No wife of his was going to work. We fought about it, and that’s where I first saw his love for violence. The scar on my breast is from him. He cut ...e with a broken glass when I refused to give up looking for teaching jobs. He told me he would kill me if I ever tried to leave him, and that’s when I knew I had to get out. I left one night when he was out with the boys and made it as far as Miami. I couldn’t find work there and ended up back in a whorehouse working to get enough money to build a. I wanted hiswhole body in my little twat. God, what made me soprick crazy? I didn’t know. I guess it was what iscommonly called “fuck-inebriation”. I pushed mylegs and stretched them . . . anything to make thegap between my knees greater . . . ever pushing mycunt up to meet my big visitor more intimately.Ithought that I had enjoyed jazzing in the oldway but it was nil compared to this new position.He paused long enough during these thrusts to kissme with all the fervor of his. More

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