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Though all her other children had replied to Claire’s email, there had been nothing from Elizabeth, and Claire felt the loss. Each day she had hoped for something the next day, but there was nothing from her.

“I’m worried about Peter,” she said over coffee that morning. “From what the children say, he seems very depressed.”

So he damn well ought to be, thought John, though he said nothing, but massaged her shoulders and back.

“D’you think I should write to him?” she asked plaintively. “See if he’s changed at all?”

“If it makes you feel better,” John said, “it can’t do any harm.” Secretly he did not believe that. He wondered if after all that Peter had done, and his lack of any remorse for his violence, he could ever change.

After lunch Claire spent the afternoon writing a letter to Peter. When it was finished she did not show it to John but sealed it and took it to the post box. He felt excluded for a moment, then berated himself: this was a letter between a married couple, and they had a right to privacy.

The Letter

Dear Peter

Look where we’ve got to Peter. You’re in a mess, but there is a way out.

It was so easy, wasn’t it, living as we were? You in total control over me and whatever I did. You never had to worry about me then did you? If I was talking to another man, no matter how innocently, you could rush up and intervene. You did. Every time. Don’t deny it, it’s the truth. I was always ‘safe’ under your total control. I felt I could hardly move. I suffered it for years and years out of love for you, under you.

UNDER.

Do you recognise that picture of our life Peter? Because that was how it was for me. From my point of view I was always looking over my shoulder, not because I was ever doing anything wrong, but because I wanted to avoid the Spanish Inquisition when we got home. You do not realise even after all this trouble how it felt for me, do you? Why? You are too wrapped up in your own insecurity, your stupid groundless fears.

I thought I understood you. I don’t. I never thought you would intercept and write that letter to John, I never thought you would assemble our children and lie to them about me, to put me in some kangaroo court. Our own children Peter, how could you do that?

Well, now they know exactly what you did, your violence and criminal behaviour. It seems you were too much of a coward to admit what you’d done, or accord John the credit or the immense service he did to you and Thomas.

You know, sometimes I wonder if you, the super-religious saint in the family even thought of that teaching in the gospels. John GOT YOU OFF. You made John into an enemy, and John got you off. “Do good to those who persecute you.” I think it goes. Didn’t impress you though, did it? Get that Peter? You don’t really understand or follow the core teaching of your own religion.

I say to you again, before God, and may I burn in hell for all eternity if I am lying, John and I have not had sex since we met again after all those years. In all the time I’ve been with him, we have not had sex in ANY sense of the word. It is your jealousy and fear that is painting this fictitious picture. It is so wrong! Even now you continue the fantasy after what you’ve done to him, a loving, compassionate Christian man who actually lives by the gospel.

I have not tried to poison the family against you, as you tried to do against me. I have simply given them the facts since I no longer trust you to do so. I’m trying so hard to be fair to you, and I really mean that. I tell them what is real and true. You’ll have to live with that.

Peter, I’m not asking the world of you. You have a serious mental problem. I’m asking you to get psychological help, to admit your insecurity as a weakness that has caused this tragedy. That is what it is, a tragedy. If you do what I ask in good faith I WILL return to you. But things will have to be different, for I will not live as I have been living with you any more.

Please Peter, I keep telling you I love you. I want to come home. I want to live with you all our days, but as equals who trust each other totally. For God’s sake, change. Get help.

It’s in your hands.

I do love you, much more than you realise,

Claire.

She also sent the letter as an attachment to his email address. She waited all week for a reply, though admittedly without much hope.

She filled her time mainly in the garden. The first three days were blessed with sunny periods, but Thursday was wet and she gave up for the day. Friday morning was the weekly shop. After they finished putting the shopping away, she looked out from the living room as yet another shower speckled the window, and admired her handiwork. The garden looked beautiful and cared for.She hoped Elizabeth would approve.

The doorbell rang after lunch on Friday. John wondered if this would bring more suffering and pain as he trudged to the door, steeled himself and opened it, keeping well clear of the arc it would make as it opened. On the step stood a young woman with a rucksack, and John saw immediately who it was.

“You have to be Elizabeth, Claire’s daughter!” he said with a broad smile. “Come in, come in! You will make her day!”

She smiled uncertainly. “Y-yes, how did you know?”

“Sweetheart, you are the spitting image of your mother when she was your age! My family were looking at a photo of your mother from back then. I’ll show it you later, but come through. Claire!” he shouted. “Here’s a visitor for you!”

“A visitor? For me?” came Claire’s voice from the living room. Who...”

