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Trace and his driver were killed instantly according to the letter I got from his commander. The Humvee had burned and several pieces of ordinance had exploded inside the cab.
My guess would be that the coffin contained a blend of both Trace and the driver.
We'd met at a place in Manhattan called the Hell Fire Club. During college I'd discovered that having a man between my legs slamming his cock in my cunt didn't rock my world.
He lifted me up slightly by the back of my neck then violently forced my head down to drive his manhood another inch or two inside my neck.
Trace used to say that his family considered arms their profession and pain their hobby.
How did a nice girl like me from Lowell, Massachusetts get mixed up with this group of patriotic sadists? My predilection for reaching an orgasm only after a sound flogging had brought Trace Donaldson and I together. As a result, I had a five-year commitment to patch up soldiers in whatever piss poor backwater the Army selected.
When my mouth opened, he shoved his tongue inside all the while twisting my dugs to within a millimeter of separating from my tits.
To this day I can recall the pain in my breasts and feel my cunt get wet.
Torture The Widow Chapter 1 Choke On It Please take note!