“However I don’t recall giving you permission to dance about the room like a Red Indian. Back in position and if you move again, that stroke won't...count.” Samantha bent over again and I was able to admire my handiwork. The single red line across the middle of her bottom was straight and true. Glad to see I hadn’t lost my touch. I tapped the cane on her bottom a couple of times and then brought it down crisply. Air exploded from Samantha but she stayed in position. I gave her another four. Dinner was everything one would expect from a restaurant that advertised it served cuisine from around the world, all prepared using the Cordon Bleu method. Early actually had the chicken Cordon Bleu. It was preceded by a shrimp cocktail served in a one of those special two part goblets where one part sits on ice inside the other, except these where both made of cut crystal. It was followed by a fruit salad with very special poppy seed dressing served on fine bone china. The main course, served. ‘Did you have to tie them so tight?’ Immediately he regretted the accusation, but she didn’t even seem to notice. Instead she just blinked at him and then, shockingly, a small, tremulous smile spread across her face. ‘Turn around,’ she said. ‘What?’ ‘Turn around.’ Frowning he did as she ordered, looking over his shoulder as she got to her knees. ‘What are you doing?’ Avery didn’t respond, instead she leaned forward out of his vision and he felt something tug at the cord around his wrist. She. And should a priest show any reluctance to do so, or ever display the temerity to question the Baron's wisdom, he would be treated with as little respect as that shown by the Duke of Warwick's knights to the now deceased Father Jacques de Calais whose bloody body draped the steps to the nave.Initially, she had welcomed the opportunity to serve as a wench for the elder Baron of Flint. Like many in the manor, she naively believed that the violence and petty slights visited on her by the Baron's.
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