They silently sat drinking, no words having passed between them since she had asked how many strokes seemingly hours ago. Words were just not necessar... or adequate. He took her hand and led her to her bedroom, they kissed again and he left her for his own bed, he would tidy up in the morning. He was up first his backside still tender and bruised, his clothes rough against the still livid stripes. The kettle on and the fire lit he went downstairs and tidied away, turning out the light and. Even though he was. I could feel his breath on the back of my neck and that alone was enough to harden my nipples. “Because I liked it…” he said. I turned so I could see his face. He didn’t let go of me. His face was dead serious. His hands were traveling, testing the curves, brushing under my breasts. My summer dress was thin, he might as well of been caressing my bare skin. His thumbs were brave, brushing over my nipples. Well, they’d asked for it, I thought, showing off like they were doing. More

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