The girl pushed aside her dark robe and stood before me with her feet wide apart, fists on her hips, her jutting tits and trembling knees stretching t...e lace-trimmed shift she wore for a nightshirt. She looked sort of dull red on the right, palest yellow on her left. I tried to remember to breathe both in and out. She glared down at me like you'd size up a fractious work horse 'fore you throw a harness on him.Her room was almost as cold as the courtyard, but I was getting warm awful fast. I. Later on in the evening we cuddle a bit (unless she has a boyfriend over) and she teasingly scolds me for wimping out.?You shouldn’t be such a crybaby, Lord Fleamarsh? she tells me sometimes. ?Think, if you could ever take a good whipping without blubbing like a little bitch, I might—just might let you kiss my glorious breasts??I am not allowed to touch my beautiful wife’s breasts. That’s right. It’s heartbreaking. But she’s right, I am a crybaby, and a wimp. And oh, how I wish I could ?man up?. More

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