“You’ve been a naughty boy, Mickey Mouse! And naughty boys get punished!” I brought the ruler down hard on his naked ass, causing him to flinch. I kept at it until I’d given him a dozen hard smacks, which his stiff cock told me he was enjoying.

I called him Mickey Mouse because his ears stuck out, and he told me to call him Mickey instead of his real name, Mykola. By the time we had reached that state of play, he seemed to be enjoying his nickname.

What he didn’t know was how much I was enjoying punishing him. I was meting out a tiny bit of punishment to someone who had been involved in my Mistress’ murder, but it was nothing compared to the pain I was going to unleash on him and his bosses, once I learned who they were.

Until then, spanking him with a ruler would have to satisfy me. And him.

~~~~~

Finding the first link in the chain of people responsible for my Mistress’ murder had been hard enough. I had seduced, fucked, and wheedled the information out of Piers, an Amsterdam policeman who had befriended me as a bereaved widow. Then I staged my own suicide and hitchhiked to Brussels to start hunting Miriam’s killers in earnest.

There I had started working for Mikhail, the manager of a strip club, and the low-level stooge who had owned the car that had run Mistress off the road, leading to her death. But he was a small cog in a bigger organization, with an intellect to match, so I needed to find out who as above him. I had wormed my way into his trust by sucking and fucking him with adoring eyes and limited English, pretending to be an Ukrainian illegal by the name of Stefi.

By the fifth week at the Club, I was not only stripping, but had also managed to become being Mikhail’s secretary, fucking him while pretending to be an illegal worker from Eastern Europe named Stefi. Even though he neglected to pay me for this extra work, I always demonstrated my gratefulness, was outwardly slavish in my respect and loyalty to him, and was at his beck and call.

I knew how well I had succeeded in this charade by what he said to others in my presence, such as, “Yeah she isn’t too bright, but Stefi is a looker who knows her place and does what she is told.”

That allowed me to gain access to his files, and to learn about the local operation, which basically was a local operation running drugs and illegal, often underage girls for some higher up mobsters. Trouble was, I hadn’t yet figured out who my boss called boss.

When Mickey first came into the club, I picked up a vibe from my boss and others that this guy was important, so I asked one of the other staff, who told me he was my boss’ boss. Bingo!

So, I arranged to wait on his table that evening, and went out of my way to be nice to him, flirt with him, brush my leg up against his, lean over to give him a look at my tits while I was serving, and generally do whatever I could to get his attention. I had also bribed the House Mother, who scheduled the dancers, so that I could dance for him, and pulled out all the stops with a super routine to get his attention. It worked.

Up until then, my boss kept me exclusively for his own private use, and I sucked and fucked him every day. But the next day, my boss came into the office where I was doing clerical work, and told me I had a date with a very important client. He also made it very clear to me that I was to do whatever this client wants, and that I absolutely could not say no to anything!  Finally, he ended by saying, “Don’t fuck this up for us!”

Of course, what he really meant was don’t fuck it up for him. He was incredibly nervous, and kept going back and forth between threatening me and cajoling me to take care of this “client.” The client’s name was Alexi, my boss said, and he was very important, very important!

I let him stutter on and on, and he finally gave me €500 before uttering a final threat, then hurried out of the office before I could say anything.

The first time I went to Alexi’s hotel room, he immediately wanded me for electronics, had me strip, then searched me and my clothes for a wire to see if I was trying to record our conversations. Fortunately, I hadn’t worn one, but it told me that this guy was ruthless and smart, which my boss wasn’t. It also told me he had things to hide – which was what I intended to find out.

He introduced himself as Mykola, not “Alexi,” but said I should call him “Mickey.” Then he proceeded to use me as his personal fucktoy.

Since he had already stripped me, he had me kneel and jerk him off, first with my hand, and then had me suck him until he pulled out and came all over my face and chest, marking me. I paused for a moment, as if shocked, then, still wearing his cum, I started playing to his kinks as I stroked him.

“Oh God, I so want you to own me, I want your cock, anywhere you want to put it – cunt, ass, mouth, tits! Please, Mickey – please do me, do me hard!”

Like that. And he bought it, having me ride him cowgirl with my hands behind my head, while he worked to ram his cock as far into me as he could. As the night went on, he kept pushing me further and further, trying to find a kink that shocked me so he could force me to do it. What he didn’t know was that I had been much further than he ever had – or ever would go, so there was no “too far” with me. At the end of the evening, when we were lying, exhausted, in bed, he told me, “Christ, Stefi, you fuck like a crazed banshee!”

I smiled to myself, but thanked him effusively, and told him I’d really like to see him again. He smiled, obviously pleased that he was such a great cocksman. He also surprised me and gave me a €1,000 tip. I thanked him and sucked him off again.

When I went back to the Club the next day, I told boss about the tip and tried to give it to him as I thought it might be a trick to see if I was being straight with them. But boss was relieved and delighted, and pushed the money back into my hands – and then gave me another €500 on top of that!

After that, whenever Mickey was in town, I went with him on a “date,” and he gave me €1,000 each time.

The next time, he brought out a collar and leash, thinking I’d back off, and he could force me. He was surprised when I went with it and urged him on, begging him to do me doggie style, which he loved.

He definitely liked having me suck him, and really got off on having me tongue his ass and massage his prostate. Not long after that, we moved into Golden Showers, with me standing over him and pissing on his face and chest.

That’s when I decided to kink things up even more. For my next date with him, I took off my overcoat and put on a nun’s wimple so I was wearing that, plus black boots, a thong, thigh-highs, and nothing else. I switched, and dominated him, which he found he loved even more than dominating me. That was when I spanked him with the ruler.

After he had taken his punishment happily, I told him I would forgive him. I led him into the bathroom and had him lie in the bathtub, then squatted and pissed on him, giving him “holy water” and absolution of his sins.

Over the days and weeks that followed, whenever he was in town, we got it on. He came to take me for granted, just another fucking sex worker to be impressed by his prowess and the size of his dick. But we would often lie in bed, between fucking, and I would listen to him brag about how important he was in the organization, prompting him with adoring questions.

I was also able to listen in on his phone conversations. Once he had accepted that I was a whore (because I had taken the money he gave me, right?), he thought no more about me. I became furniture. In that way, he was much like my boss at the Club. Despite being much smarter, he still had this blind spot – and I made sure that I fit right into it.

And after a while, it worked. I finally got the names of the two men he reported to, whom he called Mr. Money and Mr. Action. I finally managed to wheedle their proper names out of him. It also became clear that they were both very near the top of the organization.

