Her nipples clearly press against her bra, now, and the scent of her arousal hits me hard. Her eyes lower somewhat, as though embarrassed suddenly. �...�You know, most of my patients come to me with clothes on,’ I continue. ‘You must be quite a bad girl.’ A very quiet moan sounds, and she seems to just then realize her state of undress. She makes no move to cover herself, though her eyes peek up at me as though gauging something. ‘Well? Are you a bad, naughty little girl, Emily?’ She sucks her. "Are you complaining aboutyour special panties, you ungrateful little sissy?" How wonderfully shecould play him, verbally as well as in action. How alert she was toopportunities to create a scene in which both felt the utterlyintoxicating symbolism of him as yielding and obedient submissive andshe as taker and user of the power he surrendered."No, Mistress," he quickly replied. "I'm not complaining, but thepanties are cold." He never, ever in any of their scenes said anythingthat wasn't true.. But this time it’s not rage. I’m quivering somewhere between nerves and anticipation. Part of me wants to run away and hide in a bathroom. That part of me is ashamed to be here, and it’s telling me it’s not too late. “It’s only a discussion, you silly girl!” Martin’s reading my mind again. “Pull yourself together now. Honestly, there isn’t a sign around your neck saying ‘I’m here to find out about being a hooker.’” I glare at him. “Sorry Emma. Just trying to lighten the mood. I know you feel. Well .. I don’t want to hurt you or Da…” She stopped, bit her lip as she remembered that she could never again hurt her father. “You are a very dear and thoughtful girl, Sally, but you won’t hurt either of us. Of course you must give it to him. He will be so hurt if he thinks you haven’t remembered.” Sally feared that the stress and heartbreak of her father’s illness had finally broken her mother’s mind. Again she felt the flare of anger. Why wouldn’t her mother accept that her father would.