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asking in such an
antiquated manner made her blush?
    He
pointed to one side of the room. Only the twinkle in his eyes showed how amused
he was by her reaction. “Through that door. Where there is also a bath, and a
ewer and warm water. I hesitate to say it’s hot as I brought it up earlier, but
at least it won’t be freezing.”
      Vicky nodded. “Thank you.” Now if only she had
something to wrap herself in. His expression showed her he damn well knew what
was going through her mind and expected her to ask for a robe. Well, sod it,
she went naked at home, she could do it here. She’d just ignore him.
    That
of course was easier said than done.
    With
an insouciance she certainly didn’t feel, Vicky threw the cover back and stood
up. He, damn him, didn’t take his eyes off her. Now she knew how a bug pinned
out for inspection felt.
    He
grinned and flicked his finger over her denuded pussy.
    “Nice
to see your cunt without a covering of hair.”
    “Too
personal, mate.” Vicky turned her back on him. “Watch it.”
    The
swat to her ass was unexpected and stung. She swung round again. “What the fuck
was that for?”
    “Brass
is not accepted.”
    Vicky
thought fast. She thought he’d used brass to mean impudence not outrageous.
    “You
mean I’m bratty? I know that. Sass is my middle name.”
    “No,
your middle name is Sarah.”
    ****
    Kit
watched as she wrinkled her nose. He had no idea what bratty or sass meant but
he’d guess she meant she answered a question with another and took nothing for
granted without querying it first. If that was, what did she say, sass, he
liked it.
    “Sarah?”
she said finally. “How do you know that?”
    “Wedding
vows. I, Victoria Sarah do marry, and so on.”
    “Yeah,
well about that marriage malarkey … hold on, look I really do need to go.” She
turned on her heel and left the room at a run.
    Kit
watched and knew he had a smile on his face. His Victoria might have woken up
with some strange ideas in her head but she still did everything at top speed.
He stripped his stockings and breeches down his legs and, as naked as she,
stretched out on the bed. Used to the temperature he didn’t bother going under
the covers. It might be only a little above the temperature needed to put ice
on his drinking water, but it didn’t bother him or his cock. He was pleasantly
warm and his cock, heated by their exchange, was as stiff as it ever became.
    Kit
counted three minutes in his head before the door opened and his wife returned.
He looked her up and down, as ever admiring her racehorse sleek body. She
glowered.
    “Stop
that. I know it’s all a sham. I’m not well endowed and I look like a boy.”
      What? “If you think that, you need to be
put over my knee. Does this,” he ran his hand over his cock from base to tip,
collected the juices that had already gathered and held it toward her, “give
you that impression? I’m not interested in boys. I never was, not even at Eton.
Taste,” he commanded. “Come here and taste what just looking at you does to
me.”
    Would
she? Kit had no illusions that if she chose not to, he wouldn’t chastise her.
Any spanking or flogging was consensual and within the remit of their dynamique.
As young men, one stormy night, he and his cousin had emptied several bottles
of his Papa’s best—and smuggled—brandy, and swapped sexual encounters and
preferences. To both their pleasure and amazement, they’d discovered they each
had a penchant for things not usually discussed between the gentlemen of the
ton, and certainly not admitted to being part of a man’s usual proclivities.
Partly, he assumed because few women would let such things happen. To indulge
in bondage or flogging one had to employ the services of a courtesan or
demi-monde. To discover that when, by accident he flicked his riding crop over
his wife’s rear she’d moaned in ecstasy, had been an eye opener. To hear her
admission that she liked it, and was ready to try other