Dress was indistinguishable from petticoat and chemise from pantaloon. Men's dress and women's lay tossed together, tatty and indiscriminate, discarde... and bruised by the boots of the militia.I remember the terrible silence of the women and looking around and seeing a pair of stays, torn to shreds and saturated in urine and cum. I remember wondering who they belonged to.I remember the Gens d'Armes displaying the bloody results of their torture and shoving it into my face, and the red puddles. The dream was so powerful that I decided to find out where they had moved to and pay them an unexpected visit. I went to their home, and nervously knocked on the door, when I was greeted by my friend, and to my surprise was happy to see me. I was invited in and we began catching up and drinking some wine. I was wondering where he was, but didn't dare ask. After about an hour or so, he came out of the bedroom and my heart skipped a beat. He asked how I had been, and I told him fine as he smiled. More

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