When Ginger cut in front of him to get to Lydia first he growled. Arms crossing, he stood just far enough back to where he knew she wouldn't feel him. He was seething. He shouldn't have pushed her to perform. He could feel the darkness creeping up from where he stuffed it down deep, more than a little hurt that she wasn't even looking for him.

"I'll be here."

She didn't even talk it over with him. He was completely done with this evening. He should have insisted on taking her topside, but no. She asked to stay down here. He could have taken her to any number of places but he knew she would love this place. It was his preferred spot as well. Once more, he was imagining crumbling down the house around them out of spite… but resisted. Eventually, he joined the conversation.

"As much fun as it's been, Ging, I think it's time t'get the lil' lady home."

His voice was low, eyes glowing. Calmly, he examined his claws. There was a very tight leash on his energy, pulling it in and around him. He hadn't felt this out of control since… before the wedding.

"Let's go, Lyds. M'sure Ging'll send 'round a schedule."

He crowded in close to her, listening to the crowd out front still going off. It made his skin crawl. Cracking his neck, he looked down at his wife.

"Unless ya wanted ta stay n' see the resta the show?" Voice empty. He wasn't going to ruin her night. If she wanted to stay, they would.

He hadn't said anything about her performance yet. Lydia more than anything wanted to stay and hear the Ginger Rogers perform live… but not if it meant she also had to listen to her husband continue to drone on in that awful, soulless monotone. Adrenalin from the impromptu performance left her bursting with energy and eager to go back and greet the adoring audience she had been so afraid of before.

There would be other opportunities. Hugging the bouquet closer, she gravitated toward her husband until they were pressed right up against each other, her back to his chest.

"We can go."

Ginger scowled but said nothing. It was clear to her that the poor thing didn't actually want to leave and was too terrified of the striped bastard to put her foot down. The starlett knew better than to force the issue. It would only cause issues for the girl.

"Yeah, I will be sendin' round a schedule. We'll be seein' each other again, honey."

Lydia perked up at this, beaming in Ginger's direction and standing just a bit taller.

"Okay! You can come over for tea whenever you want and we can listen to music or chat or‒"

She cut herself off with a nervous giggle, flushing darker. She was being too clingy. Ginger was puzzled. Did Betelgeuse really allow her the kind of freedom to just invite guests to his home without his permission?

"I mean. If you want. Thank you again for giving me a chance! It was amazing. Could you please make sure and tell Johnny thank you for being such a gentleman? I really appreciated it."

When she pressed her warm little form up against him something in his chest relaxed. His hands came up to rest on her shoulders, squeezing softly. She said they could go home. He didn't have to take her back out to the front of the house and share her with anyone. It was bad enough that he was going to have to bring her back next week. Probably more than once if Ginger wanted a sound check. As she invited the spider over for tea he let out a small, relieved sigh. At least then it would just be Ginger and it would be at their home, safe and away from prying eyes.

As soon as Lydia finished giving her thanks he transported them. One moment they were standing backstage at Arachnophobia and the next they were in the entrance hall of their home. A swirl of frigid energy came with them as if stepping through the front door in the midst of a winter storm. It pulled the heavy scent of liquor and smoke from the club into the house, making Betelgeuse feel like he was suffocating despite his distinct lack of need for oxygen. He was still upset, but here, now, he didn't feel like he was going to crawl out of his own skin anymore.

She had given an amazing performance. He could feel how stirred up it had gotten her. He wanted to be happy and excited with her… but he just wasn't. Couldn't be. He didn't like Johnny touching her, and he really hadn't liked her making decisions without him. Nevertheless, he did his best to act excited for her.

"That was a great performance, Bunny." A kiss was pressed to the top of her head as he ran his hands down her arms. "When'd ya learn that song? I haven't heard ya practicin' it."

He just needed to hold it together until she went to bed. He had been so excited to take her to the club, and then for what would come after. He'd had a plan. Just had to open his fucking mouth about her talent, had to show off his prize. Now they all wanted her. All he wanted was to destroy something, and he couldn't let that something be her.

The familiar whoosh of the world around her disappearing and reshaping into somewhere else cut off Ginger's reply. Lydia didn't understand why he was in such a rush, or why his aura was so mute and distant. Uncertainty started to creep in until he pulled her closer still to pet and kiss, finally praising her for a song well sung. Her relief was tangible. She sighed and melted against him, bringing the feathery black boa with her in a gentle hug as she preened under his praise.

