.for farting?" It fuckin' reeks in here" he complained "Go on, hop it" But it's Christmas" I protested weakly "C'mon where's your Christmas spirit you... old Scrooge?" If I didn't have to pay maintenance to my bitch ex wife and my son, I wouldn't be driving dirty fat chubbas like you home," he snapped angrily "I'd be drinking Christmas spirit down the pub with my mates. Now will you get out?!" Fine" I snapped back, pushing at the door and - I have to confess - feeling very grateful for the cold. As I went to get the card key I remembered I’d left it in the console of my car, so I had to go back.Walking back to my car I noticed the shades to the couple’s room weren’t drawn, and the man I’d just seen, was sitting in a chair facing away from the window. Just as I passed the woman stepped out of the bath in a quite sexy, white lace nightgown. Translucent enough I could see her nipples and a shadow of hair.I couldn’t tell if her intent was to be sexy as she still looked a bit aloof, but the. ”Henry had to agree with that. “Heard from Martin?”“Last month,” she complained. Martin, their wild child, was surfing in New Zealand with a half dozen friends. He was two years older than Lucy, and a college dropout. His old bedroom was now Henry’s home office.“Milestone Manor’s prodigal son,” he muttered.“Only if he returns.”“Oh, he’ll return. When he runs out of money.”Though well to do, the Wheeler’s were far from the likes of Bella’s sister and brothers. Mary Elle had married into. The cruelty of this is incredible. For every phase of my torture, for every area of my body that is to be whipped, I must ask for it; to make me a willing accomplice, no, an instigator, of the torture that will fall upon me. I can barely speak, but I must; otherwise I may hang here until the morning. I gather whatever willpower I can muster."Please whip my back" I hear myself say.The bullwhip cracks. It hits just below my neck, across my shoulders. The tip flicks the side of my right armpit. It.