I wanted more. "Do it again," I gasped out. "Harder." Okay." And he did. This time I cried out sharply, my upper body twisting against the desk, my ha...ds pulling unconsciously against the unyielding cuffs. Logan said nothing. He just waited."Harder!" I rasped.The third blow made me scream. Not a shrill all-out scream, but a scream nonetheless. My legs kicked up and down, and my torso pulled itself up off the desk before settling down again. I was breathing very hard now, almost sobbing. But I. He walked by another stone statue, a figure of a robed woman. He came to an abrupt stop. He hadn’t noticed anyone else close by, but just a few feet ahead there was a girl sitting on a stone bench, crying quietly into her hands. The first thing Wes noticed about her was her clothes. She was wearing a long, flowing dress that went all the way to her feet, which were just barely popping out from underneath it. Her brown hair was piled on top of her head in a fancy do. Wes debated for a minute. Breakfast was almost a replay of the previous evening, fingers touching, eyes undressing each other and great conversation. We did not ”talk” about the night before but both of us remarked upon how well we’d slept. Hand in hand, we strolled into the deserted lobby. Quizzically we asked the young desk clerk where everyone was. He grinned and said that the entire lodge had booked a bus trip to enjoy surrounding countryside. We shrugged and went to a secluded couch placed in front of a roaring. I was born in a Midwestern town. I was an only child. After WWII it was very prosperous, but as the years passed the town suffered a drop in prosperity.My Mom and Dad were in the lower middle class income bracket at the start of the decline. When the factory my Dad worked in closed, so did his employment opportunities. We lived on his separation pay and what little work he could find. One of is part time jobs was the overnight cleaning of a local bar.I guess that job was his downfall. He.