But no. I never met the investigator. I don’t think he was black. Jack presented me with photos, tossing copies of them on the table. Some were of m... kissing a black man, others of me getting into a car with one. Another picture was of my teenage boyfriend and I walking into the house, holding hands. Another one of me at night, standing naked in the front door, light from inside silhouetting me. I was hugging and kissing him goodnight after hours of sex in my and Jack’s bed.I was horrible, so. She was the master. I was the bitch. How’s that for irony? I thrust in and out. Deeper and deeper into her pussy as she screamed into the vacuum of the arena. She came again and again and pushed me away before I found any release. For a second, I thought she was going to leave me hanging. For a minute I thought she understood the state she had me in, and was going to make me pay. Instead, she played the victim I had originally intended. Instead, she bent over the penalty bench and offered me. More

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