Starved Beast. Part 4

Christine turned from me, visibly pained, hurt; and I saw that she wasn't listening.

"It was awful," she cried softly, lost in the memory.

"The women were kicking and screaming and they were powerless to stop what was being done to them, and the soldiers - louts - they took turns ... Oh mon Dieu! It went on and on, and the girls. Many were so young! I saw their misery and desolation and I felt empathy for them because I was like them, one of them. We were bundled along like we were horse flesh with no minds or opinions. We were commodities, meat, and there was nothing I could do to get away."

As my eyes feasted on her dress, I knew that I needed to remain dispassionate and offhand to avoid rousing suspicion, but this was an impossible task.

"These women," I questioned her breathlessly. "They were pretty I suppose because men will generally pick the pretty ladies to rape." I shrugged, offering a sly, wry smile. "After all, given a free choice no man is goin