As I made my way to the bathroom, I felt my ass—seamed wet. Sure nuff, remnants of fresh wet cum sticking to the hairs in my crack, and---b l o o d... Those fuckers made me b l e e d ! Leaning against the wall I cut loose the strong stream of my hot jock piss. Then grabbing a wash cloth from the shower, gently wiped the cum and b l o o d from my crack. I noticed my wrists and ankles were swollen with welts. They will pay. I made my way up the stairs to the kitchen, where everyone was up, still. Understandable in a singer, I supposed, though it had never bothered me. Idly I wondered whether that might change in time, now that I'd found my full voice.The wrist thing, though, wasn't a total success. I'd noticed before that she had a tendency to talk with her hands; apparently during her years in (mostly) Italian opera some of their national reliance on heavy gesticulation had rubbed off. Most Italians I'd met were congenitally incapable of speaking only from the neck up, the hands and. More

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