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Although I didn't know it, I would follow it almost without interruption for 15 years. The spiedie originated with Italian immigrants who put grilled, marinated lamb on a roll and served it as a workingman's hot lunch, and in this hunting-crazy area the spiedie has evolved to often mean venison. I reach around from underneath Wendy holding her ass cheeks open as I play with her asshole and suck delicately on her clit, as my husband works her pussy with reckless abandon. It will wash off, or wear off, in the days to come. Fourteen yards away, facing me, front legs standing on the lane, rear ones in the weeds, whose edge I'd hit with a rangefinder.

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On one Good Friday, while the rest of his village was at church, Hubert was afield when the stag his hounds had cornered turned to face him, a crucifix illuminated between the antlers.

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Others lay flat or, worse, crisscrossed. But he joined a local hunting club, and he learned quickly. And just like that it was over—the deer's suffering, the eight-hour tracking job, my own personal torture. The does flicked their tails in unison and stepped confidently down a trail 30 yards out of bow range, giving me the clue I needed. My only consolation was the bulk of the problem.

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