~~~~~

All through the four months I worked for Mikhail in the strip club, stealing information from his files and copying data from his computer and his phone, I had also been planting leaks about the Brussels drug and illegal – and frequently underage – sex ring in a variety of places. Some of it went through anonymous tips to the local police. Some went to the German police, and once to the Amsterdam police through Piers. Some went to local newspapers as confidential tips that led to a couple of sensational scoops about corrupt politicians.

The result was a series of low-level raids and drug busts. Nothing truly crippling, but enough to arouse suspicion that there was a leak somewhere in the organization, and also to establish me (through a variety of identities) as a credible source to the people receiving my anonymous tips.

I also managed to make it look as if my boss, Mikhail, was working with the cops to save his neck. As a result, when the final bust did come, his employers thought he had worked a plea deal with the police, so they abandoned him instead of pulling strings or hiring a good lawyer.

But this all left enough questions that the organization was starting to think they had a higher level mole as well. It was enough to plant suspicion and cause arguing and infighting within the organization.

By the time I left for Frankfurt, the local organization was a shambles, with most of the members going to jail. And the police just happened to roll up to the Club before I had arrived for work that day.

Of course, it was entirely accidental that I wasn’t there.

But my time in Brussels and playing the role of Stefi had taken their toll. I was exhausted when I left Frankfurt from a steady diet of days working as a secretary, and nights as a stripper and fucktoy. And I needed to get away from the sex trade because anyone still looking for Nika, De Muis – or trying to track down “Stefi” – would naturally start looking in sex clubs and among sex workers.

Two days before the raid, I had sanitized my apartment, then went to the train station and bought a ticket for Frankfurt in the name of “Rona Schmidt,” and put it with a “go” bag in a station locker.

After I watched the raid on the Club from a distant coffee shop with a clear sight line, I took the bus to the train station, bought a ticket for Hamburg in Stefi’s name, then retrieved my go bag from the locker.

Then “Stefi” got on the train for Hamburg, went into the toilet as the train left the station, changed her clothes, scrubbed her makeup off and redid it in a much more demure fashion, tucked her hair up into her hat, put on a large pair of sunglasses, and “Rona” emerged as a completely different woman. Even my walk was different.

