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Archive name: navyway.txt
Authors name: Theodore@Spoonbender.demon.co.uk
Story title : Navy Way, The
--------------------------------------------------------
This is copyright (c) 1998, by Spoonbender. It can be
distributed freely as long as no charge is made for it
and it isn't changed in any way. If it is archived it is
on the basis that I have unrestricted access to the
archive.
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The Navy Way
By Spoonbender (Theodore@Spoonbender.demon.co.uk)
***
This short story is not for minors or anyone else that
doesn't like to read about young ladies being taken
advantage of. (M+/F, military, nc)
***
This is all pure fiction, the figment of a peculiar
mind (You don't honestly believe its real do you?) So
no characters in it are based on real people, either
living or dead. Don't flame me if you don't like my
style, I'm still learning the craft. Email me if you
have constructive criticism or if you like it and want
more. This is my first new story for a long time so
please be gentle with me.
Don't flame me if I got little bits of Royal Navy
protocol all screwed up. Call it artistic license and
let me pass on my way in peace.
**
The Seawolf battery swung to meet the incoming flight
and with a roar a missile launched itself against the
target that was still hidden below the horizon.
"Inbound sighted on heading 243." The radar operator
intoned passionlessly.
"Report progress on intercept." Captain Rogers, tall,
manly and deadly cool under fire.
"Locked on target Sir. The computer has sighted two
other missiles Sir permission to activate remaining
weapons systems?"
"Granted."
Midshipman Lucy Anstruther tried her best to keep out
of the way, her heart pounding as she watched the
action unfold around her. Ever since the shooting down
of the British Airways flight to Malta by a Libyan MIG,
the ship on which she served, HMS Leopard a Leander
class Destroyer had been in the thick of the fighting.
Now she was scouting far ahead of the main task force
which was destined for landfall close to Benghazi in
the gulf of Sirte.
Lucy was on bridge watch, standing on the wing of the
bridge scanning the horizon with her weighty
binoculars, the glare from the sea giving her a
headache. The remaining missiles on the battery roared
away into the sun, making her jump with the unexpected
burst of noise.
She gulped trying to hide her terror. When she had
signed up for a short service commission she was
fulfilling the fantasy of her father and grandfather.
Both Sailors, both decorated. And her the only child. A
Girl! Fortunately women had recently been allowed to go
to sea and so Lucy had signed up with alacrity. After
her training, bobbing around in Dinghies in the Dart
estuary, she had joined Leopard in Gibraltar as it
embarked on a goodwill tour of the Med. She remembered
being so excited, but trying to act so nonchalant in
front of Captain Anstruthers and Rear Admiral
Anstruthers (retired) as she joined her first ship. It
was to have been a dull, but pleasant, Mediterranean
cruise. Then the 737 had slammed into the sea close to
Filfla, with the remains of a Libyan AA missile buried
in one Engine. Survivors were few. The fury of the
British, slow to start but at boiling point now,
demanded the head of the man responsible. Mohammar
Gadhaffi, North African Despot and first class
fruitcake was about to meet his Armageddon. The British
were coming. Her American allies were calling publicly
for a political solution and simultaneously supplying
arms and valuable satellite time. They too wanted to
see justice done and Lockerbie avenged.
A flash on the very edge of the horizon announced that
the Seawolf had contacted the anti-ship missile.
"Visual sighting of Missile destruction Sir." She
announced in her quavering voice.
"Very good midshipman." The Captain took time out to
beam a congratulatory smile at her, which made her
blush.
She pushed the stray hair out of her eyes and leaned
against the rail, trying to focus on the horizon. One
of the bridge watch glanced at her as she leaned over.
'She really did have a magnificent butt,' he thought.
In fact most of Lucy was in the magnificent class. Long
blond hair, tied in a tight bun, over a roundish face.
Milky blue eyes, retrousse nose, generously lipped
mouth. Her body was small but packed with an animal
sexuality which her uniform did nothing to hide, rather
it accentuated her charms. She was the collective lust
dream of every man on the ship, except Rupert and
Tarquin who only had eyes for each other. The tradition
of rum, bum and baccy still lived on in some parts of
the Queen's navy.
