When I met your father….” Mom got this dreamy look in her eyes. “Let’s just say, there’s a reason French men are famous as lovers.” (Yes,...my dad’s ancestry is French and my mom’s is Irish.) “Italian men, too…” I smiled and looked at Vince. “Damned good lovers.” Mom kind of shocked me again. “His equipment, he got the super-sized upgrade, huh?” she winked. I gestured with my hands to show his 10-inch length. Mom let out a soft wolf-whistle. “Nice!” she smiled. She then gestured with her hands. There is something comforting about being wrapped in my husband’s strong, gentle arms when I am tied to this frame, stretched and helpless. Paradoxically, he makes me feel like he is protecting me even though he was the man who tied me here.I wish that my arms were free so that I could hug him back. There is something unsatisfying about receiving a hug without being able to reciprocate. But I realize with a twinge of dismay that, if I were free, I would not reciprocate. I would not grab him and. More

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