Mulder scampered down the stairs and into the kitchen with the sappy, happy, self-satisfied grin of a well-fucked slaveboy on his face. It was Saturday and, as usual, he had been exempt his usual morning duties. Instead, his Master had reached for his slaveboy upon waking, and had made very good use of him indeed, as Mulder’s grin testified. After a leisurely shower, which had included more satisfying sexual activity, Skinner had left Mulder to clean up the somewhat wet and misty bathroom, and had sauntered downstairs to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast. Saturday was the one day of the week when Mulder’s usual slavely tasks were suspended – although he was still, as Skinner did not hesitate to make very clear indeed, his Master’s slave, and available for his Master’s sexual pleasure throughout the day. He was allowed clothes though, and didn’t have to wait on his Master – although frequently he would, partly out of habit and partly just because it gave him pleasure to do so.

Mulder loved Saturdays not so much for the relaxation of their normal routines and roles, as for the fact that on Saturdays he got to spend some time with Walter Skinner, the man, and not just his Master. Skinner seemed to enjoy that just as much as he did, and the atmosphere on Saturdays generally had an “anything goes” quality. Mulder loved being able to tease his Master with impunity, safe in the knowledge that he’d be unlikely to get more than an occasional swat by way of a reminder as to who was in charge. He usually found himself calling his Master “Walter” on Saturdays, and they often hung around like any normal couple…with one slight difference:

Saturday was slave’s day.

Which meant that frequently Skinner would treat his slave to some kind of special sexual activity that would leave Mulder breathless and boneless with sheer sated satisfaction. Mulder wondered what his Master had in store for him on this particular Saturday – although he knew better than to ask. Skinner was the kind of Master who thought anticipation was part of the pleasure, and besides, he loved keeping this kind of secret, even if it did torment his slave almost beyond endurance. Mulder was of the opinion that Skinner enjoyed his torturing his slave in this way far too much but he was wise enough not to protest.

Mulder found his Master in the kitchen, clad in a white tee shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans, freshly shaved, clean, smelling of soap and toothpaste, the small fringe of hair on the back of his scalp still wet, and all in all looking utterly and completely edible. Mulder tip-toed up behind his Master and bestowed a kiss on the back of the other man’s head. Skinner grinned and carried on buttering the toast mountain in front of him.

“Soooo…” Mulder said, innocently. “What are we doing today?”

“You’ll see.” Skinner grinned again and Mulder was sure that his Master definitely had some specific plans for them both.

“I was just wondering in case you wanted me to dress a certain way…” Mulder said, disingenuously, pushing his luck.

Skinner turned to glance at his slave with a raised eyebrow. Mulder was wearing a pair of blue jeans, like his Master, and a dark, loose navy shirt. He had timberlands on his feet and what he hoped was a completely guileless expression in his eyes. His Master was not fooled. Skinner shook his head and aimed a deliberate swat at his slave’s backside.

“I think you’ll do fine like that, boy,” he growled, before handing his slave the plate of toast. Mulder pouted – but only in the split second when his Master’s back was turned. He carried the toast into the other room, and noted appreciatively that Skinner had also cooked a whole mound of eggs to go with it. His Master brought in a couple of plates and two glasses of orange juice and they sat down to eat.

Skinner handed Mulder the sports section of the paper, while he read the main news, and they spent a leisurely breakfast in each other’s company. Occasionally Mulder would read out a score and Skinner would whistle or shake his head, and sometimes Skinner would read out a section of an article and they’d talk about it, but as the time passed, Mulder’s excitement level rose until he wasn’t sure he could bear it much longer – he was dying to know what Skinner had in store for him today.

It took all Mulder’s willpower not to press his Master any more on the subject – he knew it would do no good and it might even jeopardise the event – Skinner expected his slaveboy to accept his Master’s will in this, as in everything else, and Mulder knew that if he pushed too hard then Skinner wouldn’t hesitate to cancel whatever it was he had planned.

They finished eating and Mulder cheerfully took the plates into the kitchen, bestowing yet another kiss on his Master’s scalp as he passed him. He smiled dreamily to himself as he washed the dishes – he loved slave’s day. Even if they did nothing at all but hang out together, it was precious time spent with his Master away from the pressures of their jobs and that relaxed Mulder more than he ever would have imagined back in the old days when he hadn’t believed himself to be capable of having a long term relationship.