She strained against the glare and then thought she saw
something. It was like a tiny splash maybe five miles
distant. It could have been a fish disturbing the
millpond tranquility of the turquoise sea. But then
again.
There! There it was again. Now she could see a dot,
growing progressively bigger, below the radar net.
"Inbound on port side Sir." She cried, trying to sound
casual as death approached at close to the speed of
sound.
"Whereaway...." It was the last thing Captain Rogers
said as the missile slammed into the midsection of the
ship. It exploded instantly on contact breaking the
ship in two. Within minutes she was gone.
**
"A signal has come in from the Task Force Prime
Minister."
"Yes?"
"It says that HMS Leopard was hit by a missile at 1430
Hours Zulu and was lost, presumably with all hands. A
Sea King Helicopter is searching the area but only some
floating wreckage has been found and a few bodies. The
search is still continuing."
"Survivors?"
"None have been found yet Sir."
"Shit!"
"Sir?"
"Sorry please get me the Admiralty I must talk to
Admiral Johnstone."
"Yes Prime Minister."
**
A fishing boat found her. A wooden boat with the eye of
Osiris painted on the bow. For luck. Which she, and
others of her ilk, were going to need fishing for
Lampuki in the middle of a war zone.
War or no war, families still had to be fed.
The two men on board had seen the explosion on the
horizon and, notwithstanding the state of war which
existed between their nation and another, they had
obeyed the law of the sea and made their puttering way
towards the last sighting.
They circled the large slick, with its bobbing
detritus, for nearly ten minutes before they found her.
She was hauled on board, miraculously alive and
virtually unscathed. As is the magical way of
explosions her clothes had been virtually torn from her
body leaving her unconscious charms open to the fervent
gaze of the illiterate fishermen. Otherwise she was
unharmed. Quickly they pulled her aboard and hoisted
their lateen sail. The onshore breeze pushing them
briskly towards their homeport as their prize lay
unknowing athwart the bottom of their boat.
It was over an hour later that the first Helicopter
came. By that time they were long gone.
**
Sergeant Ali Mukbar leaned against the side of the
troop carrier. The evening cool was starting to settle
across the burning wastes of the little port. He
watched as one of his men listlessly paced between the
two palm trees that overhung the dock. It was obvious
that the Soldier was trying to stay in the shade and
wasn't interested in putting in a proper sentry patrol.
Ali Mukbar couldn't give a shit. That was Lieutenant
Adouli's problem. He was the fine officer, he could
deal with it. He pulled out a crumpled pack of
cigarettes. Marchovkas again, favourite of Stalin they
said, well he was welcome to them he'd rather have a
Marlboro. Maybe when the little Satan was destroyed
then they could take on the great Satan herself and
then he could have as many Marlboros as he wanted.
Over on the other side of the dock Lieutenant Adouli
watched the sergeant through his binoculars. He sighed
and put them down and picked up his small glass of mint
tea. How, by Allah, had he come down to this?
Commanding the most slovenly bunch of dogs that had
ever been assembled, even in a country more noted for
its posturing and bluster than for its military
prowess. To add to that he had been commanded to take
over the military presence in this flyblown pesthole of
a fishing village. Even though it was a port, the high
bluffs and treacherous reefs ensured that it would
hardly be a military target. He was hoping that he
would be recalled to join the main task force to help
repel the invaders but, despite a blizzard of
applications, the high command had not seen fit to call
upon his services for the greater glory of the Libyan
People's Jamaharriya. So he was stuck here with that
lazy fool Mukbar and his bedraggled bunch of curs.
He snapped his fingers to order more tea then his eyes
drifted out to sea. He noticed that a fishing boat was
beating towards the port. He frowned. It was a little
early for it to be back so either it had stumbled upon
a shoal or it had seen something that had made it turn
and run. Maybe it had something to do with the distant
boom that he had heard earlier. The two men could be
seen clearly now. He decided to talk to them after
they'd docked.
**
Lucy came to, to find herself lying on the ground in
the centre of a bunch of swarthy, unkempt men.
Realising that she was half naked she tried to tug the
remains of her uniform around her. She could sense both
anger and lust amongst her observers and she shuddered
in fear. A fat sweating man, with foul breath squatted
down next to her and spoke something in a guttural
tone. It was Arabic. She understood that much even if
she couldn't understand what he'd said. Her brain
whirled as she tried to work out what had happened. All
she could remember was the flash as the missile punched
home then....nothing. Until she awoke here.
