Richard put a hand firmly on my ass as we walked back to the desk. “I’ll be seeing you again tomorrow, Sophie. Best not to bother with underwear.” He winked at me. I slapped him as hard as I could across the face; I was so upset when he didn’t even flinch. “How dare you! You heard what she said, this cannot happen again. It was a mistake and you know it. You prick; you can’t just walk in here and expect a fuck a day! Fuck you! You didn’t even know my name before you’d planned it out.” I could feel my cheeks blush red. His hand rested on my waist for a second, then he removed it to fix is hair. “Oh, you loved it,” was his reply as he walked away. “Maybe I’ll stop by in the morning...?” He was gone before I could protest. I pushed through the day, as long and agonising as it was. I kept thinking of his face between my legs, or the way his cock sprung upwards when I pulled his boxers down, or how his hands roamed my body as he fucked me. It was torture, and it was amazing at the same. At secondary school my music teacher suggested I might like to try the violin and I discovered I had a natural affinity for it, so by the time I was seventeen I had passed the grade 8 examinations. It seemed natural therefore that I should go to college to study music, and having obtained the necessary results at A level I was accepted at Bristol University. Da said it was a pity I hadn't got into Cardiff, but Bristol was still close enough to go home for weekends.When Da died I had just graduated, and I had been thinking of trying to get into one of the second rank of symphony orchestras. I had also started composing a bit at college and had had one or two part songs performed at the Eisteddford in Llangollen. Da’s death changed all that since I would have to be the main breadwinner for Mam and me. It's not that we were poor — we had a steady income from the money from the sale of the farm plus Da’s life insurance, although we had had to pay for rebuilding the barn which wasn't.
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