He told me to turn over and spread my legs. I worried what would come next. He had now gotten rough and forced my legs apart. I let out a yell because...my legs were already sore. Master paid no mind to my pain. He inserted his tool and plunged deep into my cervix. I couldn’t take all of him and tried to push, to get away. He held his ground and I dug my nails into his shoulders. "Move your hands onto my back," he ordered.I did as I was told, and he began to pound harder than I have ever. As I drove away from the hospital I saw my husband’s Porsche in the Consultants’ Car Park, low, sleek and green. A wave of emotion washed over me and I had to fight to stop the painful images of him with another woman returning. The woman didn’t have a name or a face; it was bad enough that she might exist at all.For a moment I thought about calling him; asking how he was; searching for clues as to whether my place in his bed had already been filled. But that way led to madness, I told myself.. More

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