The soft touch of leather whispers along my breast. It is time. My nipples tighten with anticipation of the coming strike. Seconds turn to minutes; his cruelty is only matched by his patience. He strikes my left breast first. My pussy clamps with the shock. One after the other, he marks what is his. His lash paints the picture of his desire. With each strike my body turns to liquid fury. My need only stilled by the needs of my master. He increases his intensity; I can feel the reins of his control slipping. Like a moth to the flame, I bathe in his warmth. Even in the darkness, he calls to me, never allowing me to hide from him. He owns me; I am his above all else. He gives a rapid cadence of strikes to each breast, my cries tearing from my throat. My heart beats fiercely, my need almost unbearable. With one final strike, he stops. The stillness is unbearable. All I need is three little words. Three words and everything will be right in the world. He grabs the chain pulling them. .." Wait! Are you saying that you were alone with your father for two days before someone found the two of you?"She gave a silent nod, not able to meet his eyes."Oh my God! How old were you?" His voice choked with emotion, a harsh murmur."I was eight years old." She replied, her voice a ghostly whisper.She cleared her throat."I do not really remember anything after lying down next to my Papa on the bed and singing to him, except for wishing that I could die. I wanted so to be with him. I felt so lost, so alone and so very cold. When next my mind became clear, I was standing at Madame's side holding her hand. She nodded her head to me and I remember throwing the crocus I picked for him into the darkness. The bruised and withered flower became my final offering to my father's grave."My next memory is of someone jostling me and bowling me over flat at a train station. He was very large and most likely never saw me. I could barely see his face; his belly blocked his features from my view.
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