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My hypothesis about Silas was evidently mistaken. If this was how I saw Deirdre, I could only assume women saw all of Silas' visages at once as well. As soon as the thought came to me, though, another part of me insisted that the question of how Silas' powers worked was just about the least important question before me at that moment. Deirdre's private quarters looked like like they'd been inspired by someone with eclectic but distinctly historical sensibilities. Chaise lounges and ottomans, covered in more pillows than you could shake a stick at, were interspersed throughout the room. Each had been upholstered with a rich brocade, and as many as not had gold tassels hanging from them. The walls and ceiling were stone, the floor tiled with veiny marble. Pristine alabaster columns reached up towards the cavernous ceiling, though a few were short and had statues or antiques set atop them. Rich tapestries hung from two of the walls. Some were portraits, others commemorated battles,. The sounds of that long ago whipping were still ringing in her ears when Tom walked into the room with his belt still in hand. "Well, do you have anything to say for yourself before we start?" he asked. The sound of his voice snapped her back to the present, she had begun to get turned on thinking about her fathers belting, and she had almost forgotten that she was about to receive another that would surely be at least as severe as that one for charging her and Tom's credit card to the limit without telling him. She could only shake her head and murmur a soft "no, but I'm sorry Tom, it won't happen again." "I know it won't Ann," he said, "because after I'm done with your bottom you'll think twice before charging our card up like that again." "I've decided to use the razor strop on you to make sure of that, now take off your panties and bend over the corner of the bed with one leg on each side of the corner, with your legs well apart." "Oh no Tom, not the strop, please!" The strop had.
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