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Subject: RP: [chrutli] isle2a (cons snf)
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     Disclaimer: This is a rather grisly fantasy about secret druid 
rites on an isolated North Sea Island. Don't read it. If you must read 
it, neither the author nor the poster takes any responsibility for your 
having done so; legal and moral repercussions are yours alone. Live well 
and love gently- Chrutli 


                        ( M/f; cons snuff; other stuff)


                                   Our Island
                                    Chrutli
                                       2

     Sara was easily one of the most beautiful black women I'd ever 
seen; tall, with a full, voluptuous figure that couldn't be concealed by 
her business suit. Her grey skirt came just above her knees; her calves 
were curvaceous; even her knees were appealing. Her hips flared; and her 
buttocks were high and prominent, apparent even beneath the skirt. She 
had a long torso and a small, elegant waist; though I couldn't see her 
breasts beneath her jacket, but I could tell they were firm and 
generous.
     She had the best features of her race; a strong jawline, a high 
forehead, and wide full lips. Her nose was strong and broad, her eyes 
big, brown, tilted with an almost elfin look. I had heard she was on the 
island, but no one had told me how perfectly lovely she was.
      She was all professionalism the first time I met her in my 
surgery. She wore a grey wool jacket over a simple white blouse, a 
conservative gray skirt, sensible shoes. I was attracted immediately, 
but there was a hardness about her full lips and dark, elfin eyes that 
suggested my interest was unwelcome.
	"Inspector Sara Brooks, doctor, from Scotland Yards. I'm 
investigating the death of a young French girl last year, a Carmen 
Longet."
	"Carmen, certainly. I recall her. She was a delightful girl. Very 
friendly, very well liked, I think. Her death was unfortunate. But how 
can I help you? Shouldn't you talk to the authorities?" I hoped I wasn't 
babbling. I was a bit taken aback, she was that beautiful.
	"You signed the death certificate. 'Lost at sea' is the reason. I 
am simply trying to ascertain the facts. Apparently no body was 
recovered, is that correct?"
	"Quite," I said. "The North Sea can be quite unforgiving, as I 
suppose you can imagine. She disappeared; she was last seen rowing a 
small dingy into open water. There was nothing to indicate foul play. 
The dingy washed up perhaps a week later; she did not."
	"Bad weather in August? Is that usual?"
	"In the North Sea, yes, sometimes." I smiled as charmingly as I 
could. "Perhaps you should talk to the constable. In cases like this, 
when there is no body, a certificate is drawn up based on their 
conclusions. I thought their investigation reasonable; I gave them the 
certificate. I'm sure the constable can tell you more. He's a likable 
sort, and fairly diligent."
	"I'm sure he is. Thank you, Doctor." She was cool and contained- 
and really quite lovely. That wide, sweet face that seemed wrong being 
so cool. I was attracted to her despite her reserve.
	"Tell me, detective, are you going to be here long?" I asked
	She hesitated, looking at me directly. "Why do you ask?"
	I smiled, a bit nervously, I'm afraid. "I thought you might have 
dinner with me."
	That seemed to surprise her; she paused, so I added, "I don't want 
to be impertinent. Forgive me. A woman as beautiful as you must have a 
boyfriend or a hus-"
	Sara smiled with her full, lovely mouth; her big, dark eyes 
sparkled. "There is no one," she said. "Do you think this girl might 
have been murdered?"
	I was abashed; I was trying to ask her out. "Do you think so? There 
hasn't been anything like that on our island for ages."
	"Her parents suspect; Carmen was apparently a rather wild young 
lady. Frankly, no. I don't think so. But it's politic to investigate 
such things, a foreign national and all."
	She was dodging my question as well. "You'll have dinner with me, 
then?"
	A smile lit her face, but only for an instant. "I think not, 
Doctor, but thank you for asking. Most men are a bit intimidated by me."
	"By your beauty?"
	Sara laughed, her face lighting once again, and once again, only 
for an instant. "You are most kind, Doctor. You'll be available if I 
have other questions?"
	"Always. For you, always."
     She smiled radiantly at my clumsiness. There may have been a sway 
to her lovely hips as she left; or I may have merely wished there was. I 
had been a widower for a number of years now, and though I'd been out 
with several women on the island, none had struck me as this lovely 
detective had.
     I wanted to see her; I thought about her all afternoon. After 
surgery, I rang home and told Kat, my 15-year-old daughter, that I'd be 
late. The only rooms on our island were at Fox's pub. I went there, and 
found her eating at the pub, reading official-looking paperwork.
