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He’d loom behind me, his fist curling in my hair — twisting, tugging — and I’d feel his hot breath on my ear as he called me his ‘whore wife’, or told me I was a filthy slut. Just those words, in that quiet, controlled voice, would be enough …
Marsha Adams
🦋 Marie A. Rebelle
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Mmm hot!
🦋 Writer of raw, open, honest fact & fiction - always about life. | Owner: Serial Stories & The Patient's Voice | Editor: Tantalizing Tales 🦋
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