She said I had to ask you." I looked at her hopping what she said wasnot going to tell me what I already imagined."You had an accident honey. A truc... ran a stop light and you hit it," Momsaid."What happened to my motorcycle?" I had to ask. I spent all last summerworking to earn the money to pay for that cycle. It was my pride and joy."The trucks insurance company said that the bike is totaled. You fatherhas been talking to them. Their insurance is going to pay for areplacement bike. They. So she spent many hourseach day bent over the sewing machine, filling her wardrobe withclothes that matched my desires. She didn't yet know it but onedress in particular was destined for punishment sessions. Ireasoned that if Pavlov could make dogs salivate in response toa bell, I could make her tremble with fear from the moment shezipped herself into that pink gingham frock. All it would takewas conditioning...And then it happened. I was on my way to bed as I passed herroom. I had sent Marisa. One of them had a partially finished oil painting of a landscape on it. The other was covered by a drape. I was used to the clutter of art stuff in the room. All I did was sleep there, occasionally, and didn’t spend a lot of time in that room.“Stand over there,” she said, pointing to a spot about seven or eight feet from the draped easel. I did and, with a “Ta da!” she dragged the sheet off of the portrait she’d drawn of her mother.Harper might have all the time in the world to finish her. Nibbling, sucking, licking. I rubbed her palm against my cheek, kissed her palm lines like I was reading her future, then nibbled her wrist. I moved up her arm, leaving a trail of smooches. Her skin was silk, and I could taste the perfume of her bathwater. Lavender and jasmine filled my nose, mixed with her spicy, sweet scent and my own tart musk.I nuzzled her armpit, licking the bare skin, then worked my way around her neck. "I am so sorry, Mistress," I cooed, then licked up to her ear and.