“You were angry,” she whispers. “I was.” “You’ve taught me a lesson. I’ll never touch another cock,” Danielle says. “Good,” you...tell her. “Then I’ll never hurt you again.” “I could use a bath,” Danielle says. She’s right. Her makeup is all over her face, washed down by her tears. Her body is drenched in sweat and her gaping asshole is leaking cum. You lift her up and carry her to the bathroom, where you slowly lower her into the bathtub. You fill the bath for her and get some fresh. Adopting a seemingly nonchalant air to conceal my increasing unease, I consciously forced my voice to remain light when I asked: “And what did you see?” My eyes had taken on the colour and consistency of liquid tar, two deep seated pits of stone in some tribal fetish head, a stony faced tribal idol impassively awaiting the response from a supplicant, and I could feel my jaw tighten as my anger and fear began to rise. At this, Claire flushed, quickly glanced at my stony expression as if to. More

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