She impatiently threw the tangled clothing across the room. As I wriggled my toes out of my sock, meanwhile the head of my cock - with her hand wrappe... around just behind it - was entering her mouth. Having not had sex for well over a year (previous episode Jane Tew, the day before Jubilee Day 1977), nor even a touch from anyone, you'd think I would be on a hair trigger, but copious amounts of wine and a severe case of "olderwomanangst" meant the reverse was very much the case. The mouth that. He’d keep at her until she obeyed anyway. With each strike and the pain came clarity. Crack. Crack. Crack. ‘Yes! Yes, I’m fucking Markus! Is that what you want to hear, Father?’ ‘I knew you were. I saw it in your eyes on the dance floor. I saw it in your body. You were too familiar with one another. How long?’ Crack. ‘Not long after you sold me to him.’ Crack. ‘You did, you know. I know you did. You call it betrothal, but you never cared if he was a match for me, or what I wanted. It suited. More

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