His hand reached out and vice-like seized my left breast and with his little finger through my nipple ring he pulled me back to him. My eyes overflowe... and I gasped with the excruciating pain, but I stepped to him hurriedly. “Stay.” The sternness in his voice convinced me that he was in no mood to be broached. “Gush.” I moaned. My nipple wounds were unhealed and the pressure he was exerting made me cry. “Stop, please.” I whined like a child. “Just hold still.” He clipped the chain onto each. Sometimes, though not always, I did it in front of the mirror.I had time for these games, I was alone most of the time. My mother had died not long after my birth, I have no memory of her. Her tomb is in a hidden corner of our garden. There is a whispered rumor that her voice had been heard from the tomb for many days after my father had buried her there. The tomb is built of granite, only half immersed into the earth, with small ventilation holes in its padlocked heavy and now rusted iron. More

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