When she finally turned over on to her stomach, her dominant lover relished the sight of the lines, still distinct, bearing witness to the art of a sound caning.
“Are they sore,” he asked, pressing the tip of the cane against her rear.
“No. Well, just a little,” she replied. “They must look dreadful.”
“Not at all,” Orlando replied. “They look just as they should. Such a remarkable impression they make on you.”
“You’ve found some place in me Orlando Shakespeare that no man has a right to go. You’d better not abuse it,” she warned him.
Orlando sat down on the bed. “I love you, Tempest,” he said, taking her in his arms, holding her close to him, stroking her face and neck and wild black hair.
“I have given you everything I know how,” she said, looking up into his blue eyes. “That scare
