Cindy didn't either.We were clean. Some memory when we were young and Dad had fewer bottles: fill the washtub with hot water from the wood stove, temper — yes I knew that word and many others — the hot water with cold water from the pump. Take the bath together, Cindy and I. Eight, we were just kids. Twelve, we were boy and girl... but still just kids.Sixteen, the year Dad left forever — though it was two years before Cindy and I agreed that he was really gone forever — Cindy was embarrassed and turned away while she washed. I was embarrassed because she was, and after that I did twice the work and filled two tubs. You see; I had always loved Cindy.When I was five Dad taught me to read — I read everything. I knew the difference between sloe gin and gin when I was six. I read the labels. I taught Cindy to read; Dad said girls didn't need to know but I loved Cindy and wanted to share with her. We looked for hours at the labels for Rye Whisky and Bourbon Whisky — searching for the. He was absolutely thrilled with Yvonne's submission for so long, and thrilled at the pain and genuine misery that he'd been able to inflict upon her.Yvonne's mind was in a turmoil. Her whole being had been filled with pain which robbed her of the ability to think logically and rationally. Every neuron in her brain had poured forth signals telling her to protect herself from what had been happening to her, and yet a perverted, and very definite sexual drive somewhere within her, had told her that it was good to suffer, that it was corrupt, unnatural, debasing and humiliating - things that she enjoyed.She lay there sobbing through her panting breaths. Her backside was still stinging and sore, and yet, now that the infliction of pain had actually stopped, she rapidly began to regain some composure, and she actually began to regret having stopped Harry from continuing on with his cruel spanking."I'll have to tie you up if you can't take it voluntarily," Harry sneered.Yvonne, regretting.
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