When I reared back again, she was looking over her shoulder at me the moment the strap struck. I could see almost see the same desire and grief on her face that I was experiencing myself. She shuddered when the strap hit, but she didn’t cry this time. I suppose that these strikes might have been less vigorous, though they were certainly delivered with as much passion as the ones before. The red blush had faded some, but it all came back in seconds, looking more hot and burning than it had before. I laid into her at least two dozen times, long, broad strokes, the strap connecting with those sore cheeks as she wriggled and squirmed. After a time, her soft moans turned back into shrieks and she was crying. Then, I finally backed away for good.
Appraising her limp body, my desire was as rich
