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     Clarissa regained consciousness slowly. Pain accompanied every muscle contration; even breathing was agony teen. She was adrift in teen a sea of pain. She tried to open her eyes, but was prevented from doing so by a crust teen of dry cum. She felt nasty all clothing teen over. The laughter of teen twenty teenage boys still rang in her ears. Finally, the realization that she teen had been raped and left movies for dead clothing teen enraged her enough to lend strength to her rubbery muscles clothing teen. She rolled off her back clothing onto her belly, and after resting teen for about ten minutes, she teen was able to movies pull teen herself forward some. She headed teenfucking uphill, toward the exit. Whenever she felt her strength failing, she thought about how the boys teen had waylaid her, dragged her into the underground parking garage clothing, and movies then had fucking used their switchblade knives to cut teenfucking her clothing from her body in itty bitty strips teenfucking. She wanted help. She wanted justice, but above all, she wanted fucking revenge. Each pull brought her about a teen foot closer to her goal. She was on the teen third level below ground. Each level was about a clothing hundred yards long. One teen pull roughly every ten minutes. Even if it took her teenfucking a teen week, she was getting out. After three hours, Clarissa was exhausted. Even her rage failed her. She wouldn't have even known she had teen fallen teen asleep had she not been awakened by the sound of footsteps. She tried to cry teen out clothing teen, but fucking all she managed was a feeble squeak. In the hollow emptiness teenfucking of the garage, it fucking was apparently enough clothing teen, for after only a minute, Clarissa felt strong teen hands teen on her, lifting teen her to a sitting clothing position teen. She was teen carefully sheathed in a coat and lifted from the concrete. She managed teenfucking to squeak out a "thank teenfucking you."
     Consciousness returned again several hours later. She was surrounded by water. A rag came clothing teen up and started teen wiping teen her face. She realized she'd been here for quite a teenfucking while, for her fingertips were well wrinkled clothing teen. Water was poured over her head. She felt a comb going through her hair.
     Time had no meaning for Clarissa. She didn't know whether she slept for minutes, hours, days or weeks. All she knew clothing teen was what was happening when she opened her eyes. Her rescuer never demanded teenfucking anything teen. He gave her the food she needed whether she was awake or not. Hers clothing was a life clothing of teenfucking luxury she had never experienced before, until one day her benefactor decided it was time she started on the path toward recovery.
     "I've been there." she told the woman. She teenfucking held the camera triumphantly fucking. Here was evidence of a parole violation if nothing else, and with the other clothing victim's testimony, they were sure to get extra time.
     The submission of evidence took little time. Clarissa and teenfucking Phil attended the trial, watching fucking from the gallery. All of fucking the boys were found guilty, and sentenced to two consecutive clothing teen life teen sentences. Phil had teenfucking one arm teen around Clarissa's shoulder teen, and occasionally he would run movies his fingers over movies the "scrunchie," as Clarissa called it, that held her hair up in a waterfall ponytail teen. Clarissa didn't notice. She was too intent on the teen trial.

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