“These stigmata…” she swallowed, momentarily off balance, “…how did they happen?” She held up the picture. A beautiful, doll-like woman la... spread-eagled on a floor of stone flags. Long black hair tumbled in waves around her cruelly lacerated corpse and she bore jagged, crimson holes in her hands, feet and chest.“Stigmata?” asked Dmitri, arching an eyebrow. “Those are real nail and spear wounds”. He pretended not to notice as Katya shifted uncomfortably. “The photograph is of a woman named. I don’t care who hears me. The feeling is so powerful. I can never get enough of this. This is where I want to be. Why do I have to leave? I tilt back, so I can feel as much of him pressed against me as I can. I feel his hands on my hips, guiding me as we move. I want to ride him, but he hold me back, torturing me as he moves in and out of me, slowly, deliberately. I feel his head run against the back of my vagina, anticipating the rush each time he nears my G-spot. ‘More,’ I plead. ‘Please,. More

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