Quality tears I gasped when we entered. It is made by Jean-Luc laugh. "Pas mal, what?" he whispered and pulled me by the arm into it. There were only five men in a beautiful hall; no women. They varied in age of about forty to fifty-five, sixty - their hair went from pepper-and-salt to silver-white. They were all dressed in tuxedos. One of them cut loose from the group and walked over to us. He held his arms up closed around Jean-Luc. I stepped aside to watch them hug. Then Jean-Luc freed and pointed to me they belong. "Dad," he said. "Please meet Mia. She means the world to me." I felt embarrassed at what he said. Yes, I think he meant the world to me. I smiled and put his hand on the older man now noticed the similarity of father and son. Papa was heavier set than his son, and his hair was completely white, but his eyes were the same, and so was his voice. His hands felt warm and dry - they were too strong . "Let me wish you a warm welcome, mademoiselle," said French, his voice booming. "My son is a very lucky man." As he spoke, he brought my right hand to his lips. Old-fashioned gesture me shivers. "Merci, monsieur, je suis birthday boy," I stammered my best French that do not have a clue about what might be the correct phrasing. I was tickled pink that Jean-Luc I would soon present my family, but I would never have agreed to dress as if I know. The old man smiled, still looking me up and down. My virtual nudity gnawed at my confidence. As my nipples stuck in soft jersey did not help. Hot flush crept up from the neck. He blinked and touched my arm gently steer me towards other men. What followed was a round of introductions are difficult to understand. No one reached out for a handshake, we're all just nodded and smiled a lot. Their eyes made me feel like I was pushed scanning. The men were all very distinguished and suitable for their age. One of them was Asian. Jean-Luc gave me a glass of champagne, whispered in my ear as I feel it. My smile was as weak as my knees. "Who are these people?" I whispered back, urgently. "And there are others? Women?" But it had already turned away. Papa raised his glass and proposed a toast in French, that I could only partially follow. It was obvious Santà ©, there were flattering phrases concerning my character and compliments for Jean-Luc. And then ended wishes all goes as satisfactory as expected. I wanted to ask, Jean-Luc, what his father might say, but Jean-Luc took the glass from me and told me that it will be soon. As I watched him leave the room a mild panic got me. It did not help that the
five pairs of male eyes staring at me when I returned my gaze. Somehow they formed a circle around me. I felt very naked again. Papa grinned and stepped closer. His big hand and into my private sphere, touching my hair. I tried to take a step back, but the man behind me was inadequate. "Jean-Luc did not lie," said the old man, now caressing my face. I said, "I. ..," too astounded to find words for the growing turmoil inside my head. Hands touched my back and slopes ass over her clothes. I swore his frailty, overwhelmingly aware of their nakedness below. I turned and screamed. A hot wave of panic engulfed me. All I saw were smiles. "Jean-Luc!" I screamed. "Where are you, what is it? Jean-Luc?" The men laughed. Burned my nostrils caught the acrid smell of cigars and garlic. Fingers grazed my neck. I raised my hand and chop them to push men away from me. I needed space. I needed to run. "I do not want it!" I screamed, repeat it in French. "Je ne veux pas ... pas! Non! Laisse-moi!" But there was a solid wall of male bodies around me. Papa's face came closer, his ringed fingers stroked my cheek. He felt cognac. His smile made me feel bad. "Be a good girl and show us what my son boasted," said badly accented English. "Get out of those clothes, please." I just stared at him. He repeated the question, but I could not move. The air is close to me, cracking a dumb aggression surrounds me. I could only gasp and stare; informal question are chasing every last thought from my mind. My fingers touching, pushing authorities. But even if I was free, I wonder if I moved - I could not even scream. I think I was in shock. Papa's face swam in and out of focus. I felt