She had never stopped screaming. I must have hit her well over 100 times, and I was putting a good amount of force into it too. I liked to make bitche... scream, Always had. But this thrashing was different. This was no submissive slut, looking for some pain, this was rape, the real deal, what I had always wanted, and I wasn?t going to hold back one bit. This bitch was going to get fucked up, so she can serve as an example to my other bitch. Finally, I sit down in front of her, looking into her. There is modern art: vast canvasses on each wall. I grow envious. We move on through and out into a spacious hall that has a broad, glass, steel and teak stairway ascending to the upper floor. Abbi says the room we enter is called The Mauve Room. "It's the guest room," she adds. As well as pillows, scattered fancy cushions litter an inordinately large bed, the head of its duvet folded back in anticipation of our arrival. We stand at its foot all in a huddle as the two girls take turns to kiss. More

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