	"Inspector, what a happy coincidence. May I join you?
	"Are you pursuing me, doctor?" she asked directly.
	"Yes." I flustered a bit. "I find you attractive. I'd like to get 
to know you."
	Sara shook her head. "You're a doctor on a poor, isolated North Sea 
island. Her majesty doesn't pay me all that much, but I'll wager it's 
more than you make. I'll be leaving in a day or two. Should we become 
friends- or more- how shall we continue our acquaintance? I like London. 
I don't much care for this island, or the routine investigation that has 
led me here. You're handsome, and charming, granted, but why should I 
begin a relationship that will end all too soon?"
	"I could make your stay more pleasant, perhaps. Show you the 
sights."
	"The sights? There are sights here?" Sara raised on fine eyebrow, 
her eyes teasing. "Doctor, you think I'm a beautiful woman. You want to 
show me your bedroom, and that big fellow you have in your trousers." 
She smiled. "Yes, I noticed. You're well endowed. But that's not enough 
to seduce me, don't you think?"
	"Seduce you?" I was again taken aback, less by her boldness than 
her frankness.
	"You can't marry me; an acquaintance is futile. You think me 
beautiful, and perhaps exotic. You've never made love to a black woman, 
I'd imagine. Seduce me, yes. That's what you have in mind, isn't it?"
	"Well, I rather hoped-" I shrugged. "I thought that I might-" I 
sighed. "I don't know."
	Sara laughed with delight. "Doctor, you're doing badly. Tell me 
something. Why aren't you afraid of me? I'm quite good at holding men at 
arm's length. I've had a lifetime of training in it; I am beautiful. You 
persist, though. You seem much too nice to pursue me, yet you do. Why is 
that?"
	"I- well, I'm either a fool, or I'm the man you've been waiting all 
your life for. You wouldn't want to pass that up, would you?"
	Sara laughed again. "Bravo, doctor. I'm not going to scare you off 
easily, am I?"
	"You have yet to frighten me in any manner. Embarrass me, perhaps. 
May I join you?"
	"Are you married?" she asked, a sparkle in her eye.
	"I'm a widower. My wife died several years ago."
	"I'm sorry." There was real sympathy in her eyes.
	"Thank you. I've adjusted."
	"Children?"
	"One, Katherine. She's fifteen now, and a little hellion."
	"So you're steady and responsible as well. I really don't think 
you're my type."
	"I may surprise you. My I then?"
	Sara gave me a rueful smile, then laughed openly, shaking her 
lovely head. "Yes, please, doctor. I would love to have your company. 
Please."
	I joined her. She attempted several more sallies at my expense, but 
when I brushed them aside, another side of this lovely woman emerged; 
she showed glimpses of not so much timidity as a curious submissiveness. 
All her bluster had been superficial, though she was quite spirited and 
independent. Still, a curious submissiveness, a playful willingness to please.
     I told her a bit about our island, and my practice; she told me how 
she come to have such an petty assignment, investigating an accidental 
death on our remote island.
	She'd been investigating a series of murders with her partner; that 
was her speciality, serial murders. The murders were young women, all of 
them raped and killed, their bodies mutilated. Sara had, in an excess of 
zeal, tried to arrest the rapist alone. She'd spent an hour in his 
company, an hour that she grew oddly vague about, before her partner 
called for support and the arrest was completed. No harm had come of it, 
she said, but she'd been reprimanded, and given inconsequential 
assignments such as this. She seemed wistful.
	"Danger excites you," I suggested. I wondered about that hour alone 
with a murderer, about that hour and about Sara. Perhaps she was better 
suited to me than I had hoped.
	She seemed startled; her lovely brown eyes grew large, looking at 
me directly. "Perhaps," she said. "Perhaps it does." She changed the 
subject suddenly. "That girl, the bar girl. Everyone calls her 'chosen.' 
Why is that?"
     "You mean Heather? It's a sort of druid thing. We have a midsummer 
festival here, and every year a new girl is 'chosen' for that year." I 
called Heather over, and introduced her.
     "Watch out for our good doctor," Heather said lightly. "He's much 
more dangerous than he looks. He'll steal your heart and have it for a 
snack. He's all but won my heart. A real ladykiller."
     "Heather, please," I protested. 
     "I'll remember that," Sara said, laughing. I scowled at Heather in 
a friendly manner; she oughtn't have said something like that in front 
of an outsider. There was no harm in it at that, and perhaps some good; 
Sara looked at me appraisingly, a sparkle in her eye.
