Her husband, her master. His face has the quality of a blurred photograph, yet she remembers his rough hands. His rough, calloused hands on her soft b...east. She shudders. Feeling foolish she starts through the alphabet, trying to associate a name with each letter: Albert, Benjamin, Charles, Donald… It feels as if every last cell of her brain was driven into illness. Her lack of memory fills her with silent dread. Not my mind, Dear god not my mind! She tries to compose herself. Ernest, Frank…. I have to see if she's wearing knickers and I have to see what she’s doing... what she’s doing to her beautiful pussy, I have to see where her hands are and I have to see her face, her eyes shut, her mouth open, her hips pumping... and maybe, just maybe, her knickers, maybe on her, or maybe next to her on the bed or on the floor were maybe she threw them...I slowly creep up the remaining stairs and move as quietly as I can towards the bedroom door. I'm on my hands and knees creeping forward and. More

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