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cunt?”
    I recoil as she takes my hand and rubs it across her pubic hair and the spread lips of her vagina. Everything is warm and wet and slippery and furry.
    I am repulsed yet fascinated at the same time. My heart is racing so fast I can hardly breathe.
    “Would you like to pleasure your mother?” my stepmother says, fondling my genitals more vigorously.
    I nod miserably, wishing that I could wrench myself free and run away and hide. I feel crushed by a sense of shame but I am too terrified not to obey her.
    “Let me show you how to pleasure a woman.” She looks at the size of my small hand and smiles. “Yes, this will do nicely.” She guides my hand into her vagina. Holding my wrist, she begins to push and pull my hand back and forth in and out of her.
    She closes her eyes. “That’s better,” she sighs. “You will soon learn how to fuck your mother.”
     
     
     

Chapter Thirteen
     
    This morning we breakfasted on the terrace. Saskia seemed happy and carefree and laughed at all my jokes. She teased me playfully and smiled a lot and touched my hand repeatedly. Her cheeks were flushed and she seemed excited.
    “Shall we go for a walk?” I suggested.
    She shook her head merrily. “No, we’ll drive into town instead. I need to do some shopping.”
    “Shopping?”
    “Yes! And you’re coming with me!” She laughed.
    In town she bought a few items and then we had lunch on the terrace of a small café. Over lunch she asked the waiter whether there was a shop in town where she could buy horse riding clothes, crops, boots etc. The waiter gave her directions to a shop a couple of blocks away. When he left, Saskia squeezed my thigh under the table and winked at me.
    The shop was called Huffington Saddlery and had a cavernous, gloomy, old-worldly feel about it. Riding saddles and boots were on display everywhere and the shop had a wonderful pungent smell of leather. Saskia went over to a wood panelled wall that displayed a selection of riding crops and other whips.
    She winked at me as she asked the shopkeeper whether she could see his range of whips. He laid out a selection on the glass-topped counter and she studied them carefully, finally selecting a long leather whip with a short stocky handle.
    "This is too small," she said to the shopkeeper, giving me a side-glance. "I need something larger— heavier…"
    "For a dog ?" the merchant inquired.
    "Bigger and heavier," she exclaimed, "I want the kind of whip I could use on an insolent slave."
    At the sound of whipping an insolent slave, I felt an instant excitement and a stirring in my groin. My breathing quickened. Saskia squeezed my hand discreetly. Her face was flushed and her eyes were burning.
    The shopkeeper brought out more whips for her inspection.
    She finally settled on a large, heavy whip with thick plaited leather strap. At the sight of it I felt a surge of exhilarating anticipation. Was this to be my instrument of torture?
    The shopkeeper wrapped the whip, Saskia paid and we left.
    On the drive back to the hotel she hardly spoke. She seemed thoughtful and introspective as she guided her sports car along the bumpy dirt road to the hotel.
    When we neared the hotel she finally turned to me and said, "You are such a serious, wounded young man, Julian. I must admit that the thought of having you wholly in my power, the idea of you actually prone and submissive at my feet, does stimulate and arouse me—but will this attraction last? I warn you, I tend to grow weary of playthings very quickly. I am really rather shallow and frivolous - don’t say I didn’t warn you."
    Once you start you will never be able to stop , I thought, but did not say it aloud. Soon you will be as hopelessly addicted to the drug of sexual violence as I am.
    "Very well ,” I replied. “Throw me aside when you are tired of me. That does not change the fact that I want to be your slave."
    "Dangerous forces lie within me," she said carefully, solemnly. "You seem to be awakening all