"I practiced whenever you left the house," she admittedly with a sneaky little elfin smile, snuggling further into his musty striped jacket to hide in it. "But when I did it here, the only thing I was going to be wearing was something that felt see-through and disposable."

Swaying against him in the hallways outside their bedroom, though Lydia didn't know that was where they were, she reflected on the wonderful day she had just spent with her wonderful husband. She woke to his head between her legs where he made her cum thrice before they had breakfast and cigarettes in the greenhouse lounge. He joined her in the bathroom while she bathed‒ not in the tub, but on the ledge of it to read sections aloud from her lesson books for her to help prepare her for Madame Reinold.

Then lessons were cut short and… the rest was history. Ginger Rogers was going to come to her house for tea. Maybe. It was surreal. In either case, Lydia was absolutely going to be performing for her again soon.

"What should I sing next weekend, Beej? Will you help me pick a song? I don't want to be so unprepared like tonight." Leaning up on her tippy-toes, warm lips planted on his jaw in an appreciative kiss. "Thank you. For everything. Here, take this, I don't need it."

The check from before, still clutched in her hand, was passed along to him.

"Give Madame a bonus."

The idea of seeing her perform that song again in one of the more risque pieces in her wardrobe had him humming his approval into her hair. That was most definitely something he was going to have to make sure happened. Her little body melting into him eased a lot of the darkness he had been feeling. He hoped that Ginger would stop by at some point this week so that he could have a little chat with her about Lydia's handling.

"I'd really like to see that, baby-girl."

At the feel of it, he remembered the ring box in his pocket. His thoughts had begun to wander, but his focus snapped back to her once she asked what song she should sing for her next performance.

"Hhhhmmmmmm… well if ya insist on goin' back…"

He genuinely pondered her question for a moment, his mind blanking when she gave him one of those sweet little kisses just along the underside of his jaw. If she realised she could just do that and ask for anything he would be fucked. Lydia already got whatever she asked for, but he would do anything for those little kisses.

Her check was shoved in a pocket before he scooped her up and took them to the bedroom. There was the usual soft displacement of air before he was settling her into the coffin. As he pulled her into a hungry kiss he could feel the monster rising from the depths at the taste of her. Rather than continue and end up releasing that on her again, he pulled away and fumbled for the ring box.

"One more surprise, Bunny." Catching her hand, he slipped a delicate silver band set with diamonds and a scattering of emeralds onto her ring finger to stack on top of the ring already there.

The world hiccuped and when everything settled again her hair was down, face clean of the feel of makeup, and her dress felt lighter. Lydia was familiar with this sensation. It was bedtime. Sometimes he stayed with her all through the night, and sometimes this is where they parted and he would leave her to rest on her own. He didn't need to sleep as much as her, if at all, so Lydia never questioned him on this or took it personally.

Such a dominating kiss, however, and what he slipped onto her hand after led her to believe he would most definitely be sharing the coffin with her tonight. She cradled her hand close to her eyes as he moved out of the way to let the burning fireplace cast light on the gems and help her better see the details of the gleaming feminine companion to her ouroboros wedding ring.

"Oh," she gasped, moving her little hand around to make it shine and twinkle. "It's so pretty…"

She was enraptured, falling back to sit on her butt and keep looking at the new shiny bit comfortably. He gifted her with jewels and trinkets often just by blinking her into them, but the significance of this one was clear with its placement and the physical way he put it on her. Smiling giddily, she scooted over just a bit to make room for him in the coffin before dramatically offering her jewel laden hand to help him in.

"Monsieur?"

Her face lit up as the firelight glinted off the gems in the new ring. He grinned and leaned against the edge of the coffin. Watching her admire the new addition to her wedding band.

Disappointment lingered. The whole ordeal at Arachnophobia had soured his evening for him. Originally he'd expected another romp once they'd gotten home. Now he'd have to cut the evening even shorter, get her tucked in safe and sound. Then he could go find something to unleash all his pent up irritation on. She still ended up with the bouquet as planned and of course the ring. Still it wasn't the perfect end to the night he'd had planned.

It seemed him leaving was also not what the little wife had planned either. He was done for when she smiled and offered him her delicate hand, inviting him into the coffin.

"Monsieur?"

"Toujours mon amour."

