“Tell me.” “I…I can’t,” you mutter, fighting your urges as you squirm under my touch. “I’m married now.” “Mmmm, I know,” I purr ...adistically, my eager hand clawing at your backside. “But I bet you’re still the same dirty little slut you were two weeks ago.” Again you struggle, but my grip holds you firm. Then, spinning you to the side, I push you up against the wall, your little pink lips parting in a silent gasp as your beautiful face is forced against the smooth surface. With your arm pinned. We grieved for our lost baby. It was possibly this grief that brought upon me the next ‘woe,’ only seven months after the first. Roy was by then employed with a civil engineering company, and was working on a bridge construction site. Probably he was not concentrating properly, and during an inspection he slipped and fell off a high part of the structure. He was killed instantly. I was totally distraught, and for months had to undergo psychiatric treatment. People say, ‘Time heals,’ and no. More

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