I keep saying it, over and over again. And each time he smacks my burning cunt with the belt. I can't stop saying it and I don't know why.I don't know...how many times it happens, but all I know is he wants it and that is enough.Finally, I am whimpering, saying the words, "Bad girl, dirty girl," over and over again. The pain continues, but it is different now. It is soothing somehow, a soft touch, a gentle touch. A hand. But it isn't his. I can't see, I can't turn enough to look. But I know the. "I will never grow tired until I've bedded every handsome woman in theworld," he once told me. I can confirm (by going back through theearlier volumes of my journals) that he has been true to his word inattempting this endeavour, and furthermore that this information wasrevealed on the memorable evening we celebrated his charming his wayinto the skirts of that dancer from the opera.Eight years ago, the night of the dancer. And a decade before that itwas that I met Collingwood. My sentiments. More

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