He couldn't help but chuckle as he took her offered hand and pressed a kiss just below the rings. He allowed her to pull him into the coffin. Pressed against her warmth, the last of the tension that formed during her performance faded. With a soft tug, he pulled her flush against him. Hand cupping the side of her face, his lips found hers with soft seeking kisses. With her in his arms like this, no fear or upset, just that wonderful shiny joy, he decided that perhaps he could stay with her tonight. This kiss didn't call to the darkness, her sweet joy infectious and banishing any lingering doubts. Maybe they were going to get their perfect ending to the evening after all.

These moments were Lydia's favorites; the end of another long happy eventful day, the both of them perfectly content to forsake the rest of the world and cocoon themselves in each other's arms in the tomb they shared. Lydia ended up on top at some point of their lazy makeout session, an arm casually drifting up to pull the lid down and lock them in.

Perfect.

"I love you," she whispered as she so often did before surrendering back to his powerful affections. He didn't say it near as much as Lydia did but she didn't need him to. The little things he did reminded her every day. Since she couldn't do half as much for him as he did for her, she made sure that her devotion to him was reiterated verbally often and with feeling. His ego seemed to like it well enough.

"I was scared to sing in front of all those people… but I just pretended it was you and me, here… and then it was easy."

Morbid little thing. It amused him to no end how much she enjoyed closing them into the coffin, whether it was for sleep or sex or both. It was nice, though, to lock out the rest of the world and be alone together.

"Love ya too, baby-girl." He was kissing along her neck, fingers trailing up her thighs and under her nightgown. He hadn't planned on spending the night and so had dressed her for comfort and sleep. Now, he regretted his choice of sleepwear for his little wife. "Ya did amazin'. Can't wait 'til ya give me the private showin'."

He really was looking forward to seeing the private rendition of that song. He could just see her in one of the little scraps of lace and silk stashed away in her closet. It brought a fuzzy contented feeling in his chest to know she'd put that performance together for him, but his temper flared again as it sunk in that though she may have practiced it for him, his gift was given to those dead fucks. Not him. Her husband.

His energy was pulled back to that still quiet place and could feel his claws digging into her hips. His eyes were glowing, the soft illumination reflected off her pale skin. His anger was suffocating‒ that and the heady scent of her, and her abused little body. It stirred the darker things inside him, aching to sink his teeth in. He couldn't be here with her like this.

Between one of her heart beats and the next he had the lid of the coffin open and was standing an arms length away. He didn't want to look at the small dishevelled form left alone in the coffin.

"Goodnight, Bunny." It was barely a whisper and then he was gone.

Lydia slept alone that night after calling his unanswered name‒ just once‒ out into the empty dark, small and confused. That didn't make any sense. He had never done that or anything like that before. She was just as confused when she woke up as she was when she went to sleep, the coffin lid left open just in case he came along and wanted to come cuddle without waking her with the sound of the hinges.

He never came. He must have been angry with her. What did she do?

Without further clarification, all she could do was speculate and avoid him at all costs until she knew where she had failed him and could correct whatever had gone wrong. Rather than going to look for him in the study and having breakfast there, Lydia tip-toed past the closed door and down the hall to the kitchen to prepare herself a small breakfast of a toasted bagel with cream cheese and a mug of already brewed coffee.

The house was too quiet. They would normally be chatting and making sounds by now. Even if they weren't filling the air with mindless noise, this purposeful, aching silence wouldn't exist. Lydia couldn't take it any more. After breakfast, she stealthed past his office again and into the library to quickly steal a handful of books that caught her interest left piled up on a table, then carried her haul out to the greenhouse where the songbirds were trilling, blissfully immune to the strange negative energy suffocating the inner sanctum of the home.

A plume of blurry cotton candy feather's brushed across her face. A lovely string of notes was chirped in her ear as a light weight settled on her right shoulder.

"Good morning, Juliet."

Romeo, her blue and green feathered male companion, was serenading them both from a high rafter. They were Valentine's gifts from her husband, a mated pair of rare Neitherworldian avians. He said they were called "swansongs" and that they were known to kamikaze themselves with a beautiful death balad should their chosen mate die or reject them. They were rare firstly due to how picky females tended to be, and secondly because most of them had been wiped out by ghouls who would capture and separate mated pairs to instigate a swansong for the sake of entertainment.