He finished washing the dishes and wandered back into the dining room. Skinner was still reading the paper, one long leg resting on the knee of the other, totally absorbed in what he was reading. Mulder got down on his knees, rested his chin on his Master’s thigh, and settled in to wait. He suspected there might have been a beseeching gleam in his eyes but he couldn’t help that and he didn’t think his Master would blame him for it.

Skinner’s hand came to rest, as it often did, on Mulder’s hair, and he played with it absently while he read. Mulder almost dozed off – this was so good that he honestly wouldn’t have minded if his Master did nothing else but stroke him all day…although he was kind of hoping for something more. Finally, after about half an hour, Skinner glanced at his watch. Mulder looked up, eagerly.

“Well, I think it’s about time we headed off, boy,” Skinner told his slave. “Before the anticipation completely kills you.” He grinned down at Mulder who grinned back, delighted.

“You do have something planned then?” He said, his heart doing a flip inside his chest.

“Of course.” Skinner pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from his pocket, opened it up, and gave it to his still kneeling slave. “There’s a fetish market being held in the city – you and I have some shopping to do,” he said.

Mulder gazed at the piece of paper in surprise. They had never been to an S&M market before, or even a sex shop together – Skinner already had a very well stocked playroom and Mulder had the suspicion that his Master was an extensive online shopper judging by the never-ending supplies of such essential things as lube, to say nothing of the Wartenburg’s wheel he had bought Mulder as a birthday present.

“Do we…I mean, is there anything we actually need?” Mulder asked, getting to his feet, feeling a bit puzzled. This definitely wasn’t what he had expected.

“Yes, I believe there is,” Skinner told him. “I was thinking the other day that I’ve never given you a proper flogging.”

Mulder stared at his Master, open-mouthed. His cock lurched, telling him he was definitely interested in the idea, even as his stomach fled into the soles of his shoes, telling him that he was also scared stiff of it as well.

“You’ve whipped me, Master,” he pointed out, remembering the bullwhip and the single tailed whip – both of which hurt and left impressive welts, and both of which Skinner had used relatively sparingly on his slave as a result.

“I know…but I haven’t given you a full flogging – and there’s a big difference,” Skinner informed him. “We have a couple of floggers upstairs, but I’d like to buy some new ones – you can cause a lot of different sensations with different kinds of floggers and I’d like some real variety. I’d also like to go shopping for them with you so we can choose them together.” He put a hand on the back of his slave’s neck and fondled him gently.

“I really enjoy flogging,” Skinner said in a low, sexual whisper, directly into his slave’s ear. “I like having a big bare canvas to work on, from the top of the shoulders to the back of the knees. I don’t just concentrate on the buttocks when I’m flogging.” His breath tickled Mulder’s ear, and his words made Mulder’s already anxious stomach squirm as if it were filled with a swarm of particularly lively butterflies.

“I’ll tie you upstairs – nice and comfortable as this will take a long time,” Skinner promised and Mulder gave a little moan. Skinner always painted such exciting word pictures for him and he could quite clearly see himself, in his mind’s eye, tied in the Playroom, his arms outstretched, his body naked, ready to receive the kiss of his Master’s flogger.

“Will it hurt?” Mulder asked, stupidly. His attitude towards pain often confused him. He didn’t view himself as a complete masochist and pain slut, and pain of and by itself didn’t arouse him, but when he was in subspace, and when that pain was delivered by someone as skilled as his Master, he invariably found it arousing – although that didn’t stop it hurting too. He loved the endorphin rush the pain gave him though – and he often craved a spanking – or something more severe – for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure he understood, even when he knew it would be extremely painful.

He wasn’t in one of those craving moods today, and he was anxious that he might not be able to take whatever his Master had planned – and, being a good slave, he wanted very much to please his Master. Skinner laughed and kneaded his slave’s neck affectionately.

“Yes, it’ll hurt some of the time – but there will be plenty of other sensations too. It’ll definitely be a good kind of pain,” Skinner promised him. Mulder’s traitorous cock was now so hard that it was painfully constricted inside his jeans.

“Like the idea?” Skinner murmured, moving his hand lower to cover his slave’s crotch and chuckling at what he found there. Mulder sighed and leaned back against the big man.

