I was sure that the picture was of Abigail. It was her smiling face and her body. She was squatted down with her knees apart and her white panties stretched across her fat pussy snugly. I even recognized that dark blue dress with the wide white lapels showing off that deep cleavage that I had admired a couple of times. Her hair was the same short red curly mess that I had admired just the other day. However, I had never been privileged to seeing her white panties before. They were solid along. "Brent, do we have some time this morning?" All the time you want." I turned and lifted her on top of me. Feeling her soft sexy body laying on mine made me feel warm and content. She sat up and I took advantage of her position to hold her breasts in my hands. Fondling, and squeezing, rubbing my thumbs over her hard nipples. I pulled Chels to me and sucked her left nipple into my mouth. Sucking her nipple, my hands roamed her body. She let my cock rest on my stomach and slid her pussy. The tables were almost as dirty as was the floor, there were no pillows on the ramshackle chairs and benches, from the stove in the corner came puffs of smoke and too much heat. I had had my share of dubious food and cheap wine, but was not drunk — it would not have been a good idea for a woman on her own to get drunk in such a place. I was tired, but not sleepy. I did not want to think — or rather, there were things I did not want to think about. I had run out of things to read. I tried to. Priscilla's mind was switching in and out of different realities, now floating back to some antique sacrificial rite, now into a surge of agony for Anna and rage at the headmaster, now in an effort to find some way of understanding the extraordinary sense of concentration with which the whole room seemed focussed upon the cane and Anna's bottom. She started thinking of her own father, a peculiar and remote figure. He was not particularly kind to her, but he did not abuse her either. What always.
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