Sheets of paper with notes scribbled messily were scattered on the opposite side. Some rubber bands, a pair of scissors, an ink well and various pens ...ere also found. Maggie frowned. Was that what Richard was hiding? Was he a writer? Or was he aspiring to be a writer? Well, why not, thought Maggie. This was Richard, after all: the eternal academic, the quirky man who one moment was an urbane party entertainer and a brooding loner the next. She had often found him at his desk, pen poised over. ‘Yes!’ She squealed. ‘Are you my slut?’ He bellowed. ‘Yes!’ She screamed in response. ‘Say it to your husband. Say it now!’ He commanded, pulling her hair. My wife got a pain expression on her face, as the last bit of strength she had left. ‘No please. I can’t.’ She begged. Anita looked at me through her eyes full of sorrow and said nothing. ‘Tell your husband you are my slut, and I will let you cum.’ He shouted in her ear… My wife’s expression was of pain, sorrow, and desperation. After. More

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