It sickened Lydia that even in the afterlife such horrible, selfish practices were employed, but at least she had Romeo and Juliet safe with her. Juliet especially seemed to favor her, often perching on her shoulder and leaving gentle pecking sort of kisses. After giving treats, Juliet flew away to join her beloved and Lydia settled right on the ground near a wall of vines, settling her stack of books next to her.

Yes, she was prepared to hole up and be anti-social for as many hours as it took for her to find out why he was mad at her.

Betelgeuse didn't just leave the bedroom, he left the house. It was sealed behind him when he left to make sure nothing and no one could come or go. He thought about going into the city to cause destruction and chaos like he would have in times past but couldn't bring himself to stray too far from home.

With the city out of the question he ended up in the hellscape of a desert far below the house. There he could burn off energy and massacre sandworms. It didn't take more than an hour or so for him to amass a healthy pile of carcasses and burn off most of his irritation and blood lust. Finished with that and knowing Lydia would be asleep for hours to come, he retreated to his study.

Most of his upset and energy used up ripping sandworms apart, he went back to a standard from before Lydia had shown up; drinking. Granted, he drank almost daily now, but it was usually no more than a glass or so of some expensive liquor. This was drinking for the sake of drinking. Like everything, it wasn't the same as when he'd been alive. He couldn't really get drunk now. In life, he was known for being drunk more than sober. Death definitely changed that. What was the point when it didn't work the same? Still, it was a comforting fall back.

He was stretched out on the big leather sofa in the study. Bottles littered the floor and his ashtray overflowed next to him. He was still irritated she wanted to go back and perform again. It made her so fucking happy. He couldn't take that away from her. Maybe, if he set rules… that might work.

He could feel her moving around the house now, could tell from the way she was tiptoeing like a mouse through the halls that she was avoiding him. Normally when he didn't spend the night with her the first thing she did when she woke was seek him out. That he felt her pass the room he was in twice and didn't poke her pretty little head in picked at the festering wound her sudden independence had given him. He lay there for a while longer before no longer being able to stand it.

She wasn't in the main part of the house, and he didn't hear music playing, so she must have been in the Solarium. He made his way out to the glass garden slowly, body stiff from lying still for too long. At least cuddled up with Lydia in the coffin her warmth and movements kept him from being too still for too long. He was lighting a cigarette as he strolled into her garden. The birds were making noise. They tended to follow Lydia around when she was out here so he headed towards the sound.

A smile crawled across his features as he came around one of the larger leafy plants to find his little love tucked into the ivy growing up the wall, reading. Leaves had fallen down and caught in her silvery fall of hair. Little faerie tucked among the blooms.

"'Scuse me, lil' Bunny, but have you seen my wife out here? Seems I missed the wake up call." He stood just out of her field of vision, hands in his pockets.

The book he found her with was not in braille‒ which didn't necessarily mean she didn't have permission to read it, just that he hadn't given her permission to read it. Lydia had parted some of the vines behind her shoulder to allow a fist-sized beam of light to shine through. It allowed her to hunch awkwardly and strain her eyes to read what was contained therein but she wouldn't be able to keep this up too terribly much longer. Lydia had never read anything like it.

It was pure filth.

The paperback caught her attention weeks prior when she found it kicked haphazardly beneath the chaise lounge in the library, long-forgotten and uncared for. Now, she understood why. There was nothing in this of any literary value, not in Lydia's opinion. No wisdom or history or spellcraft or artistic mastery. In fact, the plot was at its core rather dull, though Lydia certainly identified with the heroine, a fledgling vampire named Lilith who had been abandoned by her master immediately after her "rebirth", leaving her at the mercy of the ill-tempered alpha of a clan of werewolves‒ the vampire's natural enemy, as everyone knew.

Finally, Lydia had a taste of a word she had heard so many times and never had an example of; erotica. She thought she had a wild sex life‒ and she did! She could hardly keep up with Betelgeuse… but the things Markus did to Lilith were unfathomable to her apparently still innocent mind. He was awful to her, tied her up and made her hurt‒ but the way Lilith described it, it was like she couldn't get enough.

The smutty tale served as an effective distraction to her husbandly woes, though she couldn't help but be reminded of his tense goodnight whenever her wedding ring caught a glare of netherlight and reminded her it was there. When he eventually came to her like she was hoping‒ but had forgotten‒ he would, she was immersed in the scene. Her eyes were beginning to sting and tear under the strain she was putting them under, but she couldn't stop.

