Even though we both gave this a lot of thought and agreed to go through with it, I still didnt feel comfortable. I kept talking and the blurb about me...getting a trial run massage today while Cal was out golfing poured from my lips. Pierre was completely understanding and told me that many married women come to him for an erotic massage. Some of them never tell their husbands, but they tell me that after their massage, they go home and screw the brains out of their spouses. A sexual massage. Yer goin' to be my cunt now, and I'm goin' to fuck yew up until yew forget yore 'yuman!" Were the awful words to which I awoke.Powerful hands were stripping me, efficiently removing my rough prison dress, my bra, my wee-sodden knickers. It was midsummer; it always seemed to be summer when my life went crazy. The cell was like an oven, and I dumbly, dazedly thought for a second that it felt good to be naked. But the woman who owned this space was crowding me, overpowering me until I found myself. More

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