“Yes, Master,” he admitted.

“Good, then let’s get moving!” Skinner slapped his slave’s bottom affectionately and grabbed his car keys and wallet from the table.

****

The fetish market was held in the upstairs room of a downtown bar. Mulder wasn’t sure what he had been expecting but it was full of a variety of fairly normal looking people, some of them clearly “scene” folk, although he didn’t personally recognise any of them. They were dressed in a variety of different clothing from black leather bondage outfits to normal street clothes but nothing too revealing – it was a Saturday morning after all.

There were all kinds of things on display; sex toys, disciplinary implements, books, clothing, shoes, jewellery…everything that could make a slave’s heart beat faster. Mulder stayed close to his Master, loving Skinner’s reaction to the place. He knew his Master was, at heart, a sensualist. Skinner was a top not because he enjoyed inflicting pain, but because he loved playing with his slave’s body. He was the kind of Master who got hard just watching the reaction of his slave to being stroked. He liked to touch, to taste, to smell – even Mulder’s cries or exclamations of pleasure were a turn on to him. He viewed his naked slave as a dish offered up to him to be slowly savoured in many different and subtle ways, a tasty morsel to toy with and torment before consuming him.

Before Mulder had met his Master he had visited many tops, and all he had asked for from them was pain and domination. Skinner had given him those things but had also, slowly but surely, taught his slave that there was so much more to himself and to BDSM than just that. Skinner’s enjoyment of his slave’s reactions and emotions had revealed to Mulder a whole new dimension to his servitude, and, by seeing himself through his Master’s eyes, he had come to understand both himself and his Master much better.

For Skinner it wasn’t, and never had been, about heavy-handed domination. His Master loved the subtleties – the nuances. He loved the tiniest mark made by a fingernail scratched on the underside of his slave’s balls, loved seeing his slave flying high as a kite as a result of a spanking, and most of all he loved seeing the expression on his slave’s face as he fucked him, and brought him to climax.

Now, among all these exotic items, Skinner looked like a man completely at home in his environment. He led Mulder over to a table full of various different floggers and, after a brief word with the stall’s owner, he picked up a flogger and fondled it with his big, blunt fingers. Mulder swallowed hard – Skinner’s fingers were gentle, loving and appreciative as he stroked the implement, and it was erotic just watching him.

“Fox – I want you to choose one flogger that you’d most like me to use on you,” Skinner told his slave as he caressed the flogger. “I will choose one that I would most like to use on you – and the rest we’ll choose together.”

Mulder picked up one of the floggers, wondering, as he did so, what it would feel like on his naked skin. “Deer hide,” Skinner said, nodding at the flogger Mulder was holding. “You might find that a bit heavy. It can pack a punch.”

Mulder nodded, mutely, and picked up another one. It was a mid-sized flogger, with several thin black leather tails, and had a hinge at the end of the handle, so that it didn’t take any effort at all to make it swing in a circular motion. Mulder frowned at it.

“This one’s weird,” he commented, holding it up.

“Ah,” Skinner held out his hand for it with an expression of pleasure, like a true connoisseur, and Mulder gave it to him. “The point about this kind of flogger is that you use it subtly,” Skinner told him. “That’s what the hinge is for…I could swing this against your skin for hours without my arm becoming tired – with the circular motion all I need do is caress your flesh with the tips. You see, Fox, flogging is an art – it isn’t something to be hurried. It must be done slowly, and with a variety of different floggers – that’s why our session later today will take several hours.”

Mulder suddenly felt very hot, and almost dizzy. His cock was rock hard in his pants as his Master’s words, said in his Master’s dark, molten chocolate tones, melted him to the core.

“What about this one then?” He asked, in a distinctly croaky voice, picking up a small black leather flogger with only a handful of tails. “It doesn’t look as if this one would do much.”

“That’s just because it doesn’t conform to your expectations of what a flogger should be. When you think of floggings, I bet you think of one of those corny old Errol Flynn pirate movies where some hapless sailor has been condemned to the cat o’ nine tails,” Skinner commented, taking the little flogger and examining it.

“Hey, some of my earliest sexual revelations were had in front of those old films – don’t knock them!” Mulder grinned. His Master smiled back.