At the first stop after departing Brussels, I stepped daintily off the train at the last minute, checked the platform to make sure nobody else got off with me, changed platforms, and got on the train to Frankfurt. Once I reached Frankfurt am Main and found a temporary apartment in a decent part of town, I had my hair dyed brunette with colored streaks, cut into a much younger style, and became “Anka,” an innocent young woman looking for work in Frankfurt’s burgeoning tech sector.

My contacts in The Collective – a loose association of hackers to which I belong – helped me locate the kind of cybersecurity job I wanted. I made an appointment for an interview and got glowing references from the places I had supposedly worked, all backed by members of The Collective. Since I was more than capable of doing the work that my employer hired me to do, once I started, they never checked any further.

Now I had a new identity with the necessary papers to match. I was in a respectable job, far from the sex trade, that paid me a decent wage, supplied all the cash I needed for the moment, and gave me access to powerful computers and sophisticated software tools.

I was ready to start the hunt for Mr. Action and Mr. Money.

~~~~~

Two weeks later, I had caught up on my sleep and was horny, lonely, and frustrated. That’s not a good combination, especially when you’re in an office surrounded by young, horny, opportunistic men.

But my extensive experience with men is that they can’t resist crowing about a sexual conquest. That was the last thing I wanted, especially as one of those horny men was Jürgen, the big boss. Sleeping with him could crater the job if it went wrong, but sleeping with someone else might make him angry that I hadn’t chosen him.

On the other hand, sleeping with a woman…hmmm…

It was a Friday evening at the end of my second week at the company, and I was doing routine stuff that was undoubtedly useful to the company, but which didn’t give me the kind of freedom I wanted to do research, nor access to the kinds of specialized tools that I needed. What I really wanted to be was a “red hat” hacker for the company.

A red hat is one of the good guys that actively goes after black hat hackers. While a white hat will do whatever they can just to stop the bad guys, a red hat will actively seek them out to destroy them.

They’re like the fighter pilots of an aerial bomber wing. Their job is to seek and destroy bad guys. And becoming a red hat would give me access to the company’s specialized tools, which would show up if I tried to use them without authorization, as well as giving me the time to do so. Of course, I would also use them for my own purposes, so I was serving two masters.

Or mistresses, in this care.

Late that Friday afternoon, I noticed that Ingrid, the butch lesbian who was my supervisor, seemed upset about something. So, after I had tidied up my own work, I walked over to see if I could help her.

“What? Oh, no, no. It’s just those assholes in Systems were supposed to finish this project by tonight, and they’ve completely screwed up the database access routines. I’ll work it out, Anka, you go home. You’ve done well with the system utilities I wanted to be completed, and deserve to leave on time.”

I looked at her, and said, “Ingrid…” She looked up at me, and I just stared into her eyes for a while, until she got the message. Then I went on, “Ingrid, I’ll stay. Just tell me what you want, ja?”

She just stared at me, then snorted. “Okay – coffee,” she said and turned back to her computer.

I’m sure she expected me to leave in a huff, but I could read her better than she could read me. Being a whore will do that: you get extremely good at reading people. So, I went and brought her a large mug of coffee – sugar, no cream, which is how I knew she liked it.

She was slightly surprised when I returned, and surprised again when the coffee I gave her was the way she liked it, then sat back in her chair and looked at me speculatively, then nodded. Tapping the program listing in front of her, she said, “I need you to fix this. There’s a bug somewhere in this subroutine, and I don’t want to take the time to chase it down…”

She explained what she wanted, then turned back to the problem she wanted to work on. I took her notes, and walked slowly back to my desk, studying them – but also watching her out of the corner of my eye. Sure enough, she had turned to watch my back – or rather, my ass – as I walked away, so I made sure to roll my hips.

Then I got to work chasing bugs in the subroutine.

I found them – more than one – and fixed them, ran some tests, then sent the routine back to her computer. I got up and walked back to her. “Okay, that’s done. What’s next?”

She had been concentrating on her own work, and I startled her. She looked at her watch, then at me, thought for a moment, then said, “Pull that chair over. There’s something wrong here, but I can’t chase it down. Maybe a pair of fresh eyes will see it.”

So, I did. And between us, we found and fixed all the fuck-ups, and got the database access system running properly.

It was gone eleven by the time we finished and sat back. She stared at me again for a moment, and I stayed still, keeping a poker face, knowing this could be a turning point.

She got up, and said, “I need a drink. May I buy you one, for all your help?”

I get up and spontaneously hugged her, then apparently thought better of it, and said, “That would be lovely. I’ll get my coat.”

After a couple of drinks at the nearby bar, she looked at me and said, “You know, my last partner cut out on me when I needed her.”

