I put my hand to my neck. It was wet. I smelled the wet, it smelled like spit.“Hello?” I said, timidly. “Is anybody in here? Did someone just kiss my freaking neck?”That’s when I felt another kiss. This one was quick, a sneaky peck, a tease.“Hey!” I shouted. “I felt that! Show yourself!” I thought maybe someone was in my house wearing one of those invisibility cloaks from Harry Potter. I heard somewhere that the government got a smart idea from those books and fashioned one themselves only to be worn by the CIA and stuff. Is this true?For a moment, nothing happened. Then a big wet mouth suctioned itself onto the side of my neck and licked and sucked and kissed and licked and sucked and kissed with a ferocity I had never felt from even the most passionate lover. I screamed, horrified by what was happening.“What the fruck! What the fruck!” I shouted. Fruck was a word I sometimes used instead of fuck. As I was struggling, I realized whatever was happening on my neck felt kind of good. Marie-Claude had crawled over to one of the benches and, as he spoke, she turned to hold out the set of shackles she found there.“L'esprit est prompt, mais la chair est faible” she said softly as they gathered around her. Hands reached from all sides to fasten her wrists and ankles to the table, spreading her burning arse for more punishment. “I shall scream” she warned. There were mirthless laughs from the clientele.“Nobody will hear you down in these cellars” the Captain told her and he cut a fierce, red line across the flesh of her back with a rattan cane so thin that it bit like steel wire. She went rigid in her chains and drew a great breath. The Captain’s Wife span around and swung her whip with great force onto Marie-Claude's arse, raising an ugly, red welt. The Greek made another cut over his last and blood started where the lines crossed. Marie-Claude cried out pitifully for mercy and the blows fell all the harder. Cane and leather beat her freckled skin from calf to.
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