* It was around closing time and the café was empty. Andy was in his kitchen making some weird smelling hot chocolates. I wiped the tables and threw...down the cloth and my blazer. Waltzing into the kitchen I tapped my finger loudly on the counter, it made an empty click sound that echoed round the room. Andy turned with wide eyes. "Hi Andy, hows it going? What're you making? "Oh, nothing' Becka, you want some?" Andy's dry sarcasm made my ears bleed. "Har, fucking har." I walked over to see what. She was agreeably formed, and walked with a hint of swaying hips.Crudwright did not improve on closer acquaintance, and remained the self-important and discourteous blow-hard I had first encountered at the British Museum.On our first evening at the British Embassy in Lisbon he dominated, monopolised, the conversation at dinner, having an opinion on all and any subject, especially those subjects, those many subjects, he knew nothing about.I felt my inner demon twitch. ‘Stop his gab, before I gut. ?You were very strong there, Rita. Now let’s start with the real torture.? I reached into my bag and brought out a whip. It was made of leather, with a thin strap about two feet long. It was designed to deliver sharp, stinging blows without lacerating the skin. I had used it to great effect on the other women, and Catherine, the woman they showed on television, actually had an orgasm after a prolonged whipping session. ?Surely you know what this is, Rita???A whip. You’re going to whip me while. In a second, they and the dog were out the back door and into the mud that would stamp to their clothes and take forever to get out. As the adults made their way to the back of the house at a more dignified pace Billy took not of the various Indian artifacts displayed in the living room. In the large sunny kitchen Indian pottery and cookware was prominently displayed. Large sculptures decorated corners and walls. All around him was a sense of historic pride and culture that he’d always longed.
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