. Sunday evening, actually ... tomorrow was Monday."Monday, Monday. Can't trust that day," I was singing and strumming my Hauser rosewood classical.Gr...ce heard it and thought it was a catchy tune, "That's nice, do you know the rest of it?" Monday, Monday, so good to me;Monday morning, it was all I hoped it would be.Oh, Monday morning, Monday morning couldn't guaranteeThat Monday evening you would still be here with me.Monday, Monday, can't trust that day;Monday, Monday, sometimes it just turns. ” She paused. “You do speak French, don’t you?”Abby blushed even more as she whispered, “Yes, Miss.”“Now be a good little whore and get down on your knees and show me just how good you are.”Fiona leaned against Abby’s dressing table, tugging her dress up to her waist, revealing a pair of pale cream knickers with a very visible wet patch. Abby dropped to her knees and crawled, not breaking eye contact as she covered the short distance across the bedroom floor. She kissed her way up Fiona’s boot,. More

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