I struck a friendship with an office mate who just happened to be a man. It was when my marriage turned sour. My husband reacted with insecurity, ambushing my cell calls, thumbing through texts and showing up at my workplace unexpectedly.
I sat up one night while he slept, considering a stun gun after he would not allow me to join a company training outside the city. I tried to reason with him but he only insisted to go with me.
I knew he would rather have me socialize with old buddies, not those in my job, so I went to see one. I pretended she was having personal problems but really she was going to show me her Stun Master Stun Gun.
Were it not for a distrustful husband I might later have to stop with a stun gun, I never gave personal security tools the time of day. I do know I can trust the Stun Master name as my dad owns one item among its merchandise.
Designed to emit a high voltage through low amperage, the Stun Master Stun Gun administers great stopping power without being fatal. I read it on several web sites from my buddy’s bedroom.
There were options of 300,000, 200,000 and 100,000 volts on the Stun Master Stun Gun. Out of varying sizes, I singled out the littlest variant, 4.5 inches in length, to be just what my tiny hands can handle.
My pal was kind enough to offer her address for the next day delivery. I dropped by to retrieve the stun gun before heading home, not realizing I would use it within weeks after my husband, intoxicated, walked into the bedroom and battered me.
My spine endured his kicking, and my face, his blows. He even jerked my head repeatedly. I grabbed my stun gun hidden beneath the mattress and fired twice. I had him arrested, vowing never to let him lay a finger on me again.