That was when his hand came down, hard. "Count them out. If you skip a number, we'll start over," he instructed, and whispered, "one." Two!....Three!.....Four!...Five!..." I counted along. The fifth hurt the most, and of course I fucked up, "seven!"The spankings stopped, and I was pulled up by my hair to face my previously sweet sensitive boyfriend."You skipped one. If it happens again, I'll use my belt," he growled, and bent me over again. This time, the spanks were harder, and I managed to. He felt frozen to his chair as if time had stopped. Unconnected images and sounds flashed in his memory: Mr. Willoughby, his skinny teacher yelling there was no school because a war had started; his Aunt Hope screaming in anguish when he told her that the soldiers had taken Uncle Luke away; the blue-clad men whistling as they smashed down his father's fence; his mother reading and rereading Robert's few letters and folding them away into the drawer of the washstand by her high-backed bed. He. More

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