“Well, this isn’t one of those big, set-piece kind of floggers, but trust me, this one is a particularly vicious little implement. If I were to use it hard, just one stroke, within five minutes you’d be able to count exactly how many tails it has by the marks on your skin,” he said. Mulder gazed at the little flogger, transfixed.

“Stand against the wall, hands flat,” Skinner ordered unexpectedly. Mulder looked up, shocked.

“Here?” He whispered, looking around. This wasn’t a fetish club – nobody else was engaged in any kind of activity apart from shopping.

“Yes – it won’t bother anyone, will it?” Skinner glanced at the stall owner.

“Sure.” The man shrugged. “You’re welcome to try before you buy.”

Not particularly reassured, Mulder placed his hands flat against the wall and a second later he felt a sting on his shoulder blades, and then another – even through his shirt he could feel how much bite that small flogger had.

“Ow!” he complained. His Master grinned and allowed him to stand up.

“Never judge a book by its cover,” he said, handing the flogger back to the stall owner. “We’ll have this one,” he nodded. “And the hinged one too, please.” Mulder stood up, glancing around nervously, wondering if they’d been overlooked but nobody seemed particularly interested.

Skinner gave a laugh, gently pulled his slave close, and deposited a kiss on his forehead. “I can’t wait to use this little beauty on bare skin,” he promised in a deep, sexy voice. “I’d like to see the marks it makes on your flesh, without your shirt getting in the way.”

Mulder moaned and rested his head against his Master’s shoulder. He both loved and dreaded the idea of his skin being marked but afterwards he was always filled with a giddy sense of pride at bearing the obvious signs of Skinner’s mastery of him painted on his flesh, and he knew it was a huge turn on to his Master to place any kind of mark or decoration on his slave – Skinner got off on it as much as Mulder did. His Master never broke the skin, or drew blood – Mulder wouldn’t have minded going there once in a while but he knew that for Skinner it was a turn-off – in fact his Master would have felt that he’d failed and his skills were in question if he drew blood; it was something akin to professional pride with him. Red marks, welts and even some light bruising were one thing, but drawing blood was something else entirely.

Skinner’s hands found his slave’s butt and he stroked it affectionately, or maybe in anticipation Mulder thought to himself. His dread was equalled by his fascination and sense of longing – he wanted to be flogged but he was scared of it at the same time, and it was those dual conflicting emotions that his Master knew how to play on so well, stoking his slave’s anticipation so that he was already deep in subspace even before they went anywhere near the playroom.

“Okay – I want to browse – why don’t you look around and choose your flogger and I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes?” Skinner suggested, dismissing his slave with another firm kiss. Mulder nodded and was about to move on to the next stall when he saw a woman watching them. She flushed when he looked at her and made a face.

“Sorry – it’s just…this is my first time at a place like this and I just saw your…friend kiss you. I was feeling a bit scared – I thought everyone would be really cold or hard or something – well all the doms anyway.” She gave a nervous laugh.

“Is this your first time anywhere on the scene?” Mulder asked, warming to her honest admission.

“Yes.” She bit on her lip. “It took all my courage to get here today – I saw a flier for it in a leather shop and I really wanted to come but I wasn’t sure what to expect. I love all this stuff.” She sighed and ran her fingers over a cane on a nearby table. “I’ve fantasised about it for ages but…I’ve always been too scared to do anything about it,” she told Mulder.

“What are you? Sub or domme?” He asked her. She flushed again, bright red this time. She was an ordinary looking young woman of about 25, with very dark dyed hair and friendly brown eyes.

“I’m not sure…that is…I think I might be both,” she admitted as if it were a sinful secret. “But…until I do it…I don’t think I’ll know for sure.”

“You could be a switch,” Mulder suggested. “That’s someone who enjoys both roles.”

“Is that what you are?” She asked.

“Me?” Mulder grinned. “Nope. I’m a sub through and through. I’ve tried topping but it doesn’t come naturally – not that I didn’t enjoy it.” He gave a wistful sigh, remembering his slave, Bear, and how good it felt to have his big, powerful Master kneeling at his feet. “I can definitely see the appeal,” he told the woman.

“And that man… is he…?” She trailed off, gazing at Skinner over Mulder’s shoulder with an awed and slightly terrified look in her eyes.

