I know whatever he does with that is going to be for his pleasure, not mine. "Do you still think that slap was cute, you slut?" He growls at me. I ca... feel his anger, it's almost tangible, and it's suffocating. I let out a loud, defeated sob, even more conflicted now that I can start to feel my own arousal at the apex of my thighs. I know when he finds it he won't let me hear the end of it. "You poor, poor thing," he jeers, smoothing my rumpled hair in a mock display of affection, and without. All I could do was wait until morning.When I saw dad the next morning, he once again told me to get dressed,"and look as good as you did yesterday." I started to say no when hemerely raised his hand to silence me."There seems to be some conflict in your mind. Let me assure you thatthere isn't any conflict in mine. You will go get dressed, just as Itold you, because my daughter Carolyn is coming with me today, andthat, as they say, is my final answer! You have about an hour and ahalf. I'll be. This followed onto each Wednesday and Saturday in their turn. The reason for Wednesday and Saturday was because of the way the system is set up at this end of the world. The local broadsheet, which is, a) the only universal paper over these twin cities, and b) through long tradition, publishes all real estate advertising on those days respectively. After six weeks of this being repeated time after time we had become on a first name basis with at least eight separate agents, one of who worked. Tell me aboutyourself." The reporter had been trying to get closer to Sophie whohad kept in the shadows of the living room throughout the interview."David's my landlord, he had a breakdown and left on Friday. I was outlooking for him when I came across the accident." The rehearsedanswers sounded realistic to Sophie."And who's your ladyfriend? The law seems to be taking a veryproprietorial view of you," the questioning was getting distinctlyunfriendly.Jill interjected "Sophie and I are lovers.".