Just then a, slightly better dressed, man pushed his
way through the crowd. He stared down at her as she
struggled to sit up. Her whole body felt like it had
been beaten with a hammer.
"Who are you?" He inquired, in Arabic.
"Do you speak English?"
"A little. Now who are you?"
"I am E9071536 Midshipman Anstruther and who are you?"
"Midshipman? You don't look much like a man."
One of the troops evidently spoke English and he
translated for the others who cackled with glee.
"It's a rank. It doesn't mean I'm a man. Look can you
tell me where I am?"
"You are a guest in the Libya. Now where did you come
from?"
'Libya! Oh Shit'. Thought Lucy.
"I am from a British Warship. So I suppose I'm a
prisoner of war."
The lieutenant looked at her thoughtfully. This was a
situation that the high command hadn't counted on. A
prisoner of war. As far as he knew there were very few
preparations being made for prisoners. They had just
expected to blast them out of the sea, not to capture
them. Maybe this was his chance to ingratiate himself
with the high command. If he could worm some facts from
this whore of Satan then maybe he could get to join the
main force after all.
"What is a woman doing on a warship?" He asked,
genuinely puzzled.
"Women serve the same as men now." She said tartly.
'What stupidity' he thought. Surely the British would
have learned the lessons the accursed Israelis had when
they sent women into battle only to have them captured
and sent back filled with Arab seed. As a demoralising
tactic it was brilliant and it served to compromise the
whole army. Maybe the British really were stupid after
all.
"Which Warship?"
"I am E9071536 Midshipman Anstruther L and that's all I
can tell you."
She replied, aware of her responsibilities.
He shrugged. "Have it your own way." He ordered his men
to bring her to his offices, which were in the main
Police station in town. Once there he had her locked in
a cell as he considered his options.
**
Lieutenant Adouli wiped up the last of his humus with
the pita bread and popped it into his mouth before
speaking.
"Yes! What do you want sergeant?"
"I was. That is the men were wondering if we
could.....er have some entertainment with the girl."
For the first time since they'd met the sergeant was
trying his hardest to be obsequious. It amused his
officer greatly.
"What do you mean by entertainment?"
By Allah! Was this man crazy? The sergeant had to bite
his tongue as he patiently explained his intentions.
"What makes you think I would hand over a prisoner to
be ill treated by your scum?"
"I just thought...." The sergeant trailed off.
"Well you thought wrong Sergeant. She is under my
protection and will be until she answers my questions.
Then of course...." The sentence hung heavy on the air.
"Yes sir." The Sergeant smiled conspiratorially,
showing his dark stained teeth.
The officer looked at his nails. "I expect that the
troop will start to become more disciplined. I mean we
wouldn't want this agent to find out that the Libyan
army is an undisciplined rabble now would we?"
The sergeant grinned. He had the low cunning of a rat
and he understood perfectly what the quid pro quo was.
"Yes Sir. You will be amazed how disciplined they can
be."
"Excellent." He patted his lips and threw down the
napkin. "Now I must talk to her. The sooner she talks,
the better eh?"
"Yes Sir."
**
It was amazing how effective a field telephone could be
as an interrogation tool. Especially when its wires
were clipped to the nipples of a helplessly tied and
frightened young girl.
Lucy was naked and tied to a heavy chair in the middle
of the Lieutenant's office. The wires draped across to
the old fashioned telephone set.
"Now I ask you again. Which ship are you from?"
"I am E9071536 Midshipman Anstruther L. Aaaaaaaah." She
cried as he tweaked the handle.
"Not talking will do you no good. You might as well
answer the questions and save yourself a lot of pain."
"I am...ah...prisoner of war.....ah.....and I only have
to give my....ooh....name rank and number." Lucy panted
as the pain subsided.
He turned the handle a couple of times and her back
arched off the seat.
"Save yourself the pain. I'm going to find out anyway
so why hurt yourself?"
"You are not allowed to torture me. It is not allowed
under the Geneva convention."
This prompted a full one minute of pain as he wound the
handle furiously. Finally he stopped and leaned close
to her.
