She began to cry. I turned toward her, and asked, “Are you in pain, sweet Meadow?”“No, my Master. You must leave today, and I have been unable t... pleasure you. I am a poor slave girl unable to make her Master happy,” she wailed through her tears and sobs.“Sweet Meadow, it is not your fault. You are injured. I would not allow you to injure yourself further just for my own pleasure.”“Please, my Master. You must allow me to do something. Allow me to pleasure you a little... ?” The tears were. In the background, the plaintiff notes of a Gypsy violinists melodies of love and passion intensified the rapture that settled upon them and washed over them like the flutter of a moth’s wings, or the kiss of a mother upon the cheek of a sleeping babe. The fragrance of a vase of roses and the flavor of a shared glass of merlot heightened the mellow feeling of union that drew together in a way that neither had ever known or shared with another. Possessed as they were, these mere mortals slowly. More

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