a blonde headed daughter with dimples. Cecily wasn't a spy! She'd never been to a war zone. She was a psychologist like it said on the door. She was a fake and a plant and it was a test: an interview. Everything about her was an invention.That's what he told himself as he pushed her against the tree and scooped up the hammer, and immediately he saw the terror in her eyes and knew he was right. There was the proof!"Oh my God!"He scooped two nails from the box, discarding the rest. This was. " Better?" she asked, handing me the sweater."Much better," I said taking her in. She stood there in a plain white t-shirt. Her shoulder length blonde hair, clear blue eyes, and pale smile, could do with a little ‘dress-up'.Watching closely the nice curve of her breasts, I let my eyes wander down her cotton covered abs to where her shirt was tucked into her jeans. I had her turn around again while I uttered the usual ‘hmm' and let a covetous eye roam her denimed cheeks. ‘Very nicely toned,' I noted to myself, but duty called.I took down a black, slim fit, jacket in a size 38 regular. I came up behind her and as she brought her arms behind her, I helped her on with this selection. Turning her around I buttoned the top button and had her take a look in the mirror. She had a bit of a smile, and she looked alright, but the jacket was too large. It did nothing for her shape. At this point I don't think there was much hiding my enjoyment of the pleasure of her company. She flirted in a.
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