“Good boy. Auntie Wendy doesn’t like having to spank you, but it is for your own good as she wants you to be the best that you can be. Now – in ...rench, Peter!” She unintentionally raised her voice.A moment later, the nasty little clothes brush began to do it’s work, smacking my red and sore buttocks alternately.“Thump!”“Un Tante Wendy.”“Thump!”“Deux Tante Wendy.”“Thump!”“Trois Tante Wendy”“Thump!”“Quatre Tante Wendy.”“Thump!”“Cinq Tante Wendy.”“Thump!”“Six Tante Wendy.”I cried pretty much from. He remembered leaving the office, going to celebrate the winning of another customer with the guys. He remembered going from one club to another and dancing in a crowd, the music pounding out, the smell of sweat, and the taste of beer on his tongue. There was lots of woman and laughter, the swirl of movement, lots more drinking and then the occasional wisp of a memory of sex. Of breasts, of the taste of sex, of losing himself in the tension as it built and the relief as he came. But the woman. More

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