Lilith had attempted an escape, but it was the full moon that night, and Markus' instincts were not going to let his mate flee. The chase was pitiful. A fledgling bloodsucker couldn't hold up against a beast like him. He already had her caught and gagged with her own panties, the shreds of her dress used to suspend her from a sturdy branch for Markus to better appreciate the way her pale form writhed in the moonlight. A large furry paw reached out to‒

"'Scuse me, lil Bunny, but have you seen my wife out here? Seems I missed the wake up call."

"Nothing‒!"

She jumped about five inches in the air, doing her nickname sake justice, the book flying behind her back while she proceeded to pretend she hadn't been doing anything at all.

"I just‒ you were busy‒ I didn't want to bug you‒ I had breakfast already!"

Guilty, guilty, guilty. She was redder than the tomatoes growing on the vines opposite her. Taking a shuddering breath to calm herself, she sat up straighter and slid her extremely guilty hand out from behind her back. Empty. Innocent as a babe, she folded her hands across her lap and attempted to compose herself.

"Goodmorning." She tried again, as if she hadn't just spewed all that damning word vomit. "Did you have a good night?"

Usually she could feel him coming. That she was so involved in what she was reading she didn't notice him caused his smile to deepen. It was always exciting when he got a real panic response. Made the predator in him sit up and take notice. After last night, though, it was easy to push that down.

When she squeaked Nothing! and hid an old paper back behind her back, he let out a low rumbling chuckle. He wasn't sure he had ever seen her turn so red. The cover looked familiar but he knew it wasn't anything he had read. He also noticed she had been reading with her eyes and not her fingers. Where had his little darling found that book, he wondered. He would have to investigate further. For now, he decided it was in his best interest to ignore her oddness when he snuck up on her. Hopefully, then she would ignore his oddness from the night before.

"Did you have a good night?"

"Honestly, sweetheart? Woulda been better if I'd stayed with you."

In an instant, he was laying with his head in her lap, one hand going up to trace her cheek. Flicking his cigarette away, he settled against her. As he nuzzled against her stomach the scent of alcohol was very evident on his robe. He nipped softly at her through the fabric of the nightdress she still wore.

"Is the plan just to laze about out here all day?" He gestured towards the table in front of the lounge and a tray filled with all numbers of sweets and fruits materialized. A silver coffee service also appeared, the scent of fresh dark roast drifting over to them. "Cause I think that sounds wonderful."

When she turned her head towards the scent of the coffee he grinned and crooked a finger from his outstretched hand. The paperback appeared in it.

"So, baby-girl…" He started flicking through the pages. "What's in here that's gotcha so jumpy?"

"Honestly, sweetheart? Woulda been better if I'd stayed with ya."

Just like that, all was forgiven. She wasn't even really mad or upset so much as nervous that he was perhaps mad or upset. His heavy head landed in her lap, naughty teeth nipping her belly. She giggled girlishly, wrapping both arms around his neck to hug him tight like a teddy bear and let out some of her bottled up affections. However, he smelled atrocious. It wasn't rotten or musky or unbearable. More toxic‒ like paint thinner. Like the inside of one of the bottles in his office she was once foolish enough to take a direct whiff of.

"You smell like you've been swimming in nail polish remover."

Grimacing, she loosened her hold on him just a bit so that she could wiggle out from under him and to her feet to reach the spread of goodies he conjured. How she managed to detect any of it over him was a testament to her powerfully sensitive sense of smell.

"Here. Let me make you some coffee."

This was a wifely duty she could handle. Carefully, she felt out for the warm French press and slowly poured him a mug, fingertip pressed to the outside to feel for when it got hot near the lip so she wouldn't spill. Then, just as cautiously and holding the mug with both hands, she counted the steps back to him and knelt in front of where he had taken over her spot. He took the coffee, and Markus and Lillith's sexual escapades were almost completely forgotten‒ until he very alarmingly and suddenly reminded her.

"What's in here that's gotcha so jumpy?"

"No!"

She went to lunge for the book, but stopped herself. He was holding hot coffee. No choice but to sit her butt back on her ankles and wait for the floor to split open so the desert wasteland below could have her. It would have been better than this.

"Please don't read it," she begged, brows furrowed deep and eyes shiny. "Please please please. I was just curious. It doesn't mean anything."

