." Don't tell me! Nice lingerie? Pretty dresses? High heeled shoes?Makeup?"I nodded to each question."And? What did your cousins wear? Were they ...n pretty clothes too?"I remembered, and outrage filled my voice.. "They wore jeans and pants- pajamas! - Dorothy even wore mine! - And my aunts wore the same kindof thing." So what did they do with all the clothes that you had brought with you?Hide them?"I hung my head. "No. Not really. They gave me some drawers to putthem in." So? What. I had this new birth certificate send to my new mailbox at the one of the Post Net locations in a town a few miles away. I had opened that box on Tuesday morning after driving up there. I paid in cash and did not have to show an ID. I told the people there that I had been robbed and lost my driver's license and everything and that I needed a safe place to send the new credit cards and license. I said they took my mailbox key as well and I didn't want whoever robbed me getting my new stuff. So. Before the wedding.Now. If you're not familiar with English roads, two hundred and fifty miles may not sound much of a drive. 'Tis true, most of it is dual carriageway or motorway, but at the legal limit, if there are no hold-ups, that's four hours of continuous driving. Add in two active five-year-olds who may or may not sleep, toilet stops, stops for food, stops for coffee, delays for accidents, delays for roadworks, and 'coning'... 'coning', by the way (conspiracy theory coming up) is the. He stopped for a moment, apparently needing to catch his own breath, and clenching on the sides of my ass. B-Brandon st-stop&hellip, I whimpered. I felt his starting to pull out and while extremely painful, I felt relieved. But about the time only the head was left, I felt his hand clamp down over my quivering mouth again, and immediately knew why, when a pain ten times worse than the original entry had him slamming his hips up against me again, making me scream for my life. Ahh fuckk baby.