Mary Anne's hands were soon fastened behind her with a plastic tie. She knelt, panting, on the bed, Martin beside her. Her hair was damp and dishevele.... The feel of her smooth, firm, body against his during their tussle excited Martin despite his feeling guilty at what he had just done to her mother. Now the closeness and warmth of the young woman's nakedness and the sight of Zenobia's vulnerable and come-spattered sex had started to arouse Martin again. He grabbed a fistful of the young. Scrubbing her soft white skin red to remove shame, her only consolation being the new linens, beige, soft, oversized, tight knit and on them printed in gold, “Magdalene House”. Toweling herself dry Bess was careful where she stepped, avoiding blemishes of semen on the imported marble floor, generations not conceived left for the morning maid. “Sick son of bitch”, she thought fixing her hair, wearing only a towel around her frame. “Some day someone’s going to teach him a lesson. I just hope. More

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