“He’s my Master,” Mulder told her in a soft voice, glancing at Skinner who was perusing a stall some distance away, a frown of concentration on his wide forehead as he caressed a flogger with those big, capable hands of his. Mulder loved the way it felt to say those words, out in the open, to someone who didn’t know them. There had been a time when it would have embarrassed and shamed him to do that – but now it felt wonderful, like an affirmation of what both he and his Master lived every day of their lives.

“Shit,” she said succinctly. “He looks…scary.”

Mulder laughed. “He isn’t – he’s the nicest, kindest, most gentle man I’ve ever known. Of course he can also be a total hard-assed SOB too,” he winked. The woman laughed.

“I love the way you are together. I don’t know what I was expecting when I came here but I was really worried. I thought maybe…”

“That the tops would all be giving orders loudly and the subs would be cringing from their blows? Yeah – I think that’s a common misconception of the scene,” Mulder sighed. “It isn’t like that of course – people are still people at the end of the day. They still need love and affection – it isn’t just about pain and domination. In fact, it isn’t even mostly about that – there’s a lot more to it.”

Mulder suddenly had an idea. “Look, a friend of mine would be happy to introduce you to the scene – her name’s Elaine and she runs newbie courses occasionally,” he told her. “I can give you her email address if you like? She’s very nice, very welcoming.”

The woman’s eyes lit up. “That would be great. Thank you,” she said sincerely. Mulder nodded, and wrote Elaine’s email address down on a scrap of paper and handed it to her.

“Now, I’d better get on with finding a flogger, or my Master will tan my hide. Not that he won’t anyway of course, but…well, you know what I mean.” He gave her a goofy grin and she laughed delightedly.

Mulder moved away, glad that he had been able to make a newbie’s first time on the scene a little less frightening. He could still remember his own first time – in typical Mulder fashion he had jumped straight in at the deep end and gone to an experienced players’ club where he’d felt seriously torn between total fear and abject arousal at being so close to what he had fantasised about for most of his life. He had found it so hard to talk to people, and had been so angry with himself for needing this in the first place that nobody had dared approach him. He had eventually ended up getting into a scene that had taken him a long way beyond his limits and he’d been in pain for days afterwards – not that he had minded that. At that point in his life he had relished feeling as bad outside as he did within. It had taken Skinner some time to gently but firmly disabuse him of the idea that he deserved such extreme forms of punishment and while Mulder still craved spankings as part of his sexuality, he rarely sought them out as an answer to his real life problems any more.

Mulder would have been grateful for a friendly face back when he had started out on the scene and was still trying to discover what he wanted from it, and he was pleased to be that friendly face now. He realised how far he had come since then – and mostly with his Master’s help. He had been fighting his submissive streak for years, but he had just admitted to a total stranger that he was sexually submissive and that he had a Master, and it hadn’t been embarrassing – in fact it had been good.

With a little whistle, Mulder moved on to the next stall and began surveying the floggers. He was feeling somewhat self-satisfied, enjoying the role of being an old hand, so comfortable and familiar with the scene that he was able to dispense advice to newcomers. As someone who had never felt as if he belonged anywhere in his entire life until he became Skinner’s slave, he knew what it was like to be the one on the outside, looking in.

He picked up a giant black leather flogger, its handle criss-crossed with shoelace finishing, and bearing the legend “Master”, in silver studs along its length. Mulder swished it around in the air a few times, feeling very old and wise, aware that his friend was still shooting him little glances every now and again as she browsed the stalls. He whirled the flogger around more extravagantly, trying to look every inch the expert, and was so deep into his showing off that he was startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s only me.” Skinner grinned at him as he jumped. “Have you decided on the flogger you want to buy yet?”

“Yes. I like this one.” Mulder handed it to his Master. Skinner looked at it thoughtfully for a moment, and then took it in his hands and examined it quietly. Finally, he glanced up at his slave.

“I’m sorry, Fox, but this one won’t do. You’ll have to choose another one,” he said.

“Why?” Mulder frowned, hoping the woman wasn’t watching them now. “You said I could choose whichever one I wanted.”

