Chapter Fourteen
The Proposal
I had never seen a look of shock on The Reverend’s face.
There was something both deeply satisfying and just a little disturbing at my having been the cause.
“Tomorrow?” he said, for the second time, as if further probing and exploring the meaning of an exotic and unfamiliar word.
I nodded.
“Yes.”
I had reached #11.
I had at no point taken recourse to the anesthetic; any lubricant save my own had quite quickly become superfluous.
I felt . . . capacious, aware every waking minute of every day that, between my legs, I had a mouth—loose-lipped, if not agape, usually drooling—that was insatiable, that longed for the white hot pain and the rainbow of pleasure delivered by ever more improbable penetrations; I had watched #11 relentlessly thrust into me, unt
