She sat down, considering. "My teeth are too big. I look like a
bulldog." She raised her eyes to his. "I guess I'm all right from the
neck down."
"You're so--_connected, _" he said. "Your face is like your body. Your
hand is like your face."
"I'm feeling bad about this," Suzanne said. She got up suddenly and
knelt by his chair. "Oliver . . ." He pushed back from the table. She
buried her face in his lap, and he stroked her hair as she rocked her
head back and forth.
"What?" he asked.
"Help me."
"Of course, of course I will."
"I've been so bad," she said. "I keep thinking of your little girl."
She rose on her knees. Her face was lost and pleading. She reached down
and undid her jeans. She pushed her jeans and underwear down over her
hips and put her hands on his legs. She swallowed. "I know it's crazy."
Her voice trembled. "Would you spank me, Oliver? Please?" He didn't say
anything, and she placed herself across his lap. He felt foolish. He
raised his hand and slapped her lightly. "Harder," she said. "Please."
He slapped her harder and felt her sigh. She lifted and waited for the
next blow. Soon she was whimpering and breathing harder, crying out
when he struck. As he spanked her, the cries became more intense. He
began to want them; he felt as though they were his--or theirs. When
she collapsed, weeping, he stopped and lifted her from his knees. He
stood and carried her to the bedroom. He lowered her to the bed and lay
next to her, caressing her slowly.
Her face became calm. "So good to me," she said without opening her
eyes. He took off his clothes and hovered over her. Her mouth was
partly open, expectant. He couldn't think any more. He plunged down and
into her. She quivered and took him, let him fuck her as hard as he
wanted, arched under his bite, and held him while he made her his.
"Are you all right?" Oliver asked, ten minutes later.
"Does the Pope wear funny hats?"
"Suzanne?"