It had been 1987. He had been sixteen years of age, when he entered his mothers room, finding her sorting out photographs for their family album. On the table, to her left, there was a big, disorderly pile of pictures, and right in front of her lay the album. To her right, a tube of glue and a pen with which she wrote her commentaries. Even further right though, lay a photograph, isolated from the rest, its backside up. "What's that, Mom?", he had asked. But before he had even pointed to it, she had picked it up and put it in a drawer. "That's not for the eyes of a little boy!", she had said.
A fatal remark of course, at that age.

As if Marc's relationship with is mother wasn't complicated enough already! Of course: he did love her. But Mrs. Montague was a very stern ruler of the family. Marc's father was a diplomat, and he was seldom present. His mother ruled the house as an absolute matriarchy. She was extremely dominant, and that had started to awaken some rebellious feelings, where Marc was concerned.
His two sisters, aged nine and eleven didn't yet share those sentiments, but Marc's defiance made sure that he would not rest before he knew what that picture was about.

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Sarah was furious! With Sam, of course, but mainly with herself. How on earth had she let herself being talked into this once more? Why had she fallen for this again?!
Whereas she had vowed to herself that the previous time would have been the last. Never again, no more! She groaned, and tried to straighten up a little, without success.

The start of the evening had been nothing less than perfect. Dinner, the music,the conversation... It had been so wonderful to finally have Sam all to herself for once.
Phones off, computer off, doorbell off... Later on, on the couch together it had soon become clear what the course of events was going to be, and she could hardly wait to go to the bedroom.

But then he had started to talk about a little bit of foreplay. Of course, at that point all her alarm bells should have gone off, but the wine, the music and prince charming himself had already largely evened out her defenses. And of course, after a bit of grumbling on her side, he had finally gotten his way, as always. "But nothing to complicated!", she had stipulated. "Course not..", he had pacified her, whilst gently lifting her dress over her head.

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Completely devastated Mrs. Moore turned away from the see through mirror. Blinded by tears, she nevertheless saw a clear image still in front of her: a wretched human being, pressing itself against the wall in the far corner of the cell, her whole body shaking, and apparently shrieking with misery. She was glad that the cell was sound proof. Just the vision had been enough to make her entire world collapse. Her DAUGHTER! Her only daughter.

How could things have gone so incredibly wrong? Of course she had had her reservations when Jane pronounced to take a course in LA. "Modeling? But dear, you look nowhere near a model." That had been a mistake. Jane had bolted out of the room, and she stayed away for three nights. In the end, she had given in, and Jane had taken her leave for the big city.

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"You could save yourself a whole lot of trouble by saying it right now, you now..." His voice sounded as sweet as honey, while he teasingly ran his fingers through her hair. She looked at him with contempt, and tried to evade his caresses, what wasn't easy, with her hands tied way overhead. "You can just forget about that; this time I'm going to WIN! You can spank me until the early morning: I'm NOT saying it!"

Kyle looked at her in surprise. "Who ever said something about spanking?" For a moment, Daphne was taken aback. "What do you mean, we did take a bet..?""Yes, the bet being that I would get you to say something within the hour. But I never said how I was going to do it, did I?" "Kyle...", she started, the blood running from her cheeks. But he smiled and pinched her nose for a second. "Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything horrendous to you. I'm not even going to hurt you!"

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