I was an old print of poetry and Mary read one on the page in the middle of the book she opened to. It was very romantic in its flowery terms about ho... the woman it was written to was the perfect companion. A part of Mary wanted someone to write poetry like that about her, another part wanted to have someone for her to write romantic poetry towards. Mary flipped the page and looked at print of two women in 1700’s dress sitting together talking and holding a book and hands together.“Eighteenth. It wasn't her fault she was taking a ride with me, it was because her dad lost a bet and reneged on the guys I worked for.So an example had to be made and his cute daughter was his most valuable asset.Her hands bound behind her, her sports bra ripped open to let me see her modest but firm and perfect tits. Tears were pouring down her cheeks and she was making little sad noises thru the duct tape on her mouth.She looked beautiful. She was a hot little sporty thing, a hard dancers body. I could. More

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