"We did not sign the Geneva convention. So, as you
English say, all bets are off. Now talk before I get
really angry."
He wasn't sure whether they had signed or not. In any
event a little thing like that was hardly going to keep
him from having his modicum of pleasure. Fun was hard
to find in a hole like this.
"My name is Lucy Anstruther, my number is E9071536 and
my rank is Midshipman."
'A tough one.' He thought. 'So let's see how tough she
really is."
He untied her ankles from the legs of the chair but
left her wrists tightly tied to the arms. He then tied
long two ropes to the far corners of his desk. Lucy
watched in mute terror. She wasn't sure how much longer
she could hold out. Her heart still pounded from the
pain of the last shock.
He pulled the ropes across the desk and picked up one
of her ankles. Suddenly it occurred to Lucy what he was
going to do and she started to squirm and scream. He
called for the Sergeant and between them they pulled
her legs out until they were parallel to the floor then
tied them wide open. Lucy's body was held in mid air,
her whole weight supported on her arms and ankles. She
tried to keep still as every movement she made
threatened to tear her limbs out of their sockets.
The Lieutenant dismissed the sergeant and unclipped the
wires from her breasts. He proceeded to wrap a wire
around the pocket clip on his stainless steel ball-
point. Once it was secured to his satisfaction he
proceeded to insert it into her anus. With a blinding
clarity Lucy suddenly realised what he was going to do.
"No! No! Please no. Don't do this. Have mercy, please
don't."
He ignored her as he pushed it deep inside, while she
hung there in misery.
He then rubbed the folds of her vagina and eventually
found what he sought. Her world exploded in pain as the
clip snapped shut on her clitoris.
"Now maybe you will talk." And before she had a chance
to reply he twisted the handle savagely.
Lucy thought the pain from her clit was bad but it was
nothing compared to the searing agony coursing through
the lower half of her body. She screamed and writhed
for a full two minutes after he stopped. Finally her
tumult died down and she hung limply. Her whole body
was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and her hair was
plastered across her face in damp rat's tails.
"What is your ship." He said as he reached for the
handle.
"NO! Please I'll tell you. Don't hurt me again. I
couldn't stand it.
Please don't"
"Your ship?"
"Leopard. HMS Leopard."
"There now that was easy wasn't it?". He knew full well
what her ship was called he had heard it on the BBC
World Service. He'd also heard that they were expecting
there to be no survivors, so this little girl was all
his.
"Now what was your mission?"
It was over an hour later that she was dumped in her
cell. The lieutenant smiled as he pocketed the key. She
didn't know much, but what she had known she'd told
him. Militarily she had fulfilled her purpose. Now he
was looking to her to fulfill another purpose of an
altogether more basic kind.
Tomorrow was not going to be a good day for her.
**
The Tornados streaked in just before dawn catching the
defenses unprepared. It took a full three minutes
before the first SAM radar lit up. By then it was too
late as the Jets screamed out to sea, their mission
accomplished.
The main battalion headquarters was still reeling in
shock when the calls started to come in from the
outposts along the coast.
They had far too much on their minds to do anything
about the madman that reckoned he had captured a
prisoner. So he was just being told to get what
information they could out of him then to dispose of
him quietly, when the Radars detected the Carrier
launched Harriers inbound.
The line was peremptorily cleared as the sirens
shrieked and the MIGs scrambled.
**
The cell door was flung open and crashed against the
wall with a loud clang. Lucy huddled against the wall
with her knees against her chest and with the thin,
threadbare blanket covering her loins. She shivered in
fear as the Lieutenant came into the small cell,
followed by one of his men carrying a pitcher of water
and some flat bread.
He waited until the soldier had left and had slam-
locked the cell door before speaking.
"Good morning. I hope you slept well?"
"Please when do I get transferred to a Prisoner of War
camp?"
He sat on the end of her bed and laid his hand on her
knee.
"I'm sorry but our high command has issued the order to
shoot you."
His tone was so matter of fact that Lucy could scarcely
believe he'd said it.
"S..shoot me! Why?"
His reassuring smile was as false as a Politician's
election promises.
"Because we have no facilities for prisoners of war.
I'm sure you understand."