“And so you can – but this one isn’t very well made – it would be a waste of money. Oh, it looks nice and menacing, although personally I find this just a little bit showy!” Skinner pointed to the studded “M-A-S-T-E-R” on the handle. “But look, the top is just glued on – it won’t take much for it to just fly off – I’ve had that happen in the middle of a flogging and it can interrupt the mood of a scene. Also, there’s no craftsmanship in this – look at the tails – they’ve all been cut off roughly and diagonally because it’s easier. Compare that to the deer hide one over there…” Skinner pointed and Mulder glanced back at the first stall they’d visited. “The tails on that are all rounded – they’ve been finished off properly and they won’t snag or catch on anything, like that cute little mole on your lower back for example,” Skinner grinned. Mulder stared at the flogger, feeling somewhat crestfallen.

“It is a bit showy isn’t it?” He said finally, laughing at himself.

“Frankly – yes,” Skinner said firmly. “You and I both know what I am to you – we don’t need it written on every available surface. I’m not saying that it can’t add to the mood every now and again to have a toy with this kind of writing on it, but not this one.”

“I can see that I need educating about floggers,” Mulder said with a rueful sigh.

“Well then, it’s lucky that you’re in the company of an expert,” Skinner replied, putting an arm around his slave’s shoulders and depositing a kiss on Mulder’s cheek. “Come on, let me show you some really quality work and then you can make your decision.”

Skinner led him back to the first stall, which, he said, definitely contained the best floggers at the fetish market. Mulder picked up a small flogger with long, thin, rubber strands that fell neatly, like hair.

“That’s a bungee flogger,” Skinner informed him. “It doesn’t look much but all those little strands can sure as hell sting.” Mulder gazed at it, fascinated – like the hinged implement it didn’t look much like his perception of a flogger, but he was quickly beginning to see that there were many different varieties of flogger – something he hadn’t been aware of before. “We’ll take that one.” Skinner motioned to the bungee flogger. “Now, how about this? Is it real horsehair?”

The stall owner nodded and Mulder gazed, fascinated, at the horsehair flogger – it had a plain brown wooden handle and a long, swishy black tail made entirely of coarse horsehair. “Beautiful,” Skinner commented, holding the handle lovingly and throwing the flogger into the air. “We’ll have this one too.”

“How about this one?” Mulder held up a plain suede flogger with purple tails – and Skinner nodded so that one was added to their booty.

“Okay – I think that’s enough. Why don’t you choose your flogger and I’ll choose mine,” Skinner said. Mulder looked around the table and his eyes alighted on the deerskin one again.

“I really do like this one,” he said, picking it up.

Skinner gazed at it thoughtfully, and then gazed speculatively at his slave. Mulder found it hard meeting his Master’s searching gaze. He knew he had a tendency, when given the choice, to opt for the most painful implement he could find, and he also knew that Skinner disapproved of him doing so. Mulder wasn’t entirely sure why he did it – whether out of some macho desire to prove what he could take, or whether because he was more in love with the idea of being beaten than the reality of it.

“I know you said it was heavy duty but I can take it,” he said defensively. Skinner’s dark eyed gaze didn’t drop as he studied his slave intently. Mulder shrugged. “I know, I know, I always do this,” he sighed. “But I really do like this one.”

Skinner gave the faintest of smiles, and then he picked up the flogger and nodded slowly.

“All right,” he said. “It IS very well made and it will make a fine addition to our collection.”

“Which one will you choose?” Mulder asked nervously, both hoping and fearing that is Master would pick the fierce flogger in heavy rubber that he knew would do some serious damage, or the one made entirely of knotted rope.

“This one.” Skinner’s fingers loving caressed a beautiful long, white flogger made entirely of what looked like rabbit fur. Mulder reached out to touch it and found that it was as soft and sensuous as it looked.

“That’s not exactly going to do much,” he commented. Skinner grinned.

“It’s not all about pain, Fox, as you should know by now. This is a sensory experience – I can assure you that you’ll have all the pain you can handle – and more pleasure than you know what to do with.”

Mulder smiled – his Master was undoubtedly right. On the subject of BDSM he was very rarely wrong, after all. As the floggers were packed away, Mulder reflected that, surprised though he had been by their respective choices, he and his Master had chosen precisely what he should have been able to predict they would choose. While he had deliberately challenged himself with his choice of flogger, Skinner had gone for a softer, more sensory option. Mulder knew his Master wouldn’t hesitate to give him precisely as much pain as he needed but, as he had promised, no more than his slave could handle – and with that would come all manner of other erotic and sensory delights.

****

End of Part One.

Continued in Chapter 2