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The very mention of the word had me quivering and I could give you no more coherent response than a strangled “yes”! Ah you said, to your self rather than to me, we will need a sadist! You must have heard me gasp at the mention of that very idea, but you gave me no pause for breath and lead me immediately down another strange and unfamiliar path. Again you ordered me to spread my knees apart, and, with the wetness dripping copiously from me, you told me to hit my clit precisely ten times. With each stinging slapI was to call out the number. I felt vaguely humiliated, but the intense pleasure I gained far out weighed the humiliation. So I sat there, in the dark, listened to your breathing and systematically slapped those moist and secret parts of me. You enquired, afterwards, whether I enjoyed it and I gasped that I had but that I would rather you had done it instead. I would have hit you much harder was your cruelresponse and again I found myself deeply and intensly aroused. Again. " Then tell me, monsieur. Put me right. Tell me about the lake and about Isabelle. Tell me your side of the story."So I told her.I told her about the woman who'd stayed overnight at the tumbledown convent a short distance from the village. I told her about how she'd had dark brown hair, eyes the color of green grass and lips like the summer bougainvillea, and Christine was immediately enthralled. When I stopped for a moment to catch my breath, she begged me to continue."Don't stop," she urged, pulling her arms from their sleeves. "Please, monsieur. I'm listening. Go on, please, because there is more. Much more." What is there to say?" I stared up despairingly at the hanging stalactites through wet, misty eyes and I felt my soul inexorably drifting back to the lake."I ... I don't believe you, monsieur. Tell me, what are you hiding?"Hiding? Only that Isabelle had gone to the willows to bathe. She was a rich lady and rich ladies always went there because it was secluded. The area was.
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