Lucy burst into inconsolable floods of tears.
"There, there my dear," He patted her on the knee. "I
wouldn't want to see you die. You are too young, too
pretty," He stroked her hair lightly. "I'm sure we can
reach a compromise that would save your life."
"Compromise?" She gulped, chillingly aware of his hand
teasing the back of her neck.
He tilted her chin with his hand so she was looking
directly into her eyes. "Yes a compromise. You are a
western...er...girl, I'm sure you understand." He had
to bite his tongue to stop himself blurting out the
word 'Whore'.
The tears started trickling down her soft cheeks as the
import of what he had so casually told her filtered
through her overworked mind. In order to survive she
had to offer herself to him. She was alone and afraid.
And very, very naked.
"Ah so you do understand," He smiled. "So? What is it
to be?" His hand crept under the blanket as he spoke,
trailing higher and higher up her downy, white thigh.
She closed her eyes and shuddered, then parted her legs
allowing him to reach the apex of her existence. No
words were needed to signify her consent.
He had to bite his lower lip to stop himself from
laughing at her easy surrender. If the rest of her
compatriots were as soft as this then the blessed
Libyan forces will throw the infidels back into the sea
with ease.
She expelled her breath in one long sigh as he touched
her sex.
"Lie down," He ordered gutturally, his voice hoarse
with lust.
Awkwardly and painfully aware of her vulnerability she
shuffled around and lay down on the sagging bed. Once
she had settled he pulled off the blanket with a
Matador's flourish revealing the naked girl in all her
glory. He'd seen her before, of course, but the sight
of her innocently naked body made him catch his breath
with its sheer beauty.
One hand ducked to her crotch and her arm crossed her
breasts in the ageless protectionist pose, as she
reflexively tried to shield her charms from his
lascivious gaze.
"Take them away, " he ordered sternly.
She hesitated, then slowly pulled them to her sides.
She lay there, stiff and terrified as he glanced down
admiringly at her. Then he started to strip.
She watched like a snake in the thrall of a mongoose as
he shed his clothes. He was lean and tanned and not
that bad looking and under different circumstances she
might have found him attractive. Although whether he
was attractive enough to sleep with was another matter.
But now she had no choice.
He pulled his pants down to reveal his penis which
sprang free and bobbed, menacingly at her. Its single
eye glaring balefully at her, promising all kinds of
humiliation, shame and, above all, pain.
She must get away.
She coiled her body then leapt to her feet and tried to
make it to the door. He was startled for a split second
but then his soldier's reflexes kicked in and he
grabbed her arm. He then backhanded her across her face
which slammed her back onto the bed.
"Don't make me want to shoot you," He pointed
menacingly.
Lucy fell back onto the bed in abject surrender as he
climbed onto the narrow cot.
"Open your legs," Harsh, furious in lust.
She slowly spread her legs, tears pouring in a soft
river across her face at the humiliation.
"Put your feet flat on the floor," The orders continued
unabated.
Her feet rested on the floor which caused her cunt to
twist upwards slightly as her knees bent.
He looked long and hard at the silky junction of her
thighs as the small pink corrugations of her pussy lips
beckoned subliminally at him.
"Reach up and hold on to the bedhead," His final order
before he positioned himself with his cockhead at the
entrance to her tunnel. He reached down and touched
her, she was dry and unyielding. He spat on his hand
repeatedly, each time smearing it over his cock until
it sparkled with goo.
He manhandled his cock up and down her slit, pressing
harder each time until at last he started to nibble
into her sex.
"Please, please," She moaned as he started to force
himself into her. She tried to push him off but he
roughly forced her down hard onto the mattress.
"It's too late now," menacingly. "You must just lay
back and endure it."
He then resumed his pushing. Finally his head popped in
and she squirmed in agony.
"By Allah, she is tight," He muttered. "Surely she is
not a virgin?"
He would very shortly find out.
He rammed in as hard as he could, while his hands
clutched her breasts tightly. And her whole body went
rigid with pain.
Lucy Anstruther, midshipman of her Majesty the Queen of
England's Royal Navy, had just lost her carefully
hoarded chastity.
**
He looked down at her sneeringly as he buttoned up his
shirt. His contempt for her evident in his every
movement.