hot, dull and blurred, nor noticed how his hands let me go. Lips blurred face started moving again. "Dà ©shabillà ©-toi," they said. I was too dizzy to understand. "So those clothes off, girl," he repeated again in vaudeville English. His hand rose. I shrank away. Then I felt his fingers on the zipper hidden behind my back. Fabric crawled out of my body. It pooled around the base so that the cool air kiss your skin. Automatically I tried to cover my nipples with one hand, my crotch with the other. Hands came from behind, pulling down their holdings. A whiff of cologne known hit my nostrils. It took the last resistance from me. No bras and panties taken off earlier, I was completely exposed. Panic choked my throat; The ultimate humiliation made my face burn. "W-why ... what? Pourquoi, Jean-Luc?" I stammered, tears streaming down my cheeks. My lips were trembling. The old man never answered, nor his son - and I could not find the words to go on. I just stood there naked, my hands held back - is unable to perform his or anyone's eyes. It must have been amazing suddenness. At one point, I felt perfectly safe; The next moment it seemed as if the floor was pulled from under me. The sheer sense of betrayal brought the disease to the neck. Confidence was like breathing for me; I never had to live through a situation like this - not even remotely. My shoulders slumped. The hands let go of my wrist. I just let my arms hang,
defeated, helpless. I could not handle. I had no defense. Closing his eyes, I shivered, swaying on his heels pins. He mumbled voices were all around me, like clouds of smoke. My mind was screaming "run away!" but my feet were glued to the floor. I lived in the stifling cloak spun shame and humiliation. Foreign words hissed. Were invalid meaning, but left their sticky dirt everywhere. I felt disgusted. I felt outraged. I did! No? But if so, why just stand there with trembling thighs, treacherous glow in my belly? I had to run. Why can not I run? Someone groaned, "no, no" - it was me. Male voices talking around me, ever; I caught fragments of my butt and my breasts - ". Tetons' breasts, I also heard," cow "and" Salope. " There was a lot of laughter. Again I opened my eyes and blushed like a torch. Hands left; spell broke. Jean-Luc stood in front of me, picked up the dress. The men moved to the far corner, laughing as he looked in my direction. I wanted to slap the face, spit in his eyes. I could only whisper. "Why are you doing this to me On your father touched me? -! Oni, everybody ... And you took off the dress' He smiled and raised his hand to silence me "Give it back, Chà ©rie, we're leaving." I slapped his hand and ran at my heels. Even before I got to the door, smooth skin slipped on the polished floor, and I fell down, sliding toward a huge marble pot, held palm. All I saw was a black stone approaching me - and then everything was dark. *** I had for a while, because when I came to I was in another place. It hummed and swam around me, definitely on the move. Auto? My skull hurts, and there was a bitter taste in my mouth. I looked up and, yes, I was in the car. The only light came from the outside - a fleeting neon lights, mostly. I lay on the back seat. A man's head and shoulders silhouetted against a screen, multi-colored lights. He was the driver and he looked familiar. I pushed from under a pile of clothing - blankets? "Jean-Luc," I croaked, but all I produced was a groan. The man turned back to me. "How's your head?" he asked; then turned back to operation. His voice shook me - it was as warm and sweet as ever. I did not answer. "Mia," he continued. "Do not be mad at me. Je suis toi de Fier, so proud of you.'ve Made a very good impression." Everything came back to me, soaked in bile: disgusting men, humiliation - betrayal ... I got on my knees and reached for the doorknob. It did not budge. "Let me out!" I screamed. "Let me go. Leave me, please ... please let me ..." My hands hit the glass. My nails scratched the door to no avail. I broke down my cheek slid the window. Rage melts into despair. "Why, Jean-Luc?" I asked, turning back to him. "Why have you brought me there, why did you leave them? Was it rape, Jean-Luc, damn rape, and you let them! You helped them !"
