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In truth, the gentle breeze had died, and the full burning force of the sun was no longer masked by the caress of air on the flesh. Gemma retreated to the house to top up on sun cream, and two cups of green tea, while playing the overture to ‘La Forza del Destino’. The music matched the heady, scented, lazy heat of the garden so well. As she followed the course of the brook to the pond, she read Psalm 42: ‘As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God.’ And she did, indeed, give thanks; but she began to feel faint murmurings of hunger. It was time for the day to take on a more carnal flavour and she turned to Ovid, and the ‘Erotic Poems’. Lunch beckoned, and she climbed the slope away from the water to the Summer House. From there she could see of the garden, and either sit in full sun or the shade. For the moment she chose the shade of the roof overhanging the deck, so that she could sit at a small table. The Summer House was well equipped and Gemma had. “Of course, his daddy-cock fills me up so much more than your boy-cock, baby, but that’s not what makes me his slut.” Steven was slapping her tits as her words burned across his mind. “You remember, don’t you? From the first time at the pool, and then every time after that, your daddy just took me…like a man…he never asked like a scared little boy.” Steven heard only the humiliation his whore/slut wife heaped upon him and the rapidly growing sexual heat and excitement in her voice. He was her strength and her rock, her teacher and her guide. He was her Master in all things – except this. They both knew it and accepted the temporary switch it brought about. He pulled her hair again, this time bringing her up to her feet. “Seems you get your wish after all, darling.” Steven turned her around and released the cuffs and she spun back to his face. “What are you talking about, baby? Why did you take your little boy-cock away from me?” Her laugh was slightly more cruel than kind. She.
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