?She whimpered piteously as she bent further, pushing the tack-lined cups hard against her tender nipples. Rob began striking her ass with the paddle....I was surprised to see that he had a natural talent for spanking. He warmed her up with a few light strokes then began hitting her with solid thwacks that reddened her cheeks but were not so hard that they lost their erotic character. He struck her with slow, measured strokes so that she reflexively bounced off the desktop and then had to press. Hey, I'd better take your phone number."He gave her both his home and mobile numbers."Would you like my address too?" He gave it to her."East Whisty? Where on earth's that?" About a mile east of West Whisty." Smarty pants!" About seven miles north-east of Winchester." Miles away." It's quite easy by road after the first few miles and I do have my own car." Gosh! What is it?" A seven year old Polo convertible. It's in jolly good nick too. It only had twenty-one thousand on the clock when I got. All the way into my soul. It was liberation. Dory kissed my nose and chin, then rooted in my neck. I finally managed to whisper, ‘Why did you cry? Why the big reaction?’ ‘You had to tell me first.’ ‘Is this one of those cult things?’ She opened her eyes. ‘You mean it’s not the usual way?’ You’ve got to laugh. I did. That evening, I heard from an identity search firm. I did more than hear. They emailed me a pdf of a birth certificate for Regina Erin Mattson, born on April 2nd eighteen years. That voice told her she was a whore, his whore, and she’d always be his whore. He owned her and she knew it. And yet another voice told her she wasn’t a whore because he’d always told her he loved her and she knew this had to be true. It just had to be. It couldn’t be any other way. Could it? The question hung there, unanswered, unanswerable, taunting her. Finally the other voice returned. The voice of reason, she felt. The voice that always told her the right thing to do. The strong voice..
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