She was still dressed, although only of a fashion, for her tattered habit clung to her body by instinct rather than design.Her once beautiful skin was...bandaged with strokes emanating from three hubs that were her breasts, her stomach and her thighs. She'd also been crying, but not because of the whip, but because she was going to die.There had been no judge, no jury. The Marquis had decided that she was an accomplice to my "crime", whatever that meant, and therefore she was in conspiracy and. Her shirt was short enough to reveal her navel and her jeans low enough to expose the 4 inch area below her navel.I told her that since the opening the filing has not been done properly and we need to get everything digitalised so this weekend would be quite busy. She agreed to work with a smile. We decided that we would spend Saturday arranging the files and do the data entry the next day.We both came to my cabin and removed all the files on the floor and started piling it in different groups. More

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