Abigail was the spitting image of her mother at 18 – the same slim build and killer blue eyes – but with almost jet black hair. “Hi, I’m Abbi,...�� she said holding out her hand. “Jack,” I said, shaking her hand and, after a moment’s hesitation pulling her in for a hug. Abbi had a little bit of a goth or emo look about her, heavy eyeliner, pale skin and ruby red lips. She was wearing a simple white blouse, a plaid schoolgirl style skirt and was wearing fishnet stockings tucked into a pair of low. It felt comforting, and she managed to smile just in time to be gently kissed.“That wasn’t so bad, was it, love?”“Not so bad,” she agreed. “Perhaps I don’t mind being treated like- like a- a whore,” she admitted, ashamed, and yet feeling a strange sense of liberation at the same time.“You make a very pretty whore. I would-““Alice would have to wait, apparently, to find out just what the captain would, for at precisely that moment there was an urgent knock upon the door.“For bollock’s sake! I. More

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