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Les doesn’t care how many climaxes Phoebe has. The more, the better. The goal for Les is to get Phoebe to the point of total surrender. Willing to do anything suggested to her.So the morning proceeds, into afternoon even. Les is concentrating on Phoebe’s box of jewels, making her cry out in release repeatedly. She isn’t cruel. Les takes breaks when she surfaces to caress Phoebe’s hair and back to calm her, then back to the task at hand.In the beginning, Phoebe cries out, begging Les to stop, based on all the work Phoebe thinks she needs to get done. Les is not concerned and presses forward. Soon Phoebe’s cries of protest change to cries of lust as she comes again and again.They don’t get out of bed all day. A cat nap, after Phoebe comes for the tenth time, she begins returning the favor to Les. Phoebe is as diligent as Les was. Between her fingers and lips, she soon has Les singing.After coming the third time, Les laughs, telling Phoebe, “We do seem to have a gaze of. Who was He? He tapped me atop my head, I lowered my head slightly. It was repeated until my lips touched His boot. A firmer slash across my rear instructed me. I started to lick by feel, cleaning His boots alternately, tasting the ash and dust. It seemed like hours before His light tap told me to stop. I rose back on all fours. The crop explored my body, light slaps and slashes emphasizing my need to obey His control. At last, it stopped, and I was pulled up to my knees by my long blond hair. I heard His footsteps as He circled me. When they seemed to be more distant, I was tempted to remove the contact lenses blinding my hazel eyes, but I remained as I was, fearful of being watched and dreading His crop. After a while, I could hear His return. The crop put me back on all fours. I waited, feeling the coarse Bermuda grass, hearing the ever present chirping and buzz of nature, and throbbing wherever the crop had found its mark. Then He was behind me, one hand on the small of my back,.
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