She could see Father John behind her, staring up between her spread legs, his trousers bulging in the front. Her breasts stung, the sharp tacks tearin... into her flesh, unable to keep still, moving around, trying to relieve some of the pain. The worst were the ones that had punctured her nipples. One had pierced the tip. Every time she breathed, her chest heaving brought about excruciating pain. But she had other problems to worry about. Father John hands were returning to her body. She could. She was out having fun and I was wasn't, and I was jealous of everyone she was with. Moreover, I was afraid that one day she'd enjoy herself so much she'd see no reason to return to me."Billy, I came home late because I was having a good time. You should feel happy for me!" She knew that statement was no consolation, more a riposte.Then she began deciding where she'd sit down. Not the couch, that was a commitment to talk, and she wanted to get to bed soon. Yet we had to talk. I had to,. More

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