I cannot help it and look down, to see the angry red stripe, crossing the front of my breast. He pauses, to let it sink. I know the drill; nine more o... my right breast; the last three on the sensitive areola and the last one smack on the nipple. Again the crop falls, and again I scream; two stripes cross my breast, then three, then four; each one closer to my nipple; each one more painful, my screams more shrill, more pitiful. The fifth takes my breast at the bottom, where it joins my chest,. I am not sure I will ever find those answers but I gained a keener appreciation of how to manipulate magic. The old man died before the Succession came around. I performed the funeral rites myself, conjuring dramatic illusions of his life’s work and guiding an asteroid out of orbit to ignite his pyre. It was perhaps my finest magic. We did not discuss it beforehand but I am sure he knew I would use the situation to further my cause, just as he had always taught me to do. As I sat in my study. I place my hands beneath her knees and press them up alongside her chest and begin licking her asshole as she cries out desperately, hips bucking as my tongue slithers wetly along her asscrack, pressing into her squirming puckered ring of pleasure before I bite her asscheeks, lick them. I see her wetness moving, enticing me. I place my tongue in her young cunt hole and lick lovingly around her inner labia as she lifts her head and watches me explore her moistness as she hunches up into my. She had it together; more than she gave herself credit for, but she longed for more. More time to go out with friends, downtime with hubby, to read more, work out, just be alone for a little while.Sam was busy too, but different. He was a good husband, loving, funny, and sweet, but sometimes mercurial and distractible. Those things served him well in that he could be tightly wound one moment, and entirely relaxed the next. He'd go on a stressful fit of fixing things one day, and be perfectly.