But before it healed it would hurt, and John had this down to a science. There was a point to this. The cunt was becoming an it. A thing, a piece of m...at. She was screaming and begging and no one was acknowledging it. Until eventually she got the message and fell quiet, settling for tears. It was a fucking shame, we love to hear cunts scream. I wished John would just finish the fuck up. I did not touch the goods myself but loved to watch them suffer. But he had his ways. Like opening the. I blinked. I had no idea what he was talking about, but the sound of his voice caused certain juices to flow. ‘Excuse me?’ He pointed to my battered old mug with a bit of an embarrassed smile. ‘Sorry, bad joke.’ I glanced down at the mug that I’d swiped from the house I’d grown up in. We’d given it to my Dad twelve years back and it had a big number 50 wearing a birthday hat over the 5 and balloons tied to the zero. He extended a hand. ‘I’m Brad, and this is Maisy.’ It was only then that I. More

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