Gromet's PlazaLatex Stories

Letters From Kaylin Chapter 4.1: Mountain Meadows of Bondage

by RbrBill

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© Copyright 2012 - RbrBill - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-m; F/m; MM/m; latex; catsuits; multi-layer; gasmask; airtank; packaged; transport; crate; program; farm; mast; climax; reluct/cons; X

I have consolidated all of my stories to date on a Yahoo Adult Group. The Group has the stories and loads of free heavy rubber photo finds that I've compiled over the years. There are even a couple of photos of me enjoying my favorite material. - Story continues from Chapter 3: Destinations

Chapter 4: Mountain Meadows of Bondage

1: Jason’s Gasps

Jason Kildare was in desperate straights. He was locked – handcuffed to a chair in front of his computer screen. The screen glowed with a screensaver downloaded from his ex-girlfriend’s machine. His thoughts wandered beyond the “ex-girlfriend” and realized that she would soon be a murderer and he was the victim! His next thought was when found the authorities would look on his death as some sort of autoerotic fantasy gone wrong. They would probably declare his death accidental and not really look too closely into the circumstances surrounding it.

After all he was dressed in several layers of heavy rubber and the respirator system strapped to his back was the sole source for air. The fact that he was locked in his bondage making his escape from the closed-loop breathing system was not really a question. The lock that kept him enslaved was a combination lock. Keys for all other locks were sitting next to him. There was no sign of forcible imprisonment. What else would they think? They would decide that he went a bit too far, probably exhausted his air in one final cataclysmic rapture in ecstasy that only his weird fetish allowed and in the post-orgasmic panic with no air could not get the combination lock open in time to release his self-bondage… a sad footnote to the annals bizarre sexual behavior.

They would find no record in the computer of his last moments of life. The system was completely locked out of his control. They may look into the reason for his inability to make notes or leave clues on the machine. They may scour his hard drive for clues but how closely? The case was so open and shut… self-inflicted death by asphyxiation, not really a suicide but close enough.

The RFPC, Remote Fantasy Program Companion, was working its magic on his physical being as his mind churned through his predicament. The carnal side of his body betrayed his lust as it responded despite his terror, or maybe as a result of the terror combined with the sexual assault on him. The lump in his belly in response to the situation built quickly. His desire to thrust inside the system competed with his fears as he struggled vainly to get his wrists free of the bonds. He tried to lever the full-face mask off his head. He could find no edge on which to gain purchase.

He sort of hopped in his chair trying to scoot the chair closer to the computer table. The rubbery prison in which he was trapped was just too strong, too binding, and too complete for his escape attempts. As he struggled to escape his bonds the animal side of the affair took hold and drew his last vestige of strength toward a final massive explosion of lust. The thing surprised him in its intensity at release. He felt the flow of his desire as it spread out to fill his entire body with its magic. Each muscle strained. He willed his thoughts to concentrate on a way to at least get the mask free. His thoughts were drowned by the lust of his body as his final aroused explosive blast threw him mentally over the invisible cliff to the final depths of deprivation.

The thrusting and response to the circumstance was so violent, he threw his weight to the side and the chair tipped and he fell with a crash on his side. Now he was panting as he surveyed his room from the floor and at an angle. His breathing was getting more difficult. It was pretty obvious the last orgasmic thrusts had depleted a major amount of his pure air. But from this vantage point he could slowly scoot along the chair mat toward his computer table. His movements were measured not in inches but in fractions of inches but he was able to make progress toward the table corner and the possible removal of the mask.

It is often that when faced with such inevitability the human mind seeks a way out despite the impossibility of the situation. His mask was sealed to his face with a locked collar and the mask neck skirt was under locked heavy rubber suits. The tempered face plate could not be broken by merely banging it against the table leg, yet Jason did not think about any of these hurdles between his freedom and death. He just saw a remote chance to get the outside air into his lungs. This was his immediate concern and now that the orgasmic event was over his concentration focused on escape.

Fortunately, the cavalry arrived as his air finally gave out.

Specialty Delivery Systems was true to their word. For the princely sum the client provided for this job, they knew they had best be on time. The door swung open and the two delivery guys saw the most bizarre sight ever beheld in their lives. The body looked like a deep sea diver but that was impossible. No one wore such things in the middle of the living room. One of the guys picked up on the scene from his knowledge of Penthouse and Hustler.

