Take me now, Lord. I'm ready.
The whip cracks against his chest, very near the nipple.
"Stop exaggerating, young man." she says imperatively with a
slap across his face, "This is a crop. Whips leave welts. You'll
suffer nothing so disgusting."
She's so close, he can tell it's Rioja on her tongue, even through
thin fabric tied across his face. "It still hurts," he squirms, and
the warm sugar coo comes in his ear, "I know, baby, she's so
mean to you."
"Who's the good cop?" he wonders, surprised he's flanked and
outnumbered. "And will she untie me, please?" he adds as he's
taken into her mouth.