On the first shot, I had hit the exact, precise hairbrush that had sat on my dressing table, threatening me every day of my life, until it was broken ...n half when I was twelve or thirteen. It was the hairbrush that my mother had routinely used to spank me when I was growing up.It was impossible. Somehow, that - thing - had been out there, waiting for me for what? Eleven, maybe twelve years? And it was just as powerful, just as terrifying as ever.Usually, I saw it in my mother's hand as she held. Megan’s screams of pleasure were all that I was concerned with. By then I was hard again, and we made love for the third time.In the afterglow, we were again lying down, Megan’s head on my chest, with a leg thrown across my thigh. I was softly caressing her hair.“If ... if you really want to marry me ... God, I can’t believe you want to marry me, I suppose I need to tell you a little more about myself,” Megan said. “My full name and about my childhood.”“Yes, Miss Farraday,” I said, “what would. More

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