“The guy is a rubber nut case… gets his jollies by doing it in rubber. Wow, this one has it bad,” he said.

The second guy replied, “how ‘bout the client… she must be one too.”

“I’m not taking that bet, Fred. Okay, let’s get these new tanks hooked up.”

The tanks were much larger than the ones on Jason’s back. These two tanks had enough air in them to sustain him for several hours – up to a day if needed. The two delivery guys efficiently unclipped the empty tanks and hooked the fresh ones to Jason’s mask tubing. They checked for breathing and found the rubber prisoner was still breathing and was sucking the new air greedily.

They moved him to the large shipping crate provided for the job. The crate had thick foam padding with a cutout for the bound rubber toy. There was a large camelback in one cutout of the crate and tubing that could be fit to the respirator mask.

Jason was coming back. He was sucking cool dry air into his lungs and wondered how. He saw two pairs of legs moving around him and realized there was someone in the room. This revelation surprised him. His first thought was, “These guys see me in this rubber gear.” Surprisingly this shocking revelation also sent a surge of arousal through his body. He tried to speak but the mask muffled any attempts.

“The rubber boy is back with us,” Fred observed.

Fred looked into the mask.

“Buddy, can you hear me?”

Jason tried a nod.

“We hooked up a drinking system to the mask. Suck on the drinking tube if you can. You’ll need plenty of fluids for your trip.”

Jason felt the tube with his tongue and closed his mouth on it. He sucked at the thing and was rewarded with wet rubbery tasting fluid.

Then his eyes went wide as the words from the guy registered – trip?

The fellows placed his computer into the box. It fit perfectly into a special padded slot.

But he couldn’t say anything because the two guys were already putting the lid of the crate in place and his world went completely black as the thick foam padding pressed against his body and he heard the faint sound of nails being hammered home.

Who the hell was doing this to him? Of course that did not take long to figure out – Kaylin! He was suddenly surging inside the dark box and his frustrated thrusts made his entrapment all the more erotic. My gosh! Kaylin was kidnapping him while he was surrounded in multiple layers of heavy, pressing, massaging rubber! And his body was responding to the situation with carnal lust! His journey into rubber had come so far in such a short time.

The building surge in his groin was undeniable as he thrust against the heavy bonds and surged to an incredible explosion of sexual desire. His seed filled the inner sheath with more of his cream pushing his journey into the depths of rubber bliss closer to a final and utter surrender to the sensuous material.

In his relief he had the unforeseen urge to pee. He could not hold the hot gush any longer and he let go inside the sheath. His hot gush filled the brief dam to bursting as the stuff found its way out of the brief; he felt it spreading into his lower body. The one consolation for him was the knowledge the stuff was not getting out. He knew he would be one ripe fellow by journeys end.

In reflection he had no shame of what he was becoming in his dark pressing world. He thought of Kaylin and wondered what was waiting for him at the other end of this trip. No thoughts of her rejection earlier clouded his future. She obviously did care for him and if she wanted a rubber toy, then so be it. He felt the pressing rubber on him. His body heat could not escape and his sweat poured out of his body to settle in his rubbery cocoon. He swilled the fluids gratefully and waited for the next chapter in his suddenly changing life to reveal itself.

Jason felt movement as the box was hoisted and he was soon totally disoriented. He thought he was upside down. He was in fact on his head. The stuff inside his suit swirled around his upper body. Fortunately the collars and tight rubber seals kept it from flowing into his hoods and mask. Then he was tumbled into a different position and the stuff flowed toward his back. He peed again as he drank more fluids. The heat from his body was held close by the thick and insulating padding.

The stimulation system kicked into action and he felt a surge in his crotch as the massaging mechanical pulses stroked his stiffening member and arousal surged out from his groin. He knew the surrender was complete. He could do nothing but think of Kaylin and let the system carry him to another erotic cum.

He did not know how long this journey might take.

