"One," I screamed, "thank you Miss." I knew better thannot to count the strokes.After eighteen strokes my ordeal was seemingly over and I was released,sobbing uncontrollably, I pulled up my underwear and adjusted my dress,I curtseyed and thanked her for caning me."Once again my pleasure Amy," she smiled. "Now get the car loaded, Ihave to be away, you've made me late. Chop Chop." She clapped her handsI ran up the stairs, wincing with the excruciating pain at every step,grabbed the bags and went through the kitchen and out of the back dooraround the house to her car, loaded up the three heavy bags and returnedto the kitchen. She was picking up her handbag and she held out hercheek for a kiss which I dutifully did. "Tell your mistress that I willphone later." Yes Miss." I curtseyed, and she was gone, I dutifully waived until shewas out of sight and then returned to the kitchen to get the eveningmeal ready, I wasn't looking forward to Madam's return and the phonecall from Miss Alison. Weirdly, Jill then nodded her head, as if whatever I wanted to do was perfectly okay with her, even making her swallow my piss. (I hated saying “pee,” because it sounded too juvenile. Boys “pee.” Men “piss.”) I was seriously glad that there were no diminutive nicknames for “Neal,” by the way. At least none that I had ever heard. I didn’t have to worry about being called “Davey” or “Danny” or any other such infantilizing rubbish. I was a man, with a name that in its original Gaelic form was that of a famous High King of Ireland. I wasn’t a mere lad like Steve.I pulled on Jill’s ears and fucked her throat even harder as she gagged for breath on every stroke. She didn’t whine, didn’t whimper, or anything by now. She just sucked my cock like it was going out of style. I smirked as I ravaged my estranged wife, even as it occurred to me that the threat of divorce was a far more powerful weapon than a divorce itself. She could remain my wife and be my loyal bitch, serving me in the way that.
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