The night of Paris’ murder, Isla had been the lone witness. She had seen him leaving Paris’ apartment wearing a blood-stained shirt. She knew he h...d not committed the murder. Michael was not the murdering type. He had always been calm, even when angry. Isla had always figured something in his past had taught him to keep tight control over his emotions. Even when Isla had seen him being escorted to court the day after his arrest, he had been calm. The image of Michael in those handcuffs had. "Look what I found in the 'supplies' they left us honey!" She exclaimedwith obvious joy. "I thought that there was not going to be any fuckingthat went on tonight, but it turns out I was wrong. Except that you willbe the one getting fucked!" Stacy," I started, wanting to slow things down. A lot. I was not sure Iwas at all ready for any sexual encounters, much less with a purple dildothat looked to be about twice the size of my now missing penis. A smallstab of extremely agitating jealousy. More

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