The car roared; filtered in. Jean-Luc traffic noise did not respond. I lunged forward and grabbed him by the shoulders -. He shook it when I repeated my question "Yield!" he shouted. "Stop it, you will kill us both, Mia!" But I did not let go. Blood red rage came upon me and I did not even see how the car swerved, spawning a wave of angry Claxon sounds and screaming tires. I pulled his hair now, scratching the skin of his neck. "You took me to the bastards!" I screamed. "Half-naked.'re Just handing me be ... to be raped." Finally found an empty parking lot and when the engine died, turned, grabbed his hand and pushed his face into mine. "Stop it, Mia! Stop and listen!" I did not stop, I'm listening. I fought him furiously, spit in his eyes. "Let me out!" Slap stung my face, making my ears ring. There was another slap. I stopped, stunned. I stared at him, wide-eyed and wide-mouthed, gasping for breath. "Mia," he said. ! "Ecoute .. Je t'aime N'oublie-jamais, c'est moi, Jean-Luc et je t'aime Repeat what I say: I love you!" I was speechless. He continued, tightening his grip. "Repeat, Mia:. Je t'aime Tell me that you love me, too!" I just stared; It was too crazy. His fingers clenched jaw. He pulled me closer and kissed me - hard. "Say that you love me." I gulped air. Then I felt my head nod; my lips are moving. He smiled. "I'm proud of you, Cherie. Were so impressed." He closed his mouth around my mouth open again, attacking me with his tongue. Bizarre confusion occurred to me, followed by frustrated anger. How would you tell me that he loved me after all I have done? How would slap me, then kiss me, as if everything was fine? How could hug me and praise me make a good impression after throwing me naked to a bunch of perverts? How on earth could wait, I still love him? I felt treacherous knowledge of his aftershave, damaged intimacy of his scent. I tried to scream, but all sounds were strangled intensity of his kiss. And when he finally stopped, I could talk about the lack of breath. "C'est rien, Chà ©rie," he said, still panting from the kiss. "It's a tradition. I take pride in that my girls to my father." His eyes glowed in the streetlights. "You should feel honored that it is very, very free he agrees that you are much more than just another beautiful girl.". He stopped, but he kept his gaze to his hungry eyes. "Mia," he whispered. "Bombarded him with my praise for you, so had , to see you, all of you, and show you off to his friends." He pulled me closer, forcing his eyes lowered back to him. "Please understand, Mia. Papa I have to be proud of me. Assessment need him and his friends. Them I need to know how important you are to me. Thats why I took off my clothes and holding the wrist." Wool illness touched her stomach when she saw his face. It shone like a ... like a schoolboy. "They were amazed, Mia," he continued mauling word. "Your beauty stunned everyone."
My panic subsided - replaced by a chill that made me shiver. He was a schoolboy, yes, I thought, proud to show his father how well they did. Holding me, stripping me, giving me the display. I felt numb. My pain skull pulsed with a dull pain. Half-forgotten story of images flashed before my eyes silly porno book film. Chained woman blindfolded. Jean-Luc held out his hand and touched my face. It shook me out of my stupor. I jerked my head away, and thrust it into the headrest. He tried to stop me, but I climbed halfway across the right front seat, grabbed the door handle. It opened, but before I could fight out his strong hands pulled me back my clothes. I've heard that tear. Falling into it once I hit with both elbows. Maybe I was hit in the face, I do not know. But screamed and let go, so I forward through the open door. My knees scraped concrete and heel of the right shoe broke. I kicked off and i ran. Treacherous clothes hung in tatters, exposing me to the cool night breeze. I felt more naked than ever. Carl. Sitting at my desk, I studied the envelope courier delivered in the morning. It was large and well filled. He letterhead with Jones and Callahan in its upper left corner. I could guess what might be in it, but as long as I did not open it, I would not know for sure, I thought. It would be a message, no doubt, but what? There would be pictures, maybe, but so what? I fought the urge to open it. From each other for a moment longer can be comforting -. "So far, so good" hang something on, like a man falling from a skyscraper says I turned the envelope in slow circles. My finger pushed to one corner. Then I leaned against the photo Mia thing on the table, covered her smile. I worked for a while, struggling through life unknown Italian early Renaissance painter. He did not even have a name; He was known as a master Suckling Madonna of Assisi. Rich Azerbeidjani recently bought a painting he thought was a famous Ghirlandaio. I borrow the new art museum in his hometown Bako, who would gratefully entire wing named after him. It was an old friend of the men who consulted me, and I had good reasons to think that's a little too late that the picture showed all the signs that the Master of Assisi. In this case, the poor rich owner to lose quite a bit of millions. Work, especially tedious work, proved to be a great way to drive out pesky ghosts occupying skull. But today still cover me scatters. Oh, how the crisis befuddles the mind at one point I even praised himself for reaching . Around twelve I left the house for lunch with art historian friend to get his opinion on what I learned about the Italian master. The man was also a lover of wine, so lunch was way stretching into the afternoon. I hurried to his sober before the first bottle was empty. Then I stuck to mineral water. We chose the image can not be Ghirlandaio. We even doubted that breastfed master. A weak pun about the "poor sucker had to suck it," I knew it was my time to go way overdue. When I returned home, the envelope was still there, of course. I picked up a paring knife. It was an antique and was a gift from Mia. How appropriate, I thought, how sharp edge split on paper.
