lor.
“Well, I did. Answer me,” he says calmly.
I flush. My inner goddess is down on bended knee
with her hands clasped in supplication begging me.
“I like your kinky fuckery,” I whisper.
“That’s what I thought. So what don’t you like?”
Not being able to touch you. You enjoying my pain,
the bite of the belt . . .
“The threat of cruel and unusual punishment.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, you ha一ve all those canes and whips and stuff in
your playroom, and they frighten the living daylights out of
me. I don’t want you to use them on me.”
“Okay, so no whips or canes—or belts, for that
matter,” he says sardonically.
I gaze at him puzzled. “Are you attempting to redefine
the hard limits?”
“Not as such, I’m just trying to understand you, get a
clearer picture of what you do and don’t like.”
“Fundamentally, Christian, it’s your joy in inflicting pain
on me that’s difficult for me to handle. And the idea that
you’ll do it because I ha一ve crossed some arbitrary line.”
“But it’s not arbitrary; the rules are written down.”
“I don’t want a set of rules.”
“None at all?”
“No rules.” I shake my head, but my heart is in my
mouth. Where is he going with this?
“But you don’t mind if I spank you?”
“Spank me with what?”
“This.” He holds up his hand.
I squirm uncomfortably. “No, not really. Especially
with those silver balls . . .” Thank hea一vens it’s dark, my
face is flaming and my voice trails off as I recall that night.
Yeah . . . I’d do that again.
He smirks at me. “Yes, that was fun.”
“More than fun,” I mutter.
“So you can deal with some pain.”
I shrug. “Yes, I suppose.” Oh, where is he going with
this? My anxiety level has shot up several magnitudes on
the Richter scale.
He strokes his chin, deep in thought. “Anastasia, I
want to start again. Do the vanilla thing and then maybe,
once you trust me more and I trust you to be honest and to
communicate with me, we could move on and do some of
the things that I like to do.”
I stare at him, stunned, with no thoughts in my head at
all—lik
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