“Stay.” His voice has an edge that she hasn’t heard before, demanding obedience. Recognition hits her, along with a flood of memories. Ok XXX The pleasure is intense and perfect. He is intentionally positioning his arms to make contact. But this tugging, rubbing, pinching, it is raw and unrestrained. The image in her mind suddenly changes. He pushes himself inside, one inch only. Despite her occasional fantasy to the contrary, it is still just a professional relationship between stylist and client. Soon, she will hear the sharp CRACK and feel the flush of burning pain on her buttocks. “Great,” he says, taking off his overcoat and draping it across one arm. She hasn’t seen him in so long, doesn’t want to think of him as “Sir” anymore. At the nape of her neck, or at
