With a caring she had never known he took her away from that place never to return. He had a wee one roomed cottage deep in the forest, made of stone...and thatch where he doted on her as though she were his own child. His Wee Flower he called her. Each time she opened her eyes, his smiling face was there to greet her, and was there when she closed them at night, whispering to her that she was safe, that nothing would ever harm her again. Days passed into months, months passed into years. She. Tender, gentle lovemaking, his touch sensitive but firm, our mutual caresses binding our souls. And fucking. Wild animal stuff. Frenzied coupling like wanton goats. Quickies almost anywhere, with him worrying whether I managed an orgasm, me frequently hoping I hadn't screamed too loud.I loved it all. He could get me wet without even being there. I'd be sitting at my desk at work, preparing yet another set of damn papers, and I'd remember how he had licked me the night before, his tongue darting. More

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