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?It wasn’t me,? she pleaded with him. ?It was Celia, you know that. You know that!??You helped her,? he snapped back at her. ?You helped her and you laughed as you pulled on the cord, you fucking bitch.? He raised his arm and slashed the whip downwards, across her breasts. She cried out in anguish with the cutting pain. He continued to flay her aimlessly across her torso, legs and inner thighs, ensuring that at least two strokes lashed at her pouting vulva. Her screams were tangible as his own. If there are any more amputations, tell them… tell them to have Alva do it. I’m sorry, child. This is a house of sorrows you’ve come to. Help if you can, and pray that no more wounded soldiers are brought in before morning.” The doctor stepped into an enclosed veranda next to them, grabbing his coat from a hook, and hurried out the door with his bag in hand. She watched him shamble across the yard to the carriage house, collaring a stable-boy along the way. She was afraid to stay, and she was. People that I thought as coming from well south of the Sahara, if they were not deep black, tended to have a warm brown tinge, something like coffee with cream. Shelly's skin was perhaps a cooler brown -- maybe a light milk chocolate?She wore bright colors that wouldn't work for many people, something that was distinctly yellow, not the gold of our high school. Black patent belt and boots. Copper jewelry and accents. For a moment, I thought of a sexy wasp. No, not the White Anglo Saxon. She gasped, and I felt her heart speed up as I drew the erect nipple up with my lips. Now I sometimes kissed her lips and sometimes those tips, but always one hand or both touched her breasts, grazing or pulling or twisting her nipples. Then I reached my hand beneath her and pulled towards me, pressing her breasts to my chest and our tongues fenced again. I massaged her shoulder-blades until she sighed once again. "Nobody's ever done this, so slowly," she told me. "If a woman is.
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