His soft white shirt, showing a slowly growing red stain just above his belt line, she cut apart with Rhys’ own boot dagger. The soft boots were off...in a flash. Gently pulling off his trousers, she laid bare his spindly butt. The horrible, criss-crossing set of scars left from years of abuse on his behind and lower back had broken open, oozing fresh, red blood in astonishing quantities. Rhys moaned feebly as another spasm wracked his emaciated body. There was no time to run and fetch her. I’d swear that there was a ‘sway’ in her walk. When I joined her on the sofa, she automatically swung her legs across my lap, and wiggled her toes - for a foot massage. I obliged, as she watched some hospital drama, on TV, as if nothing had happened. My mind was racing, alternating between confronting her, and getting turned on at the memory of her phone conversation. I couldn’t believe that she had openly masturbated for him, when she had talked to him-what kind of hold did this man have on. More

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