"Tell me your name." Tricia didn't speak at first. But when he raised his hand to strike her,she swallowed and spoke. "Cunt," she said. "Tell me." My.....my name is Cunt." She whispered. "That's good, Cunt," he said. "Now c'mon, you know you love having afinger up there. Show it. Move your fucking hips like the whore you are." Tricia gave a low moan of despair. How much more would this dreadful manask of her? Slowly she began to gyrate her hips, pressing her vagina down ontohis hand, forcing his. He kept starting and then ultimately rejecting his efforts. He was either coming across too strong or too weak, either overstating his case or understating it. He could not seem to find the proper middle ground to occupy."Damn," he said, as hour number three rolled around. This was frustrating. He was a decent enough speechwriter — he generally wrote all of his own speeches — but for something of this magnitude, when the course of an entire people lay in the balance, he needed someone a little. More

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