Sir”“Very, good, Ayse.”She slowly closed her brown eyes. She was helpless. He would have to tell he what to do and she would have to respond. �...My lovely little whore….”She gasped softly. No-one had ever called her that before. When she opened her eyes, she could see her self in the large mirror. She could also see that his hands were somewhere around his fly. She heard that well-known sound of a zipper being pulled down. She leaned back towards him, just a tiny, tiny bit. He had placed a hand. On his face, shame ---and fear.She wavered, briefly, before she walked into his bedroom. The argumentsin this room had been heated and strenuous. Each had always risen to thechallenge of the other, each defiant, each resolute. Could she have beenmore ordinarily tender-hearted? Could her words have not been so hideous,loathing, venomous? 'Compromise' had not been in their lexicon; but couldnot 'compassionate' have been in hers?She gently placed the parcel on her son's bed and carefully unwrapped. More

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