I hesitated because I wasn't sure that I wanted to share her with anyone. At least not yet. I was already sorry that I had let my father fuck my sweet... Rita Baker who I had considered as my number one girlfriend. Now, according to my last phone conversation with my mom, Dad was fucking my Rita every chance he got. He was also doing his step mother on a regular basis.My Mom was upset because with all of Dad's extra marital boffing she was getting laid much less than she would like. I knew when I. The rope was pulled higher, bringing my legs far above my body. I was lying defenseless upon the Dias. I could feel my nakedness and eyes of hushed crowd on me. I knew that these hungry eyes will devour me long. As my legs and buttocks were spread apart, I felt the fear and humiliation of this event. I braced myself for the certain pain that was just moments away. Even before the poker was applied I began to cry with fear and rage. The rage of being helpless, powerless to stop this from. I move around the large room lighting candles. I return, standing before you in the warm glow of the flickering light. You raise your head, looking up at me as I lock my eyes on yours. Delving into my pocket, I pull out a violet silken scarf. I lean forward, dr****g the scarf across your eyes before tying it firmly at the back of your head. The violet hue of the silk contrasting against the rich colour of your hair. Your heart quickens as your world falls into darkness. Now you're forced to. In the past Mum had despaired ofgetting me to wear anything but jeans and trainers. Tonight, however, Iwas wearing my flared cream trousers, a teal-blue silk shirt, and my darkblue, 1970's, fitted velvet jacket. My boots sported chunky Cuban heelsand I had washed and blow-dried my longish hair to give it a fair amountof volume. Compared with what I wore in Manchester, it was very tame,but, for my family, it was very much a "new me". "Well, dea,r" saidMother nervously, "it is certainly an.