I shook my head. “I’m not that way.”

She just looked at me, then started to pull her hand away, but I held fast. “When you call, I answer,” I said and stared into her eyes, face serious.

Finally, she smiled, squeezed my hand, and said, “I think I’m going to like you.”

I kept hold of her hand and licked my lips, smiling. “Mmm…yes, you will,” I replied.

So she took me to her apartment.

As I walked in, she said, “So, it’s not much, but this is where I live when I’m not working.”

I looked around and thought it was an eclectic mixture of butch and feminine. I liked it.

I turned to see her watching me with a slightly haunted look. I guessed she was worried about me being a co-worker and subordinate – but also that I might not approve of her. She looked tough on the outside, but I could see the frightened girl inside the hard exterior.

I smiled at her, then started unbuttoning my blouse while walking seductively towards her, swaying my hips as I did. “Oh, no worries. I like what I see…”

Dropping my blouse to the floor, I unclipped my bra and dropped it as well, then stood before her, clasping my hands behind me, then bowed my head submissively, a smile on my lips, “…Mistress…”

I could hear the sharp intake of her breath, then she put a finger under my chin and raised my eyes to meet hers. “It’s like that, is it?” she said quietly.

Keeping my hands behind me, I nodded, then leaned in towards her to be kissed, closing my eyes and waiting.

I could hear her breathing hard, then, finally, she leaned in and kissed me.

The kiss progressed rapidly. I kept my hands behind me as if bound, while letting her hands roam around me, first to the back of my head, then to my shoulders, to my shoulder blades, and finally around to my tits. Gently at first, then with greater force and urgency, she started to massage them, until finally, she pulled me to her, arms around me, crushing me against her, and groaning as she kissed me.

I matched her groans, and only part of it was acting. I really was horny and hadn’t had a good fuck from a dominant woman in a long time. Not since Miriam, in fact.

After letting the kiss get wet and sloppy, she finally traced around the waist of my pleated skirt, finding the button and zipper at the back, undoing them, and shoving both the skirt and my panties down, letting them puddle on the floor.

I stepped out of them but kept my hands clasped behind me, and moved closer to her, pressing my naked body into her clothes and continuing the kiss.

Finally, she broke, pulled back, and looked at me. I smiled back and nodded slowly to reassure her that this was what I wanted. I could see the mixture of wonder and lust in her eyes. After a moment, the lust won, and she scooped me up, and carried me into the bedroom, dumping me on the bed.

I landed with my legs open, propped up on my elbows, and gazed up at her expectantly. She tore her clothes off, revealing a much leaner, more muscular body than her face had led me to believe.

She sat on the bed next to me and started to trace lines along my body. I rose up to meet her touch, wherever it went and only partly acting. I found that I, too, was turned on – but that wasn’t a surprise. I really am a slut, and I love sex. I always have – and probably will to my dying day.

Once she had brought me to panting eagerness, she swung her leg over, positioning her pussy above my mouth. I stretched up to lick her, making her shiver. She settled in, lowering herself so I could reach, and I began to feast on her soaking pussy lips, then delving between them to collect a mouthful of her honey while teasing her clit with my tongue.

Then, to my surprise, my body jolted as she ran her tongue along my nether lips, splitting them, and licking up to my clit. It really had been too long since anyone had paid attention to my needs, and I was more than ready.

We both fell to devouring each other, with no artistry, just desperate desire. I could feel my face being soaked with her juices and had to fight my urge to clasp my knees together around her head. I released my hands from behind me and reached up, pulling her closer, and eagerly did the best I could to bring her off.

She beat me to her orgasm, but only by seconds. She arched her back, pressed her stomach into mine, and moaned deeply, all the while desperately continuing to lick my pussy lips and pearl. Then I came, and it was more than good. It was like coming home.

I loved it.

A while later, when our breathing slowed, she pulled me around to fit into the crook of her arm so that I could use her shoulder as a pillow. She traced the lines of my body, around my tits, then tickled my nipple. I giggled and reached up to do likewise, but she captured my hand, then pushed it around behind me and caught it with her other hand. I was helpless to stop her from stroking me. Exactly as I wanted.

“So, Schatzi, you like it like this, ja?” she asked.

I nodded, “Ja, Vati. I like it like this.” I sighed deeply and turned my head away.

She turned my head back. “What? Tell me.”

I shuddered. “My…Mistress died in a car crash, and there’s been no one since.” Surprisingly, I felt tears come to my eyes.

I turned back to her and saw kindness and sympathy in hers. She brushed her hand along my hair, “My poor liebchen. How long has it been?”

“I…” now I was truly crying.

She pulled me to her and held me until I stopped sobbing.

“It’s okay, Schatzi. Really. I’ll look after you”

She leaned in to kiss me, and this time we made love.

