We had little to do except sleep and talk. Master would read to me, which I enjoyed because I'd never been much of a girl for books and it was strange...to find that I enjoyed the stories Master would read each afternoon. I especially found Hemingway to be stimulating for some reason, listening with rapt attention while I imagined the scenes and characters in 'For Whom the Bell Tolls' and while I didn't really understand the story, I understood well enough the feelings behind it and I would cry. At this very moment too, you are not home. Work's been putting a strain on you—or your new lover? You're hiding her very well, aren't you? You're not even nestling your nose between my breasts anymore when you come to bed at impossible hours. You used to do this. It always filled my heart with butterflies—even so after all these years—and gave me the certitude of still being loved after our most intense disputes. You would not talk to me for days, yet you still would snuggle your face against. I had my eyes closed and was gagging when I looked up Gloria was kissing Sam as he fucked my throat and Leon was next to her with his jet black hand on her white tit. Sam grabbed her other tit. Then Sam pulled his light black cock from my throat and it was replaced by Leon’s dark black member, which caused me to gag even more as he forced in my throat. I looked up at Gloria looking into my eyes. I wondered wat she was thinking. Leon then told Tom he wanted to fuck my ass. My ass was so. The pain pressure points on her hands, shoulders, and neck had been used so much they were severely bruised. There were signs of aggressive sexual abuse. She was torn and bloody, both vaginally and rectal. There was no DNA found on her body.She had died of an overdose of opiate drugs: there was no prescription, empty bottles, left over pills, no suicide note. The room had been cleaned; scrubbed was the term in the report.It read to me like interrogation with torture and murder by a professional.