The dark pressing heat was so complete. It was so constant. The lining of the crate created a sameness of climate that worked to dull his sensory analysis. The touch was such a complete part of this new and black nothingness that Jason was floating in the womb. His rebirth from his rubber womb would change him forever. Then the massage began again and his sensory desire, his need for input from something beyond the pressing sameness, drove his mind to focus on the mechanical lusting of the thrusting sheath and the tingling spreading through his sensitive nipples to engulf his entire body. He moaned into his mask. The moans did not escape from the insulating padding of the crate. He does not even know if he is up or down anymore as the sweat and cum and piss has so filled the suit that it has coated his body with a wet slippery layer from neck to toe. He felt the surge of his orgasm weakly sending a small amount of semen out of his tortured tool. He was in dire need for rest – a respite from this confinement and the constant attack by the unthinking program. The cramping and closeness of his rubbery confines do not allow rest. The confines do not allow sensory input beyond the constant press. He tried talking to himself but his voice was muffled and confused within the thick padded space. He could not articulate aloud since his head was securely encased in protective and restrictive foam. His grunts have no meaning attached to what he tried to say.

But that evil fucking system comes to life again and his full focus on stimulus is its mindless arousal routine. He is a prisoner, a slave to the unthinking and emotionless ministrations of the program routine.

The system was set to cycle every twenty minutes after an orgasm was sensed but Jason does not know this. After each orgasmic release, the system shuts down for the required time. Of course the required cycle to reach orgasm was taking longer with each new and exhausting attack on his body. The complete cycle from beginning to the next beginning stretched to almost an hour. The system did not care that its victim was exhausted beyond belief. It only senses the time of the muscular contractions, no matter how weak, and shuts off for twenty minutes. The torture was pure genius and wickedness in its unthinking repetitive torment.

This was the sum total of the world that Jason has befallen. His life was rapidly losing any meaning beyond the lust for rubber compliance and rubber acceptance. His thoughts wandered to the journey’s end and the glorious mistress waiting his arrival. Surely she would know what his condition had become and she would know how to care for a totally devoted rubber slave. He found a level of peace in these thoughts. He realized that this new reality was much like a womb. It was protective and comforting to have nothing to worry beyond pleasing his mistress and living for his rubbery world that appeared to be his future. These thoughts were a jumble in his mind and he was truly seeing his old life dissolving before him as each new arousal cycle pounded more cracks in the brick wall of his resistance to any remaining doubt of his rubber completeness or remembrance of his life before rubber.

During one early respite from the cycle he thought of his job and his life in Washington. He wondered how those things would be closed without suspicion of foul play or intent. But each of the iterations in the continuing cycle had turned that part of his reasoning to mush and now he did not care. He figured Mistress Kaylin had already fixed all of those problems. With that final rational thought Jason Kildare gave himself over totally to his rubbery life and future in the hands of his loving and desirable Mistress in Colorado. No thought that he was destined for another place even crossed his mind.

* * * *

Three weeks before the call from Jason, Kaylin had researched a possible camp to convert someone into a rubber loving slut. In reality she was a bit tired of Jason’s whining about doing “it” without rubber. She gave him the chance and he had failed her expectations. Now she set her sights on a co-worker at the lab. It wasn’t Jason but then a replacement may have to do. She hoped her chosen victim would learn what it meant to be a true rubber believer.

The Camp was located in a remote mountain valley west of Denver. It was the only one of its kind in the US though probably not the world. Kaylin speculated that such camps existed in England and Germany as well as other enlightened European locales. But this one was local, a plus in its favor. She could stay in close contact with the camp officials. After all her planned victim might be converted into the rubber loving slutty slave she desired.

Kaylin picked up the brochure and read it again. A smile came to her lips as she read about the total depths of rubber deprivation the place offered. When her rubber toy was ready, she would join him at the camp for her Mistress training to better cope with the totally rubberized slave her object would become.

Mistress Angelina presents a rubber lovers’ paradise at the Rubber Training Adjustment (RTA) Ranch

Rubber Sessions of the very strict kind can also be carried out in my RUBBER SLAVE DISCIPLINING CAMP - fully rubberized BDSM-treatments of the rural kind for totally disciplining the rubber object.

The Rubber Disciplining Camp is NOT a “stylish rubber studio, it is NOT a “high-tech rubber clinic“.

Uncompromising Rubber Training Institution and strictest Slave Disciplining Camp, merciless Interrogation Cell and cruel Torture Clink, perverse Prison Hospital and extreme Clinical Experimental Station for worthless RSOs!

