) Opening one I was proved right, as Mrs Stephenson's dressesand skirts still hung inside. Without quite knowing why, because it wasextremely intrusiv..., I lifted one of the dresses out of the wardrobe andexamined it. It was very much 50s fashion and just the sort of thing tohave been worn by an Upper-Middle Class doctor's wife. It was made ofheavy silk in a bold floral pattern in pink and green. Sleeveless, it wasknee-length with a slim pencil skirt. Again, not knowing what promptedme, I took. His words echoing inside her head. He had commanded, she would obey, had to obey, needed to obey.They had talked for weeks, months even if she counted their first meetings in the chat-room, she counted them, she counted everything. Slowly they grew together, little by little every chat, every message drew them closer. He took his time, held her back from rushing, forced her to let their relationship develop, forced her to put friendship before need, trust before lust. He was everything she. More

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