As much as he hadn't wanted her to leave his embrace he was grateful for the hot cup of coffee she handed him. He didn't eat often, if ever, but it was always a special pleasure to sit and drink coffee with her. Made him feel like a participant in meals if he had a cup of coffee or a beer while he watched her eat.

"No!"

That made him snicker into his cup. He tried not to spray her with coffee as he started to laugh. Setting his cup on thin air so it floated near his shoulder, he pulled her over to him bodily before flipping the book open in their combined lap to one of the dog-eared pages. After skimming the page, he let out another wheezing laugh. She was reading porn. No wonder she reacted like she did. Fuck, she was precious.

"Well, well, well babes… what have we here? See anythin' ya wanna try?"

All of it. None of it. How the fuck was she supposed to answer that question?! Her squirming was really bad now, but she was good and obedient and didn't put any real force into her half-hearted pushing and wriggling for freedom, delicate features contorted with discomfort and humiliation.

"I don't know," she whined, sounding on the verge of tears. She didn't know what was normal to want, if what they did together was considered normal, or if wanting anything described within those pages made her some kind of freak. It seemed likely. Never before had she watched porn, obviously, and reading it wasn't something she thought she would be interested in‒ until she managed to get her hand on that paperback.

"I've never… I don't even know what some of those words mean… I just‒ I just really like vampires, okay?!"

He pressed a finger to the paper, pushing braille into the little paperback, and pressed a kiss to her neck. The heat from her cheeks radiated. Turning her so she sat across his lap and he could see her face, he saw she was all rosy cheeks and watery eyes.

"I don't know."

"Aww common, Sweetheart, don' be like that." He pressed a quick kiss to her lips and gave her a squeeze. "M'sure ya read somethin' in here ya liked the sound of… "

He flipped to another dog eared section and found the passage she was reading when he came in. Perusing through, he grinned, reading bits here and there aloud to her torture and his immense pleasure.

"We can do any o' this stuff… ya ain't a fan o' blood so we can avoid that…"

He flipped around some more, reading off other sections. He could feel her fidgeting around but pretended not to notice. Her cheeks were slowly getting darker and darker, from cotton candy to cherry.

"Now this werewolf thing… I can probably make that happen."

As he was reading his hand had slid up her body to cup her breast through her dress, large and kneading her plump fresh solidly through the soft fabric. Her squirming, soft little ass pushed into his lap, had him hard and ready pressed against her.

"Ya know this all looks like lotsa fun t'me…."

The coffee only improved his breath minimally. Now he smelled like dark roasted paint thinner. But he was her husband and she loved him, shielding her disgust behind discomfort at the cruel way he was teasing her. Her fingers brushed the pages by accident and she was thrilled to find braille there now‒ but only for a split second. Then, she returned to the present moment, with her husband's pushy fawning and teasing, and understood the very real possibility of some of the things she had read coming true.

Lydia didn't not want to explore the big, wide, terrifying world of sex with her husband… but he had boundary issues, and she had trouble telling him no.

Werewolf.

Lydia became very still, heart thumping at a mad pace in her chest. A trickle of the kind of fear he hadn't scented from her in a long time seeped into the atmosphere. His wife remembered scales, so many of them. He was monstrously huge and all-commanding, with a glowing awful gaze that incited primal terror from the core of her being.

He could do that. He could do this.

"I do like werewolves," she admitted stupidly because it was the truth, and she had been caught red handed. "B-but I don't‒ I don't want‒ not that‒"

It wasn't possible. It was‒ but trying to imagine the real world logistics of such a perverse feat made her tummy turn uncomfortably. A familiar heavy rod was digging into her hind end. His hand found her breast, massaging confidently and unceasingly. Even as she made a pitiful little sound and shrunk further into his lap, his hand kept it up, the pressure of it pinning her to his chest, not that she was putting any real effort into leaving anymore.

"But I mean… if you wanted…"

Lydia was a good wife. Pleasing her husband pleased her. Yes, she feared the unknown, but if he had taught her anything it was that fear and lust were not mutually exclusive. Still, it was hard to talk about these things. She struggled.

"To… to tie me up." She was radiating heat, mumbling down into her lap, her face aimed unseeing at his molesting hand. "Or… or... uhm…"

No, she couldn't say it. She couldn't bring herself to speak the words, the act that not even her father had ever done to her because she was always such a well-behaved little girl. Lydia Geuse could not ask her husband to spank her.

"Nevermind."