I didn’t protest when he crushed my boobs in his fists, when he pulled my clothes so hard they tore, leaving red lines on my skin that lasted a week... I didn’t even feel the friction burns as his violent thrusts drove my bottom and lower back hard into the rasping carpet over and over again.I didn’t care when he pulled out, flipped me over and took me from behind like a dog with my face pressed into the carpet.I loved it when he slapped my buttocks with his palms then dug his fingers deep into. I was probably being as thick as I had been that first night she had me over for dinner. I naturally wanted to help, but did I dare to risk opening old wounds.“Make love to me,” she whispered. “Please, I have to know.”“You are the love of my life,” I said. I should have said “were” but that would have been less true. “I don’t see how I can do this.” Now I was getting emotional. “But you know I can’t say no to you.”She stood up and pulled me to my feet, not wanting to give me more time to. "Most likely."Angela grimaced and threw it aside. "That's foul." He was a foul man," I said, staring at the journal. It was hundreds of pages, written in a tight, cramped handwriting detailing his research. I flipped to the back, hoping the newest entries would be more illuminating.Experiment on the principals of domination and the binding of necrotic flesh. I grimaced as I read the passage. It detailed his plans to turn the crew of a river boat into his mind slaves while simultaneously. Miss Victoria's sister was perhaps the same age as Miles and the beautyof the family. She had the same flaming hair and milky complexion as hersibling but that was where any similarity ended as the two were like iceand fire. Where Miss Victoria was intense and volatile, Miss Francescawas cool and calm. She was almost like a scientist, detached and neutralin her dealings with Miles, treating him like a lab animal, the subjectof an experiment. Facially, she had less freckles than Miss Victoria.