Her Sunday dress was all that it should be, patterned cambric, corsetted under the bust, but her neckcloth was not so circumspect. Although it crossed...modestly at the base of her throat it was made of the finest, gauzy cotton.As if on cue, once exposed to the icy temperature, her full rosebuds began to rise inevitably. They poked insolently and pinkly against the fabric and gave the impression she was not covered up at all.Tobias gaped, gulped and began:“And out of the ground the LORD God. Wefinished supper and I put our plates in the dishwasher, after rinsing them ofcourse.? Then we went to thedungeon.? The aide had set out your bestflogger with light falls, your riding crop, your leather paddle that I love somuch, the one with the studs on it and a small bell to notify her if we needher.Youtold me, ?Strip and go over to the St. Andrew?s Cross, girl.?Isaid, ?Yes, Master,? and stripped, walked to the cross and turned around infront of it.Theaide locked me in place with the cuffs. More

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