This is The Dark Side of rubber treatments - and of my Fetish Soul. This is the sinister place of strictest totally rubberized slave keeping, of unrelenting rubber training, where your own will (if still existing) will be broken mercilessly, and you will become reduced to a powerless rubber object...

An old ranch in the remote Colorado mountain wilderness provides the backdrop for this one-of-a-kind facility. A location with abandoned horse stables and cattle pens on a romantically overgrown valley offers ideal possibilities for undisturbed strict Rubber Training and stringent Slave Keeping. BDSM at its finest - here I can give my undivided attention to the strict unrelenting treatment of my rubber objects with no fear of interruption.

You are a slave? I will discipline you mercilessly - together with one of my domme assistants who will support me with your strict training, or together with a rubber slave girl who will share your fate. You really ONLY should book a treatment in this location if you are a slave who is used to and who needs it to be mistreated!

Or are you a master or mistress in need of honing your skills? Together with you I will continue the strictest training and torture of one of my heavily rubberized slave girls/boys and instill the subtle knowledge of a professional dominatrix needed for the proper care and ownership of a rubber sex slave. You will learn to appreciate the work required to create a rubber object for love.

Punishments and whippings, caning and severe bondage, keeping you mercilessly in a cage or in a stable, chaining you sadistically and treating you like the pig you are, automatic enforced milking and prolonged enforced fucking, fisting and wax torture, trampling and stinging nettle treatments, punishment horse and enforced piercings, cbt and electrical therapies, riding training and pony breaking-in, enforced depilation, urine-udder-disciplining and unrelenting urine punishments, strict needle-therapies and merciless interrogations (and nobody will hear you pleading...!).

Your rubberized Lady of the Ranch and her horny riding assistant, and your sadistic Rubber Mistress and her punishable slave girl are awaiting you...

Of course the Rubber Camp is available for overnights and for long-term treatments.

Kaylin visited the Ranch one Saturday in order to scout it out. The brochure was perfect, almost too perfect, so she decided a visit was in order. The directions were clear. She drove out US 285 toward Pine Junction. This road was a major highway and well-traveled. At Pine Junction she found the turn onto County Road 126 toward Buffalo Creek. This road quickly took her into the Colorado Mountain wilderness. After about twenty-two miles there was a long steep downgrade. At the bottom of the hill the road narrowed very visibly to a 2-lane road. Just after the “Cheesman Canyon Trailhead,” she saw the small wooden Forest Service sign with several names, one of which is “RTA Ranch, (formerly Lost Valley Ranch).”

She turned right onto the road and wound her way back about eight miles before finding the gated entrance with a call box. This was definitely in the wilderness. The valley sides were high treed mountains. The air was crisp and clear. This place was more remote than her Red Cliff retreat.

Kaylin pushed the talk button of the box and waited.

“May I help you?” asked a metallic voice through the small speaker.

“I’m Kaylin Franklin and I have an appointment.”

The gate swung open without any reply from the speaker. Kaylin pressed forward.

The road wound along another mile or more. Trees were well spaced in glens of short grass. Some cattle were grazing on the fields and among the trees. The place looked to be a working ranch. The road crested a low rise and the ranch building came into view. The ranch was in the center of a spectacular high mountain valley. Rugged mountain peaks jutted over the fairly wide valley. Stands of pines were interspersed with wide open fields of grass. The clear blue sky had just the right number of puffy white clouds floating serenely overhead. Cool air provided relief from the heat of the sun.

The large house stood in a grove of trees while four out buildings sat a short distance back from the house. There was a horse barn to the left. The cattle seemed to be housed in the building to the right. The third building appeared to be some sort of garage/work building. Next to this building was a long building that was probably a bunk house. Horses were being exercised outside the horse stable. Well these were certainly very small horses. They appeared to be more like ponies. Their coats shone brightly in the sun. They were obviously well groomed and cared for. The people overseeing the exercise of the ponies were dressed in cowboy clothing, though at a distance the clothes seemed a bit slick.

As Kaylin got closer to the ranch buildings the ponies resolved themselves into people forced into rubber pony costumes. The cowboy clothing was also latex. First impression seemed to show Kaylin the place was the right place to train a new friend into the way of latex.