She lay, still spread wide, with a small trickle on
pink tinged sperm sliding from within her. Her face a
mask of shock, horror and misery.
But at least it was over. She would live.
"ALI!" He shouted as he rapped his cane on the cell
door.
A few seconds later the inspection hatch flew open and
Ali's ugly visage peered through the small aperture.
"Let me out," He snapped.
Ali threw open the door with alacrity as he spied the
naked young girl submissively posed. He couldn't take
his eyes off her as the officer pushed past.
"Sir," He said as the officer went to leave the room.
"What?"
"Can the men ....?" His voice trailed off lamely. The
rest of the words need not be spoken, the meaning was
already well established.
"Yes, yes," Said the officer waving his cane
impatiently as if trying to ward off petty details.
Then he stopped. "But tie her down first. We wouldn't
want her to escape now would we?"
Sergeant Ali leapt to attention much to the surprise of
the startled officer. "NO SIR!" He bellowed.
The officer laughed and strode away.
The word had gotten around and before long an eager
press of men pushed against the back of the sergeant he
gazed at her in awe. Allah was truly magnificent.
He ordered ropes to be brought and, before the stunned
girl could react she found herself tied, spread-eagled
to the bedframe.
The dazed girl started screaming as he took the money
from the long line of waiting soldiers.
**
"What the fuck is this place?" Queried sergeant
'Chalky' white from his vantage point on the tank
turret.
"It says Al-Jemenny, somefink like that sarge," said
Private 'Cockney' Burroughs.
"I suppose we'd better take a look. You never know when
we'll find a hotbed of them Gaddafi fanatics holding
out and armed to the teeth," It was the joke of the
campaign. Every time the soldiers came across a party
of Libyan military they were throwing away their arms
with alacrity. Tinged with an element of relief.
It was now nearly three months since the battle of
Sirte, which was won decisively by the British. Three
months of mind numbing patrols across the sand wastes
searching for renegade units still holding out.
Then they'd stumbled on a flyspeck on the map and the
sarge had had the hunch that it was worth a visit.
Something that he was bitterly regretting as the tank
graunched the sides of the steeply sided ravine as his
driver carefully eased the monstrous beast forward.
Finally they were through and a small sleepy fishing
village lay dozing below them.
"Hey Sarge its Blackpool," Laughed one of the crew and
the sergeant couldn't help but smile at the incongruity
of the statement.
He banged on the top of the turret.
"May as well check it out," He called and the tank
rumbled forward.
Just as they reached the outer perimeter of the village
they were startled to see a trickle, then a flood, of
Libyan soldiers running towards them , throwing away
their weapons and gibbering like monkeys.
Lieutenant Adouli surrendered his numerically superior
forces to the bemused tank crew.
While the radioman called in for transport the sergeant
strolled around the village. Machine pistol at the
ready he made his way carefully through the foul
smelling alleys.
He turned a corner to find a crowd of men jockeying to
enter a small door.
He pushed his way through the crowd, which started to
mutter angrily at him. Then they noticed his weapon and
they grew silent.
He found his way blocked by a burly Arab in a flowing
off-white burnoose. They stared at each other for a
second, saying nothing, then the sergeant rammed his
gun into the man's stomach and the man yielded,
allowing the sergeant access to the room.
It took a little while to accustom his eyes to the
gloom but, as his vision cleared he looked across into
a further small, cell like room. Movement caught his
eye and he recognised pounding buttocks between the
widespread legs of a willing whore.
He'd stumbled into the local knocking shop it seemed.
He was about to turn away when a thought struck him.
Those were white legs sticking out from under that
goat-herder. What the fuck were they doing here?
He strode into the room and hauled the guy off only to
be greeted by a pair of vacant blue eyes.
**
A tear glinted in the eye of Admiral Anstrunther as he
watched his favourite grand-daughter lead the freedom
of the city parade through the town. Sword held high
she epitomised the courage and fighting spirit that
symbolised England.
Nothing had been said about her war.
Fingers were tapped on the sides of noses when the
question was asked.
"Need to know old boy." Was the stock answer.
As ever, in cases like this, a mystique grew up around
her and a new Mata Hari legend was born.
The same but different.
You see this one had survived.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 28