	I saw her to her door after dinner. "I'm not having you in, you 
know." She smiled at me pleasantly, her back to her door, but for a 
moment there was something timid and defensive in her eyes, as if she 
expected me to force myself on her. I touched her cheek, and she 
flinched, startled.
	"Come to my surgery tomorrow. We'll go out for lunch. Or perhaps a 
picnic."
	"A picnic? Isn't that quaint."
	"I'll take you up to the bluff on the east side of the island. We 
can have a look at the old stone altar where the druids used to 
sacrifice young women."
	Sara lost her smile, her eyes going dark. "That certainly sounds 
romantic. All afternoon, I suppose?
	"Yes. I'll close up the surgery. See you at twelve?"
	She hesitated. "Yes. All right." I left her at her door. She 
watched me as I went down the stairs. Sara intrigued me. I knew she 
didn't like commonplace men; I had a notion of what she truly liked. 
Danger did indeed excite her.
***
	She was wearing a white summer dress when she came to my surgery, a 
color that set off her silky dark skin. It was demure, showing no 
cleavage and coming almost to her lovely knees, but the back was scooped 
low, baring her brown skin, her lean, well-defined muscles. It dipped 
low enough that she could not have been wearing a brassiere, and she 
smiled broadly when she saw me looking at her breasts beneath the 
fabric.
	"You look beautiful," I said.
	"I am beautiful," she smiled.
	"So, how is your investigation going?"
	"Wrapped up, more or less. It was trivial; the young woman died in 
a boating accident. I'm looking at some curious statistics, but I don't 
expect anything to come of it. Ready to go?"
	"We'll have to stop home. I have to pick up a few things."
	My predecessor, Dr. Stewart, had amassed a collection of books on 
sacrificial rites and druidism, as well as a modest number of medieval 
torture devices; stocks and shackles, knives of all sorts, things with 
spikes and spines and screws in them; he even had an iron stake some 
seven feet long that was supposed to have come from the castle of Vlad 
the Impaler in Romania. I hadn't needed to go home, but Stewart had 
bequeathed his grisly collection to me when he passed on, and I wanted 
to see Sara's reaction to all these oddities in my study. I left her
there and went to the kitchen to collect the picnic paraphernalia.
	Sara was kneeling and examining one of the more exotic stocks when 
I returned to her; she had opened the wooden closure and was examining 
the impression intended for the head. "There are dark stains here. 
Blood?"
	"Likely, I suppose. Very old blood. It was used in medieval Austria 
for beheading witches. They were locked in the thing face up, so they 
could watch the ax descend."
	"I'm a bit surprised, Jon. That you would have things like this." 
There was a glow in her eyes, one that I'd hoped would be there.
	"Perhaps so. Would you like to try it out?"
	Her eyes blazed, dark and questioning, a new tension in her body. 
"Can I trust you?"
	I didn't answer; I got a pillow from the sofa and placed it in 
front of the stock. "Kneel facing away from it, and lean back. I'll help 
you."
	Sara hesitated for a moment, then knelt. I put a handkerchief in 
the hole for her neck, so it wouldn't chafe; she smiled at the gesture. 
I put my hands on her lovely shoulders and lowered her backward; once 
her upper torso was resting on the back of her neck, I put each of her 
wrists in the holes meant to receive them. I hesitated before closing 
and fastening the wooden bar on her neck and wrists. Sara had already 
closed her eyes, awaiting me. I closed the bar carefully, and Sara 
shivered visibly as I locked it in place. There was abruptly a tension 
between us; we both felt it, a dark electricity.
     It could not have been comfortable. She rested on her knees and her 
neck, face up, and the stock forced her to arch her back sharply. She 
couldn't see her body for the the wooden bar at her chin. "You're all 
right, Sara? Not too uncomfortable?"
	"Yes." Her voice was a whisper. She licked her full lips.
	"You can't escape? You're quite helpless?" I moved close to her and 
touched her cheek.
	Sara squirmed a bit then drew a shuddering breath. "Jonathon?" she 
asked softly, then caught her breath again.
	"I know, it's an awkward position. Don't worry, it'll be over in a 
moment."
	"It will?" she gasped. "Wait. This isn't. Jonathon." She squirmed, 
a shudder going through her body; she pressed her lovely brown knees 
together, her hips rotating subtly.
	"Are you ready, Sara?" I said softly.
