I didn't want to catch her bent over the coffee table with this guy's dick ploughing up into her. But mostly I didn't want to see his face as I walked...into the room, the dismissive look, the cocky little smirk on his face that completely emasculated me without saying a single word. I didn't want to see the hand prints on her ass where he'd smacked her, or see the drunken, lustful, lost look in her eyes when a hard smack on the ass sent all coherent thought on vacation. I didn't want to see her. Locals would stock her shop with produce, jams, sauces, cakes, tapestries, and various artwork, from local residents, and take a commission from their sale. Joan earned some money participating in this trade, with her own artwork, and surplus vegetables and fruit. Without missing a beat, Joan introduced me, explained my presence and predicament, and continued with the part of her work, which she did not want to interrupt. June stood behind her, studying her work, and then inspecting her. More

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