But I didn’t want to see his semen wasted like that.“No, don’t,” I whispered. “Just stand there, by me.”“What, on your bed?” he gasped... surprised.“No, on me, you pillock!” I gasped “On my tummy; my tits; please,” I whispered. “I’m close…oh God.”“Oh fuck Annie, I’m coming.” A few more rapid pumps, a final squeeze, and his cock erupted: a great arch of wet ejaculate splashed across my chest, leaving a trail over me and onto the bed. Two more great white loops of spunk hit me, stringing over my. I lita new white candle from the one on the table. I began to drip wax, from a height,into the wounds across her back that a whip had made.... + Have I invented that? That the scene in which wax is dripped on the woundsof the whip derives from the manuscript? I cannot be sure. The dictionary of dreams is all I have beside my bed andit is silent upon this topic. I only know that it seemed like a memory - ashared memory - to myself and Eliza. Shared, yes. Indeed. Mmm. I must write of it. Michael,. More

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