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“What?”
    â€œI said, beg.”
    Babbette’s quivering sex surrounded his cock with heat. He felt her muscles contract as she began to orgasm. The entire scenario had him excited beyond bearing. The two naked women, the fiery cheeks of his swatted ass, the vision burned into his brain of Babbette licking his cock had all contributed to this moment and Bryn knew she held him in the palm of her hand. “Please, mistress Bryn, allow me to receive pleasure.”
    She smiled and tilted her head. “Yes, I believe I will.”
    When she removed her hand, he grabbed Babbette’s ass and lifted her violently up and down on his cock until he exploded.

Chapter 5
    When their imaginative sex play was over, Bryn sent Babbette to change and led Quinn to the bed. She opened her arms to him and he climbed into the indicated space gratefully. He felt as though his cock was broken. His balls ached, his ass burned, and the head of his dick was so tender, he fought the urge to cup it.
    â€œWhat was that all about?” he asked as he took her into his arms.
    â€œI have no idea of what you speak.”
    â€œI’m speaking about the leather and the whip. My ass is still on fire.”
    She lay flat on the bed and smiled. “When last I lived in Paris, I opened a club on rue Charbanaise called le Rouge Derriere , the Red Ass. Fenix and I ran it.”
    Quinn nodded. “I see. And you spanked men for a living?”
    â€œ Moi ? Occasionally, and only for very special clients. Mostly I supervised.”
    â€œAnd what happened to it?”
    â€œIt’s a very successful business. I sold an interest in it to a lady we shall call Mistress Chat . She runs it and I receive a portion of the proceeds.”
    Quinn groaned. “What else have you neglected to tell me, my darling?”
    She kissed him and climbed out of bed. “How can I know? I am so old, you see, there is much I have forgotten.”
    â€œIn what year were you born?”
    â€œThe same year as Cleopatra, 69 B.C.”
    Bryn hoped that little sexual escapade would satisfy Quinn for a while. She knew she’d surprised him and probably shocked him, but he needed to understand exactly what he was getting into. His mind was more open than most men of his time, but still, he was a man.
    They lay together in the comfort of their afterglow; Quinn even dropped into a light sleep. When the clock struck eleven, she pushed him away and sat up. “I must get dressed and prepare for Lazarus. He will arrive soon to begin the ritual.”
    He sat up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as he did. He slowly climbed to his feet, rubbing his buttocks. “I shall not sit in comfort for a week.”
    â€œYou asked for sex, you got it. Always be careful of what you wish for.”
    â€œWhat kind of ritual do you think this is going to be?”
    Bryn bustled about the room gathering garments from her wardrobe and chiffonier, finally diving into the bulky carved chest at the end of the bed. “I have no idea, which truly scares me. As far as I know, there is no such ritual. He is either lying to me, which I do not believe, or he has a repertoire of which I have never heard.”
    He moved slowly to the door while rubbing his aching posterior. “Surely you have some idea.”
    She shook her head. “I can’t even begin to imagine.”
    When he’d left for his own chamber, Bryn drew a soft tunic she’d kept in cedar since the middle ages over undergarments of silk. The tunic was made of soft wool the color of violets and clung tightly to her curves as it fell to her feet. She laced a form-fitting girdle of black leather over it. In this she secreted an array of throwing knives, a wood and silver stake and Fenix’s wand. In a secret holster in the back of the girdle she slid a very modern pistol of Sam’s inventing. It held twelve bullets that exploded on contact, tearing the target into a