M. Forster to Dostoevsky. A poster of a one hit wonder boy band from her high school days was still glued to her wall. She yawned and tossed the book ...ack upon her nightstand. The lushness of her naturally light-tan soft body was sprawled upon the comfortable sheets of her bed, her healthy breasts peeping out on both sides. Her shapely right leg was off the bed and flexed at the side of the mattress with her toes just barely touching the floor.She contemplated her new job and what she had. "She ain't been used much yet. Small bore, she are."Her thighs were bruised and there were bite or scratch marks on her neck and firm breasts, but she was clean and certainly looked worth swiving. Twenty, I guessed, less than ten stone, and damn pretty from what I could see. A trickle of blood seeped from her short nose and bruised lips."C'mon," the fat bartender said, "g'me a crown an' enjoy y'sef a bit."I dug a coin out of my purse and put it in his hand. He patted my back and closed the door. More

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