I hauled my horses to the stable, got them dry and the saddles off and then went into the tavern to see what sort of a person this bedraggled ferryman...was.She had shed her coat and stood before the fireplace wearing a bulky maroon sweater, skin-tight military britches and knee-high boots. Her hair was a mass of dark, wet curls that fell across her broad shoulders and halfway down her back. She rubbed her chaffed hands together and grinned at me. "Sorry," she said, "know you was trying to help. Talking. Hypo-theti-cally," she said harshly, each syllable punctuated by a crack of her crop on my bum.I screamed in pain, trying almost desperately to climb the chains and get away from those painful smacks. I realized that Mistress had been holding back before; she wasn't now."Now, hypothetically," she continued, her voice strangely calm but I could sense her displeasure, "what if we made your wife your slave and you were my slave. Would you agree then?" Yes," I yelled hoarsely. "But it. More

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