”She glanced at him. “That isn’t for me to decide. You’re the boss. We’ll do whatever you say.”“Baby, you work right alongside me doing the same things I do, and you were dog tired yesterday. You’ve mentioned that you used to go hunting occasionally while you were in the field. Why don’t we take a break and go hunting this morning. All work and no play – all that. And besides, cutting, stripping and notching those logs is just plain drudgery, not to even mention wrestling them into position on. "Yes. We strove for freedom. Failed. Here in America, a new life, but no time for music. And when I hear Jackson and his lovely wife, I wish. Tonight I hear oboe, and I send Betta to ask," Georg said.Dad told me about meeting people who'd lived the history we only read about. I made a mental note to invite Georg and Betta over again."Mister Georg," I said. "This last one is something that Stoney..." Stoney?" he asked."My husband is Randall Jackson. In the Army they named him 'Stonewall' after. Dragging at the flesh. Releasing and reattaching. Pain splinters slashing through my flesh as I pull at the grasping clamp bringing my sagged flesh taut. "Bitch." Sobbing it now. Exhaling in ragged pants. A second peg descending onto my untroubled nipple. "Bitch." Pain sparks flying across my chest my flat palm striking freely across the peg ends making them dance, each blow a further degradation, a further affirmation, worthless, insignificant, unloving, unloved. "Bitch." Rigid fingers slap. Do you understand?"Emily shook her head, amazed that someone as lovely as Sophie had to do it with other girls, surely there were boys here too."You will find out as time goes by. Now help me spend," Sophie urgedas she spread her thighs still further apart and slid a hand down to herself, rubbing her cunt to begin the dampening of her insides."I, I, I don't know if I can," Emily gasped, looking at what was happening with wild and nervous eyes and feeling horrified by the idea of having to touch.
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