They yielded all their agony. Dorinda drifted on a cloud of pain from which she witnessed the striation of her lov3ed one’s flesh and knew it for he... own. How beautiful it was. She knew gratitude. She could not see all her nakedness. But Terry was the mirror of herself. Lash and lash. They were made one by the whip. They felt each other’s strokes rather than their own. Long afterwards they hung. A whipping was a thing of ritual. It had its prelude and its epilogue. The striped and bl**d flecked. You begin to remove your clothes placing them on the chair. Taking a sip of wine, you place the glass on the night table, and put the blindfold over your eyes. You lie down on the bed, your skin feeling the soft sheets beneath you. As instructed, you let your mind go and begin to think about all the words I had written for you with all the sensations and feelings you'd experienced. Your thighs start to get warm and soon your hands find their way down there as you start to run your hand over. More

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