The report fell along with stuffed smaller envelope. It probably contained images. I began to read. There was a short list of times and places. There were also transcripts of phone calls and text messages. Mia was toast. So I was, in a way. The huge sadness sitting on his shoulders. Images were two persons meeting. They kissed most of the time, and one of them was always Mia. The second was always a man, but not always the same, as far as I could see. I knew none of them. I found footage of women sucking cock - fat dark cock. A woman on the elbows is fucked from behind a man who was just a silhouette. The woman was also Mia. A delight her face. I was past anger, and sadness over. I was just wondering how they would be able to get pictures. I pushed them away, which is a slide on the shining surface of my desk. I looked up, directly into the frame Mii smile. I wondered what I would say when they meet. I assumed that I hear all the familiar clichà ©s. "I can not explain it. Did not mean anything. We need to talk. Sorry.'s Not how it looks. Was just sex. Please forgive me. Love you. Only you." It was a week before our anniversary. I bought her a gift - jewelry, as well as our (too short) tradition. I opened the drawer and pulled out a gift box. I saw the pictures fit inside, as soon as I removed the large and intricate art nouveau broche that was in it. It gave me an idea of â  â  when and how to construct Mia. No need to waste any more jewelry to her anyway. I knew it would be hard to wait for another week and not explode. But I also knew that it would work and I found a way to be out very well, thanks to breastfeeding master. Time flew by, of course, even though you may not have as much fun. *** So I confronted her at our annual dinner. Thank God that saved me the cliche response. She never said that could explain neither she says it's meaningless sex - so far, so good. But she said she loves me, either. No, that would be a hollow phrase anyway, but it burned not. She did not cry, but I had to give her. And she said she was sorry, but the reason why is sorry that is not at all what I expected. "I'm sorry, he stole four years of my life," she said. "It is time you could have spent the better woman." She would understand if I wanted a divorce and she would go with what I suggested. It was quick, especially because I was never even mentioned the D-word. Her voice was factually when she said it. I had to admit that it was more in line with Mia I knew that crying was, but it was uncomfortable; and yes, a little disappointing. I would put the lid back on the open field, and I would get the papers tomorrow. She gathered her things and we left the restaurant. Back home, I said good night after a long shower, and went to our spare bedroom. Without make up her face looked childishly and open. The rims are red, oh well, reddish, maybe. I think I got more sleep than I do, but that may be wishful thinking. I lay in the dark wondering what her feelings were, if any. I knew that my, you lived with them for two
weeks already. Her answer was not at all what I expected. Maybe the cool efficiency hurts me more than her cheating. When I returned home the next afternoon, she was gone. Her wedding ring was on the kitchen table - with a note telling me that her attorney would call me. There were no good byes, nothing even remotely personal. She took very few things with her - her laptop, of course, but none of her toiletries or even her beauty case. If I knew almost none of her shoes and clothes were missing and none of her jewelry. I saw that she took a locked diary. I assumed that I would go back for my things, but never was. She also never called, wrote or e-mail. Unlike their remaining belongings and mild perfume lingered on his pillow, it seemed that never existed. I found a friend, a friend who knew through sad experience that a good woman divorce lawyer. When I visited her, she told me that it would be easy, as long as Mia did not object. The apartment is rented; quite MG was her, so I'll just have to split your money 50/50, and give her all my own stuff. Then we waited for the lawyer who would tell us, according to her notes. But he never did.