	Sara gave a weak laugh, her brown eyes wide. "You can't. You can't 
take my head off. The blood, it would make a terrible mess." Her full 
lips were moist and trembling. "Jon? You're teasing me. Are you teasing 
me?"
     I leaned over the bar and kissed her warm lips lightly. Sara 
hesitated, then kissed me back, gently at first, then willingly and 
deeply. I found her breasts with my hands, gathered them together and 
fondled them through her dress. Her nipples were generous and erect; 
Sara whimpered and kissed me with even more passion.
	"There are other ways, much less troublesome," I said when I stood.
     "What do you mean? Jon?"
     "Beheading is, as you say, messy. Perhaps I could suffocate you."
     Sara whimpered, rolling her hips, her knees clenched tight, seeking 
friction, seeking satisfaction. She gave a little frustrated sob. I had 
thought she'd like this sort of thing. I was astonished and pleased at 
the intensity of her reaction. "Jon, please. Take me. I want you inside 
me when you-" she caught her breath- "When you do it. Please. Jon? 
You're not teasing, are you?"
	It wasn't what I had planned, but it was quite good enough. I slid 
my hand up the curve of her thigh, pushing her skirt up over her hard 
brown belly, as far as her ribs. Sara spread her thighs as much as she 
could, and I spread them further, kneeling between her knees. She wore 
no pants. Her sex was shaven clean, her mound wide, dark and silky. The 
outer lips of her sex were brown, tight and lovely, the inner lips 
delicate, pink dusted with brown. She shivered when I touched her 
clitoris, and stiffened when I leaned and sucked it between my lips, 
working at it gently. I cupped her hard, smooth buttocks as she shivered 
and groaned. Her belly, flat and hard, the muscles clearly articulated, 
shuddered beneath my eyes.
	When her vagina sucked air at my chin, I sat back and dropped my 
trousers. I rose and leaned into her, entering her deeply in a single 
smooth motion; she was that wet. She cried out, bucked, and then we were 
at it. My pleasure was considerable, in the hot, wet depths of her, but 
hers was greater, frenzied bucking and writhing within her bonds. I 
pushed her dress up to her shoulders, baring her breasts. They were 
large, firm for their size, a lighter brown than her chest and belly. 
They tapered to large blunted nipples, shiny black and stiff. Handling 
those lovely breasts, feeling her beautiful body beneath me and helpless 
brought me very near. I stopped, and nearly left the wet clutch of her 
vagina to reach behind me.
	I got the letter opener from my desk, slid deeply inside her again, 
and gathered her left breast in my hand, pushing the firm mass of flesh 
inward so her nipple was over her heart.
	"I'm going to stab you to death, Sara. Are you ready?"
	When I pressed the opener to the tip of her nipple, Sara cried out 
and redoubled her ecstatic writhing, arching her chest upward, urging me 
on. I held back no longer, but dropped the letter opener and thrust into 
her, giving her my seed.
	When we'd finished, I unfastened the stock and carried her, limp 
and gasping, to the couch, and laid her down gently. "Rest. I'll be 
back."
	I went to the bath, cleaned myself and straightened my clothes, 
then got a washcloth for her. She had recovered somewhat when I 
returned; she smiled meekly as I washed her sex and straightened her 
little dress out. Her neck looked fine, but her wrists were chafed a 
bit, and I rubbed ointment into the scuffed flesh.
	"Thank you," she said softly. Her eyes were soft and intense.
     "For looking after your injuries?"
     She laughed, a soft, sated laugh. "Of course not. You know why. Did 
you plan this? You did, didn't you?"
     "No. I had planned something similar. Bringing you here, the 
devices in my study, that was simply to see if you were interested."
     "How did you know what I- how did you know my tastes?"
     I shrugged. I hadn't been certain, but I'd seen characteristics in 
her that I'd seen in other women. "Perhaps I didn't know. Perhaps I was 
only acting on my impulses."
     Sara laughed, a delighted, happy laugh. "For a few seconds, I 
thought you'd planned it all, that you were really going to-" she 
smiled, and drew me down to kiss her. "I want to see this sacrificial 
altar. Will you take me there? Please?"
     Sara had been transformed by our tryst in the study. No longer the 
cold, beautiful investigator, she was playful, affectionate, and clearly 
submissive to me. We made small talk as I drove to the bluff, and she 
was constantly touching and caressing me. I spread a blanket near the 
old altar, which was no more than a rotting slab of limestone set up on 
plinths in the open air.
