At long last, there was the customary uneasy halt to the performance where the audience looked around at one another to judge whether an applause was ...equired. And this would soon break forth when the cue was given by a couple of firm handclaps: usually initiated by Sir Kenneth who himself relied on a discrete nod from his decidedly cultured and foul-breathed cultural curator. And then like waves crashing on the beach or, more often, a strong wind against the window, applause would break out. “Emma! P-please, no more. I beg you, please,” sobs Becky. “I’ll be g-good.” Emma holds Becky and comforts her, kissing her softly and strokes her beautiful hair, her hands well away from her sensitive areas. Becky moans and convulses a little more as her pussy leaks her juices, dribbling out of her tight red pussy – even this is torturing Becky as her pussy is so sensitive from the spankings. Emma quietly leaves the room to continue Miss Caitlin’s bidding. Miss Caitlin picks up the nipple. More

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