By then Elizabeth had walked though the doorway. “Hello, Mummy,” she said as she dropped her rucksack.

“Lizzie? But how? When? Oh my darling!” and the two fell into a tight embrace. The tears flowed down Claire’s cheeks, and they were joined by Elizabeth’s as the two wept with happiness.

“Oh, Mum!” her daughter whispered.

“So good! How?” sniffed her mother.

“As soon as I got your email, I applied for some holiday time. Dad paid my fare. I only get today and the weekend, I’m back at work on Monday.”

John made tea, what else could he do? He brought it to them, who were now seated together on the sofa. He served them and then left them alone.

“I had to come and see you, you need to know that your family has not totally deserted you. But John’s face! Did Dad really do that?”

“Yes, my love. It’s a lot better than it was. Your father pushed the front door open violently and it hit John in the face, then he fell back and cracked the back of his head on the wall. But, Lizzy, while he was unconscious, Thomas kicked him. He’s got bruised ribs and other injuries.”

“You mean his privates?”

Claire nodded. “Oh Lizzy, I’ve had lovely emails from Mary and Philip and even a text from John.”

“It took a lot of argument to get Mary onside, Mum: that newspaper cutting clinched it. She didn’t believe you until then. Charles has been wonderful, he’s so balanced and sympathetic. She’s very lucky to have him. Oh, and there’s trouble in Thomas’s household, Sharon has had enough. She lost all respect for him when he carried on with his shit about John being a philanderer who deserved all he got. Then Mary showed her the press cutting.”

Claire was silent for a moment or two, then, “Perhaps it’s genetic.”

“Genetic?”

“Haven’t you noticed how like your father he is? I think they’re both insecure, and thus they’re jealous. Everything is a threat to their relationships. Thomas behaves just like his father about Sharon, and my visiting John tearing a hole in my relationship with your father is a real threat to Tom as well. I’m sure he’s frightened that Sharon will find someone else and leave him.”

Elizabeth’s eyes opened wide. “Mum, you’re right! I never thought of that. Trouble is, Sharon isn’t going to put up with what you had to contend with. Her tolerance is at an end now.”

Claire sighed. “It’s a shame that his jealous efforts becoming so violent will bring about exactly what he’s terrified might happen.”

They paused to drink their tea.

“John seems nice,” Elizabeth said. “Very calm and welcoming. D’you think he’ll let me stay?”

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Book Three: Barbaric Passion Chapter Six: Orcish Passion By mypenname3000 Copyright 2016 Note: Thanks to B0b for beta reading this. Knight-Errant Angela – Red Eye Tribal Lands, Larg Federation I dozed in a sex coma. Thrak had fucked me so hard. I had cum so many times. That orc was virile. My pussy ached wonderfully from the force of his strokes. He lay next to me in the tangle of grass, his breathing a low rumble as he slept, his arm over my stomach. I absently stroked his...

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Many were BBWs with extra pounds in all the right places. Some were exceptionally tall women who were rail thin, like most models. Then there were the bodybuilder types. Those were the ones Connor was into, especially when they had something extra. Several of the muscular Futa models he followed on social media were taking part in the event tonight. That's why Connor didn't mind paying the ridiculous coverage charge to get into the show. When would he get another chance to be this close to...

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Jennifer was right on several counts. We did have to show Mom that she could be proud of us and we absolutely had to have a plan. The sex had been fantastic but if that’s all we had, we had nothing at all. That night, as I did my journal entries, I took a few minutes to take a look at myself, not physically but as a person. I hadn’t worked in months and I was still facing at least three months of idleness. Eventually, insurance would compensate me for my lost time, etc, etc. but that did...

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Mother Superior sent Sister Mary Margaret away and continued to watch the novice through the two-way mirror. Sister Mary Julian paced her small room, stopping each time she came to her bed. She'd stand there rubbing her palms on her thighs, wringing her hands, and clenching and unclenching her fists as she stared down at the soiled habit. One time she stopped in front of the mirror and stared at her reflection. Her stare was so intense that Mother Superior jerked back as if the novice was...

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Walking out the side door, you look up at the sky. It's dark out but you cann't see many stars. The bright city lights prevent it. Only a few very bright ones manage to shine through and can be seen. Glancing down the driveway, you take in the neighborhood. All familiar. Seen it all a thousand times before. You grew up here. Well, sorta. But you don't want to dwell on that now. You're busy and need to get going or you'll be late. You turn and head to a motorcycle that sits in the...

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