Chapter Three
Rain flogged a still day, gutters awash, puddles dashed with the endless dance of spout and ripple. I was well off that Sunday. Lil was two weeks in advance, I had twenty Craven A in my handbag, and a few quid in my purse. I couldn’t sit though. No matter how I approached that wood seat in Carol’s cafe, I could not settle my cheeks comfortably. God, that cow could punish arse; Monique’s additional spanking more erotic than anything.
I had left Monique in bed: her own. No, far from it, we heeded Lil’s warning to the letter, when she was there that is. Hanky-panky under her roof would remain restricted. Monique, poor cow, winced with every movement, her fanny apparently still unable to settle, her cane welts particularly sore. She needed my tongue on both counts. Her bot and