~~~~~

And although I had not planned on an emotional involvement – that was a bonus – I fixed three problems with one blow. Or rather, fixed them with several licks, some nice tribbing, and some really lovely orgasms.

First, I didn’t have to worry about guys trying to pick me up anymore. Being the girlfriend to a butch lesbian kept the men away, both at work, and in the bars. Second, I was no longer horny. Or at least, not as horny. I’m always horny, really.

And third, she found out how good a programmer I was.

The next morning, after we had brought each other to another round of really pretty orgasms, I lay in her arms, and we chatted. I bided my time, and was pleased when she said, “Where did you learn to program like that?”

I smiled up at her, then gave her some almost-truths. “I took some computer courses in secondary, then more in vocational school and found I really liked it, so kept with it in college. I had a really good professor who taught about computer networks, and who introduced me to a local computer and gaming club. Eventually, I got a part-time job through him while I was still going to college, and worked mostly on network security. Which is why I wanted to work here. I like the work and find it fascinating.”

I kissed her neck and shrugged. “I don’t know why I’m good at computers, but they just…make sense to me.”

She stared at me, then hugged me to her. “Well, however it happened, your talents are wasted on system utilities. What would you like to do that we need?”

“Really?” I asked her.

She paused, then said, “Yes, really. I can’t promise to give it to you, but … what would you like to do?”

I paused in my turn, then took a deep breath. “I want to be a red hat.”

Her eyebrows moved towards her hairline. “Really? You?”

I pulled away from her, “Yes me. Why not me? All the best programmers are young, you know!” I acted indignant.

She laughed, “Well, not all of them – but you have a point.” She thought for a moment. “Okay, we’ll try you as a red hat – but I’m going to be your House Mother, looking over your shoulder until I’m convinced you can handle it.”

I settled back into the crook of her arm and snuggled close. “I can handle it. You’ll see.”

And she did because I really am as good as I said I was.