     As we ate, Sara told me about her death fantasy, and how it had all 
started. She had been orphaned at birth, and grew up in an orphanage in 
Liberia. "It was mostly boys, and I played with them frequently, cops 
and robbers, cowboys and indians, that sort of thing. I was always the 
bad guy, and I always liked being killed. I don't know why; it was 
simply fascinating to lay still and have the boys drag me about and 
manhandle me. I liked it. When I began to get breasts and hips, I liked 
it even better. When I had reached puberty, one of the older boys took a 
particular interest in killing me. He was quite handsome, really, and 
more than a little cruel. He would shoot me, and I'd fall down. Then he 
would stab me, in the breasts and belly and buttocks, with a stick, 
usually, and then examine my body for secret papers. My breasts, of 
course, and my vulva. I loved it. He hurt me, yes, but it excited me. I 
didn't know why, only that it felt delicious and I liked it very much.
     "Once, he put his hands in my shorts, and then put his finger into 
me. I was a virgin; it hurt terribly, and I cried out. 'You're supposed 
to be dead,' he said. 'I'm trying,' I replied, but I didn't stop crying 
until he took his finger out. He rubbed my clitoris, then, and that was 
my first orgasm. I didn't understand it, but I was absolutely in love 
with him. It's funny," Sara said, stretching out beside me, "But I no 
longer remember his name."
     "That's how you lost your virginity?" I asked.
     Sara shook her head. "No. He'd only stretched my hymen. And I was 
never really his girlfriend; it was simply that the younger boys 
understood that he was to kill me and no one else. Sometimes he would 
draw me onto his hips, pull my shirt up, and then choke me while he bit 
my breasts. The other boys would watch; I held my shirt up and fought 
for air; I was in ecstasy. My poor breasts were always bruised and 
swollen; I would go to sleep at night, cherishing the pain that 
remained.
     "Then one day, he took me off into the jungle without the other 
boys. I went eagerly. He led me to an isolated clearing and told me to 
undress. I protested mildly; he didn't insist, but simply undressed me 
himself, then made a pile of my clothing and had me lay on top of them.
	"He had a small, rubber knife, a toy. He played with my clitoris 
and told me the things he was going to do, and then he did them, with 
that rubber knife. He cut off my breasts, cut off my head, my arms and 
legs. He fondled me, kissed me, and then stabbed me again with that 
rubber knife. I was helpless; I was in ecstasy. He never stopped 
fondling my clitoris. My poor little breasts were sore from so much 
stabbing. My nipples were swollen with pleasure and hurt, from being 
stabbed and sawed at. I didn't cry out until he stabbed the rubber knife 
into my vagina. It tore my maidenhead; the pain was horrid, and I bled 
over his hands and arms. I saw the blood, and thought I was dying. And 
still he worked my clitoris as he stabbed and stabbed at my sex. I was 
in an agony of pain and fear and pleasure. I was out of my mind, it was 
so intense.
	"My cries, though, brought people running. I was rescued.  I was 
attended to and comforted. The boy was sent away. No real harm was done, 
other than to my maidenhead; I recovered. But I regretted the boy being 
sent away. I have never experienced sexual pleasure so raw and so 
deliciously intense."
	Sara sighed and looked up at me. "Not before today," she said.
     "That's why you went into police work; for the risk."
     Sara nodded. "Rubber knives and playacting, they weren't enough. 
Bondage, and masochism, that was good for quite some time. But once I 
knew I was safe, that I really wouldn't be- well, I wanted more. Police 
work, though, the danger, the thought that a killer might-" She smiled 
at me and shrugged. "And what of you? Have you ever killed a woman?"
     I laughed. "The notion comes to me more easily since my wife's 
death. I seemed to have lost my civility when I lost her."
     Sara kissed me warmly and changed the subject. "You said you had 
had something else in mind for me. What was that?"
     I brought the picnic basket over and showed her; four stout stakes. 
"First I was going to stake you out on the ground."
     "Naked, of course. And then you'd make love to me, yes?"
     "Yes." I produced a glass vial and a sterile hypodermic. "This is a 
heart stimulant. Helpful for someone moribund; rather fatal if given in 
significant amounts to a healthy individual. Undetectable in an autopsy. 
I thought I'd give you the injection through your nipple; the needle 
wound would be rather less detectable unless they sectioned your breasts 
in the autopsy."
     "Grisly." Sara took the vial. "Is it really this stimulant? Or is 
it something innocent, a placebo to facilitate your fantasy?"
     "Shall we find out? Perhaps I intended to murder you all along."
     "You had your chance," she teased.