The main house was large. There was a porch around two sides of the building with chairs and tables in the dark shade from the overhang. There were two people sitting at one of the tables enjoying a drink and conversation. Another seemed to be serving them. One of them wore a shiny long flowing denim colored (though latex) dress like something from a latex version of a cowboy movie. Her blouse was also shiny latex but with patterns like any cowgirl shirt. She wore a bright tan vest. As the car drew closer the latex cowgirl watched but showed little interest. Her black high stiletto heel boots flowed under her dress.

The second companion was in similar garb as the first with the exception that she wore denim colored latex jeans. Her latex red cowboy shirt was tucked into the top of the jeans. She wore a silk kerchief around her neck and her boots were thigh high shiny stiletto heels. The server seemed to be in total rubber. He wore a cat-suit with hood and severe boots. His apparel was all black. His legs were chained at the ankles and his arms were restrained at the elbows. A gas mask covered his hooded face making him completely anonymous.

Kaylin pulled up to the porch steps and parked. Her car was the only one is sight. She switched off the engine. Before she could open the door, the rubber-clad male ran into the house and returned carrying a long heavy yellow rubber coat patterned after the long range slickers seen in the old west, hat, gauntlets and high heel rubber boots.

Kaylin rolled down her window. The fellow spoke through the voicemitter of his mask, “All visitors must have appropriate attire for the dress code of this facility. No street clothing may show while you are on the premises.”

Kaylin surveyed the bundle of rubber the fellow held, “I will wear my own clothes.”

She pulled off her jacket to reveal the top of her cat-suit. She reached into the back of the car for her hood and pulled it on. He opened the door revealing her thigh high boots that enclosed her cat-suit clad legs.

“I assume this meets your code,” she said with a vague wave encompassing her body.

“Yes, Ma’am. It certainly meets the code.”

Kaylin got out of her car. The cowgirls on the porch nodded appreciatively as Kaylin climbed the steps. Kaylin looked over the rubber-clad ladies closely. The one in the skirt was Asian. Her tan skin and almond eyes were framed in long black hair. Her irises were as dark as her hair and a person could easily drown in their depths. She was as petite as Kaylin and her corseted waist was a tiny seventeen inches at most. When she stood to greet Kaylin, she saw the woman was about five feet-nine inches in her seven inch heel boots! She could not weigh more than 105 pounds. The other woman was much taller and much larger in the breast and hips. Still she was quite stunning in her latex cowgirl outfit.

“Kaylin Franklin?” asked Angelina as she offered a rubber-clad hand.


“I see Asian in your heritage, Chinese?”

“No, Ma’am. My mother was Japanese.”

“I’m Filipino but I won’t take offense to your Japanese heritage.”

“Thank you.”

“The war was a long time ago and we are both Americans now anyway. I forget my manners. I am Angelina Ocampo. This is Rubberdoll.”


“Yes, she is my associate and has gone only by that name for the last eight years. I actually am not sure if she remembers her former name. I don’t unless I think really hard.”

“I see,” said Kaylin. She wondered how someone becomes Rubberdoll. Of course she wanted to mold someone, yet unknown, into a rubber toy so what was the difference.

“I understand you wish to have some training of someone in your life. By your appearance I can guess quite easily your desire.”

“Yes, well there is a co-worker at the biotech company I work for who seems to enjoy our HAZMAT suits more than what might be normal. I suspect he may be a rubberist at heart. He also seems interested in me. He has made some advances and I would prefer a totally rubberized lover. I had someone who I thought would fill the need nicely but he has shown doubts and is still in Washington. I have decided to move on with my life.”

“Why not have the one in Washington brought here?”

“I thought about it but he seems too strong-minded and resistant. He wants normal relations.”

“I’m sure we can fix that problem. Maybe you should see if he will visit you.”

“I doubt he will come. He hasn’t contacted me since June. It’s been six weeks now and I have given up hope of continuing that relationship.”

“Too bad. Six weeks doesn’t seem to be a very long time before giving up hope. I can tell this one might have been special.”

“Yes. But I need to move on.”

“May I suggest you have the one in Washington brought here?”

“How can I do that?”

Angelina gave Kaylin a card. “This company specializes in unusual shipping needs.”

Kaylin looked at the card. “Special Delivery Systems,” it read. “No job too hard to handle.”

“I’ll think about it. Now tell me about your program and qualifications.”