I got what I needed – and a lover who was more than just a functional fuck besides. Life was good. Or at least as good as it had been since Miriam died.

~~~~~

While working at the tech firm, gaining access to important software tools, and gaining a new lover, I was also pursuing other tracks as well.

I had hired various members of The Collective to dig out specific pieces of information about Miriam’s killers and their organization. None of them had the complete picture, or even a big part of it so none of them could betray me even if they wanted to. Instead, I gathered the information they collected and assembled it into a growing picture of the organization I was stalking.

But I had another, completely separate track I had started pursuing immediately after faking my own suicide: Hans Wolf.

Hans was the biological father of my son, my former lover, brother-in-law, and Miriam’s older twin. Yet, because he had received a big chunk of stock, money, and corporate influence as a result of Miriam’s death, I also had to be sure that he wasn’t the one behind her death. I was taking no chances and making no assumptions.

For that reason, I planted a trojan horse on his computer.

Before my “suicide,” I produced a video for Hans and stored it on a thumb drive. It contained, among other things, a tearful explanation of why I was going to commit suicide, and asking him both to forgive me and to look after Eric. I left this in a hidden storage place that only he, Miriam, and I knew about. I knew he would find it, and that no one else would.

Among the “other things” on the video file was the trojan horse. When he uploaded the video file to his computer to watch it, it also loaded a program onto his system. That program allowed me to gain access to Hans’ computer, plus all his files and emails then passed on the trojan horse to people who received and opened emails from him. In effect, I could listen in on all his correspondence.

Late one night – or rather, early one morning – shortly after the trojan horse was installed, I checked to make sure Hans wasn’t on his computer, then copied the entire contents of his hard drive to a Cloud file to review at my leisure. Once that was done, I installed another program to keep track of all new emails and files created or altered since my last access. That meant I could just download new stuff instead of the entire contents of his hard drive on future visits – a much faster proposition, reducing the risk that he might try to log on, only to find his computer was already active.

Then, over the next several weeks, I studied everything that Hans knew about Miriam’s death, my suicide, and the people who killed my Mistress. It was considerable, but in some ways, I knew more than Hans or the authorities.

But I did find out that Hans was working with…someone, trying to find his own answers about Miriam’s death. I just couldn’t figure out who it was.

I also was able to get glimpses of how my son, Eric, was doing, which was of intense interest to me.

Yet, there were things I wanted to know that I would only find out if I asked Hans directly. And since, by this time, I had been reading his emails and studying his files for almost six months, I was about 98% convinced that he was innocent.

Why not 100% convinced? Because I’m paranoid. Living on the streets as a teenager, living with my mentor, Gregor, a former Russian Gulag prisoner, and having experienced Miriam’s murder all made me intensely paranoid, to the extent that I trusted no one. Well, almost no one; Gregor being the major exception.

There were two other…living…people whom I wanted to trust. Kristol, with whom I had felt a very strong connection, and who, as a statuesque, steel-willed blonde, reminded me of Miriam, and whom I thus found intensely attractive. And Hans. But there was still that grain of doubt about both.

I actually contacted Kristol first, but I’ll talk about that another time. I finally decided it was time to let Hans know I was not dead, yet I planned to be careful about how I did it. I was still concerned that Hans might try to “protect” me by taking me off the board, and betraying me to the authorities, “for my own good.” I could not allow that to happen.

Knowing that there were intelligence agencies also looking into Miriam’s death made me even more paranoid and cautious, and I wondered if someone else might also be intercepting and reading Hans’ emails. Accordingly, I couldn’t just email him and say, “Surprise! I’m alive!”

So, instead, I wrote a draft email on Hans’ computer but did not send it. Instead, I left it open in the mail application so that it would be the first thing he would see when he opened his email.

In it, I told him some things that only he and I knew, first from my final exam in Berlin at the end of my training to become Miriam’s sex slave, and then from our discussions following the reading of Miriam’s will at the family home.

Then I invited him to write a draft, unsent message in the same fashion in reply to let me know he understood.

His reply, which I read the next night, was gratifying. He was suitably shocked, delighted, and angry with me. He was shocked and delighted, he said, that I was still alive – although he had had a sneaking suspicion that I hadn't really committed suicide. And he was angry that I had not trusted him with the information.

Eventually, through our exchange of messages, we got past all of this. I pointed out that he would have wanted to stop me from investigating Miriam’s death. Plus, I would have been tied down looking after Eric, whereas he and Maria, his wife, were much better suited to doing that.

Finally, he accepted my situation and decisions, agreed not to try to stop me from searching for Miriam’s killers, and to meet with me to share information. I also wanted a recent photo of our son, and to hear about him.

We agreed to meet “where we conducted the final exam,” which only he and I would know was the Adalon Kempinksi Hotel in Berlin. He let me know which suite he had reserved.

I dressed with special care. I wanted to look somber, determined – but also sexy. This was, after all, my former, and hopefully, future lover, although on my terms now.

I knocked on the door of his suite. “Komm herein!” he shouted.

I opened the door, stepped in to see Hans sitting at the desk – then heard the door close and lock behind me. I pulled out my razor and whirled to see the suspicious man who had searched Miriam’s and my home the night after my suicide.

Betrayed! I had been wrong about Hans! I had to decide who to attack first, and then hope I could get away. I leaped towards the grey man.

“Nika, wait!” I heard Hans cry.

Ignoring Hans, I flicked open my razor and moved to attack.

I never got the chance. Hans called out some words that I couldn’t quite understand, but which my body remembered. They were the post-hypnotic commands that sent me into a massive orgasm.

Falling to the floor, writhing in ecstasy, I was rendered helpless – experiencing a pleasure that would probably lead to my death.

I was betrayed by my former lover, my wife’s brother, the father of my son…

…and by my own body.

I passed out.