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And after about a mile, he kicked in the afterburners on the rocket and literally disappeared.My normal run was just to go around the park at a comfortable clip and maybe ... if I remembered ... check my time when I got done. I had no idea whether any run was faster or slower than the previous one because I never wrote them down or remembered them. It just seemed like something to do.Watching him run, suddenly changed the way I looked at everything. When I got back to the bench where my husband and his friend waited, I was exhausted. The effort of running hard during the first mile, trying to keep up with, “the guy,” as I called him, had tired me out.For some reason, his car was still there, though. I got an evil thought. Maybe he’d been showing off and I had passed him somewhere in the park while he vomited his guts out and ended up walking back. I saw that a lot while I was on the team. People went out too fast and suffered all the way back.I imagined him bending over, yakking his. David sucked more leisurely on the teat as he recalled the first morninghe'd woken up as Baby Daphne in Mummy's bed at home - and the mess hemade of her expensive sheets. Jane had woken him by peeling back thebedclothes and crooning, "Wakey-wakey, baby girl! Time to wake up, BabyDaphne!" He'd struggled to shake off the effects of a drugged sleep,then he felt Mummy's hand pressing against the front of his crinklingbaby panties. "Oh my! What a wet baby girl! That certainly is a wetnappy, Baby Daphne." He was thrilled she didn't sound annoyed or upset.Her hand slid down between his splayed thighs and he felt her stiffen."Oh-oh! Oh no! Did you wet Mummy's bed?"He struggled to sit up, and when he did, he realised there was a darkwet patch underneath him on the white fitted sheet. His mouth fell openand his dum-dums tumbled from his lips. A huge yellow circle surroundedhis bum, and he could feel cold urine puddling under his knuckles wherethey pressed into the bedding. At least the rubber.
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