“I keep the program flexible and we keep it secret. I think you understand. I insure results as long as I have a free hand in the training. As for qualifications, I was the owner of a specialty shop in St. Petersburg for a number of years. Rubberdoll is my faithful servant and partner. The store was bought out by Rubber Tree Annex and I stayed on as consultant. I was available to provide special training on some of the more interesting devices the store sold.”

Angelina left out the part about her imprisonment as a rubber mannequin for over three months before the new management let her and Doll out to continue on as sales associates. This somewhat deceptive title did not address the fact that they remained locked in tight rubber clothing for weeks on end and slept in suspended sacks in the rear of the store as part of their servitude to RTA.

Their ability to sell product finally brought recognition and promotion. Angelina was again manager of the store she once owned. This allowed her some freedom in her living though by the time of the promotion she was a totally committed rubberist with no desire to be anything else. Success in the store again won promotion to this post at the Rubber Training Adjustment (RTA) Ranch.

“I understand trade secrets,” said Kaylin. “We have plenty at Biotech Discoveries.”

“Your employer?”


Angelina took note. That was one place that might be ripe for possible customers to the Ranch. She decided to alter her plans for this Kaylin for now.

“We keep our subjects in tight and total rubber bondage at all times,” said Angelina as they approached the bunkhouse.

“This was the bunkhouse. It had two-tiered bunks for about twenty hands. We find this new arrangement allows up to fifty objects at any one time.” Angelina opened the door to reveal a well-lighted space with several heavy rubber bags suspended from the rafters. Some were obviously occupied, other stood empty. “We have thirty-five residents right now. Twenty or so are here. The others are under some sort of training or discipline. Each resident has his or her own sleep sack. We clean them regularly for hygiene purposes.”

Angelina closed the door and moved toward the shed.

“This is our medical facility. As you can see it is equipped for both real medical emergencies and other needed medical requirements as a subject needs. We have staff that specializes in all sorts of rubber medical fetish activities. They also serve as the medical staff should an actual problem arise. Usually it is confined to illness, flu and such, as the supervision of all practices is very careful.”

“The basement of the house has a dungeon and special isolation cells for the more stubborn guests,” Angelina continued. “We cannot show you those facilities as they are restricted to the guests and the attending staff. Perhaps you may have the opportunity to be a guest as we have a program to instruct would-be dominants and slave owners on the care and keeping of rubber slaves.”

“This seems to be a working ranch. I saw cattle in pasture as I was driving to the house,” Kaylin said.

Angelina laughed. “Sorry, those were some of our guests that are under punishment. Those “cattle” are special heavy rubber suits designed to keep a subject under tight confinement while forced to eat only grain and water. We let them out on the range for show and the sun helps to keep them hot and sweaty. A closer inspection will show you their hooves are actually wheels and they have motors that move them around by remote control. The subject sees only a small view through the head and they are forced to swill whatever goes into the mouth. It is a very effective punishment.”

“The pony training facility is also well used. If you desire your slave to be a stallion, we can arrange the pony program.”

Angelina indicated this was the end of the tour by circling back to Kaylin’s car.

“I hope to see you soon,” Angelina said as she closed Kaylin’s door and took her leave.

Kaylin called Special Delivery Systems (SDS) and discussed the possible requirement. She decided that Jason may be the best choice for the treatment. They let her know that a key to the subject’s location would be nice to have. Kaylin posted her spare key to Jason’s by Express mail that day along with special instructions which included air tanks and other needs (rubber suit dressing using the suits at the apartment) required for packaging her victim. She hoped that this action would ultimately be consensual and not viewed as criminal.

Three weeks later Kaylin received the message/call from Jason. He had finally done it. Fears of criminal repercussions fled her mind when Jason showed her what he had done. She quickly called SDS to make sure they were ready to pick up the “package” before contacting Jason with her final instructions. She let SDS know that most of the preplanning requirements would not be necessary as the package had already taken care of the greatest amount of the planned instruction on his own.

She figured the trip would probably have a huge effect on him but she was concerned that once released from the gear and again out of the influencing grip of rubber his old inclination for “vanilla” sex might sneak into his mind. She had to be sure that would never, repeat NEVER be a problem again. The camp provided another and more pressing need. Jason’s rubberized body could be delivered without her being there. After all, she had a pay check to earn and could not take off to receive the package or take care of it at the moment. She knew he would be in good hands at the camp and visiting day was Saturday, just three days away.

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