” “Please...” she whispered.“Here it is for you Emily,” and I pushed it inside. All the way inside, in one slow deliberate move. “Oh yes,�...��“Does that feel good baby,” I said as I felt the full penetration.“Ohhh,” she said as her hips moved back and forth along my length. I reciprocated steadily, enjoying the pleasure of penetration and feeling my lower abdomen pressing against her warm soft bottom.When her moans complemented each and every stroke I knew Emily was ready for some firmer treatment.. "How recently? I mean, you were a perfectly fine Marullo, nice and solid and musical, but there wasn't even a hint of what you did tonight." Verdi didn't write Marullo to compete with Rigoletto," I explained a bit pedantically. "I mean, it throws off the whole balance of the opera if..." I trailed off; her expression, one eyebrow cocked and a half-smile on her lips, told me she wasn't buying."Well, you're right about that so far as it goes, you'd have sung Ivor"—our Rigoletto—"right off the. Fumbling with his folded trousers, then returning them to the chair. As if by magic a belt appeared in his hand, buckle wrapped round the palm, he knew that she had always enjoyed the feeling of leather striking against her skin, it was her scourge, her way of cleaning her very soul so the whipping she was now taking, for the normal man in the street it would be horrendous, for Amber it was meat and drink, she had told him she revelled in the stinging pain, the lash, the after-pain. To. Oh, God! How could any human being so degrade another, so debase another as he was trying to do to her. She wouldn't do it... she couldn't do it. She shook her head and mumbled, "I won't." Then she looked up in tearful pleading, "Please, Lord Medwell. Please have mercy -- pity. Give me the photographs. Please!" The last was a half hysterical scream."Of course, my child. They shall be returned to you... upon my word as a gentleman... just as soon as you fulfill the conditions of our.