He pulls his leather harness over the top of us, my hand still gripping tightly. I cant seem to let it go. The harness hangs over the tops of our head..., he moves his hand over mine, gently coaxing it off “let go” he whispers. But my hand wont loosen it’s grip, the adrenaline is still pumping through my veins and I’m just too excited. He strokes my hand still trying to coax it loose, which causes my body to react and heart pump harder, breath quicken. He kisses and lick my fingers, I whimper and. After each stroke you will count it, lest I apply too many or too few. Any you do not count, will not count. Is that clear?"Bridget could not, or would not, reply. The Emir sighed."I asked you if the matter of counting the strokes was clear? You will now have six strokes; the extra three for not replying. Now, is that clear?" Yes," she mumbled."Yes what?" Yes I understand," she snapped."Very well, nine strokes it is then. Three more for lack of respect in your answer, which should have been. More

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