     "That was happenstance. This is what I planned. Perhaps I really do 
intend to murder you. Are you a willing victim?"
     Sara smiled, looking at me, and then the smile faded to something 
darker. She stood and slipped off her dress, her brown, lightly muscled 
body naked before me. She went on hands and knees facing me, her breasts 
swaying between her arms. "You needn't tie me up. All right?"
     I prepared the hypodermic and reached beneath her, squeezing her 
left breast so her hard nipple distended. The needle was a couple inches 
long; she closed her eyes and sighed as I pressed it into her nipple.
     "Are you ready?" I asked softly.
     Her eyes were fierce, dark and uncertain. I emptied the syringe and 
pulled it from her lovely breast, kneading it so the drug would move 
more quickly. "A minute or two, then."
     "Aren't you going to fuck me? It's not a drug, is it? Jon?"
     I smiled mildly and stood, slipping my trousers and boxers off. I 
laid on the blanket and pointed at my swollen cock. "Here it is. Sit on 
it."
     Sara glared at me, then straddled me, grabbed my cock and impaled 
herself smoothly. She had a gorgeous, athletic body. "You've been toying 
with me," she said angrily. "I believed you the first time. Now its just 
a stupid fuck. You didn't have to tell me a story for a simple fuck. 
That's not how I-" she stopped and gave a sharp gasp, her belly sucking 
in appealingly.
     Another gasp, then a soft, whispered, "Oh my god," as her heart 
began racing. I could see the pulse at her throat.
     It only lasted five minutes or so, and I can't describe her 
frenzied rutting. She barely seemed aware of me at times. humping, 
clawing her breasts, twitching and convulsing in a continuous string of 
orgasms. I was almost grateful when she collapsed, twitching, on my 
chest; I'd come two minutes before and my erection was beginning to 
soften.
     I moved her body onto the blanket and cleaned myself with some 
toweling, dressed, and then gathered her naked body against me. Her 
knees were scraped raw; she had broken fingernails clawing the dirt 
above my shoulders, and her breasts had been clawed and scratched in her 
frenetic pleasure. 
     I found another blanket in the basket and covered her as I held 
her.
     Presently she roused, with a groan, and began to shiver. "It went 
wrong, didn't it?" she said softly, curling against me. "I'm still here. 
You must not have used enough." She didn't sound altogether 
disappointed.
     "It went as I'd intended. It was merely a stimulant, you see. It 
wasn't fatal; it never is."
     Sara sighed with rueful satisfaction. "You're a wicked man. Twice, 
my god. And in the same day. You'll not be able to do it again, though. 
I won't believe you. It'll just be play-acting, and I'll know it. Where 
will I find my satisfaction then?"
     I laughed and lifted her breast, licked the thread of blood from 
her swollen nipple. "Perhaps I'm only toying with you, for my own evil 
satisfaction. You'll never be certain, will you?"
     Sara laughed herself. "Perhaps," she said, then whimpered. "I'm 
cold. I'm sore. My god, everything hurts. I'm weak. I almost wish I was-
" she stopped and laughed. "Thank you. Thank you again. I don't think 
you can top this."
     I held her for a while longer, until she'd recovered somewhat, but 
I was spent; Sara was exhausted. We packed up and left shortly.
     "You'll spend the night with me?" I asked as we neared the village.
     Sara shook her head. "No. What of your daughter? She'll resent me, 
I'm certain. I'm sorry. I'm not domestic. Come to my room instead."
     Unfortunately, I was domestic, and Katherine, my daughter was my 
responsibility. I let Sara off at the pub and went home.
     Kat was in the kitchen when I arrived, naked to the waist. She was 
wearing only jeans and eating a bit of toast. She smiled at me 
ingenuously, enjoying my shock. I was indeed shocked. Her hips were 
still narrow, but she was well on the way to becoming a woman. Her 
breasts were not as big as her mother's, but high and firm, with 
generous pale nipples, drawn up to blunted points. She shook her 
shoulders to make her breasts bobble and smiled smugly.
     "Kat, make yourself decent, will you?"
     "Did you have a good time this afternoon? Did she give you any?"
     Kat already knew I'd seen Sara, then. "That's none of your concern. 
Please put a shirt or something on. Please."
     "What if I don't? Are you going to cut my bloody heart out?" She 
swayed past me and went to her room, coolly defiant, toast crumbs 
sprinkling her breasts. What she needed was a good bloody spanking, but 
she was clearly too old for that. At least from her father.


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