Her wicked, large, wooden hairbrush.He came back, slapping the brush against his hand. “I’m thinking two dozen should be good. Which side is more ...ensitive?”“The left, Sir.”“Okay, we’ll start on the right. Arch up. We want good bruises where you sit down. I so like you sitting on a sore ass, reminding you that you’re owned. It makes me hard just thinking about it.” She liked that, arched up for him.Crack, crack, crack. The hairbrush damn well hurt.“One dozen, Sir.” Her voice sounded higher,. And my name is Anna.“Anna turned around and walks to the kitchen. Robin got a good glance of Anna’s young body. “You work out a lot don't you Anna?”-"Six days a week, 4 hours per day.” Anna replied. “In my profession I have to look this good.”“Well... your hard work certainly pays of. You have an amazing body.”-"Yes, I know.”As they entered the kitchen, Anna offered Robin to sit on one of the barstools. Robin takes a seat and let her eyes go over the scene of food and equipment. Meanwhile Anna. More

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