She closed her eyes again. The usual feeling of anticlimax was afflicting her;she longed to be able to move her arms and wipe the sweat from her grimy...face,and the straw under her shoulders and back was now packed uncomfortably hardfrom the pressure of her weight. Already she was bored, longing for the cuffsto open and free her. She thought of a long, cool shower and a cold drink,and uttered a tiny whimper of frustration. Her usual remedy of turning her thoughts to future bondage sessions. Maybe he’d see that as a new goal to reach if they could get through Christmas. Then, maybe there’d be another one after that the two of them could strive toward. The two of them. Sylvia hadn’t thought about anyone but Stan like that. Well, no, that wasn’t true. There had been one other time she’d thought like that. But she was young then and her father had put a stop to that. He ran the boy out of town and got her married off to that widowed farmer right quick. Paul’s dad. Or who everyone. More

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