“Forty, sir, thank you sir.” Her voice caught a little, deep and low, mixed in with some tears. It took me from half-hard back to hard. “Fifty, ...ir, thank—“ I gave her an extra one, followed by a couple more. She was expecting them, her sister wasn’t. Christie looked at me like I had robbed her piggy bank. “Nothing about tonight is going to be fair, Christie. She’s been very bad, haven’t you slave?” “Yes, sir.” Tears were running now, but so were the endorphins. I ran my finger down between her. “Really?” Her voice was soft, suffused with a hint of curiosity. She reached over and set her glass of prosecco down on the oaken coffee table, then sat back on her haunches, giving him a perfect view of the creamy rise of her breasts above the red and black fishnet and mesh negligee she’d chosen to wear to their little Christmas Eve tete-à-tête. “What is it?” He said nothing, staring instead at her stunningly pale beauty caught, trapped, by the firelight. He handed over the red box with. More

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