“To your house, to your father's bed... to fuck his brains out... Just like I'm going to do to his little girl. It will be like he's fucking you…�...� he smugly pronounced, biting on my neck and rubbing my inner thigh. I turned to face him, pushing him back and standing in front of him to untie his bowtie, undoing the top buttons on his shirt and pushing the tuxedo jacket off his shoulders onto the floor at the foot of the bed. He stood watching me undress him slowly; replacing his clothes with. .. But it was the branding of the farmer's wife. With the farm's 'logo'. The farmer's wife, who was still lying quite numb on the iron roster above the dung pit. Shaking almost invisibly, her layers of white flesh acting as shock berakers on the cold hard steel. Harry's kinky revenge fantasy - that revived every time he thought about what the farmer's wife had done to him for weeks, without retaliation - was kindled when he looked at her, lying there on a roster. He had taken a bunch of candles. More

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