A hand. Thin fingers, graceful. Holding my hand. Her body shaking. She's crying. The sobbing I'd heard earlier.The room. The light. The smell of medic...ne and soap. The window. Drapes closed. My chest. All white. Yes. My chest. My chest. Sledge hammer. Asian. Jazz. My beautiful Jazz.It all came back so suddenly. I relived the scene in the church a hundred times in the space of a few seconds."Oh my Jazz. My beautiful Jazz." I began crying and shaking. I squeezed the hand holding mine. The woman. “And an Ass plug, she can only shit when we allow, but she has responded well to piss training.”“Really? I queried.“Piss Sarah.” he said, and with hardly a second wait she started to piss, “And stop,” he said. She stopped pissing.“She has two litres of water each hour,” Dr Weissman explained, “We train them like dogs, like bitches, in fact she is due for her walk, will you take her Herr Major?”I looked at him and then at her.“I have a collar and lead for you,” he said helpfully.“Then by all. More

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