The Right of the King
The Right Of The King Lorena Mae, 1995 He pulled back, spent, satisfied. The therapy room around him was institutional, cement brick with a cold stainless steel table dominating the space. She laid in the stirrups, softly moaning. He looked at her empty eyes in the midst of a beautiful face and wondered what she thought, if she thought at all. She had been in institutions for most of her life, unable to communicate or even control her body very much. He liked to believe...