#DailyLines #MOBY #WRITTENInMYOwnHEARTSBlood #Book8 #physiotherapy Jamie had steeled himself to the prospect of drinking horseradish liquor with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. The first of these emotions was momentarily relieved when he discovered that Mrs. Hardman didn’t mean him to drink it, but returned in force when he found himself a moment later face down on the bed with his shirt rucked up to his oxters and his hostess vigorously rubbing the stuff into his buttocks. “Have a care, friend Silvia,” he managed, trying to turn his head enough to get his mouth clear of the pillow without either twisting his back or unclenching his bum. “If ye drip that down the crack of my arse, I may be cured wi’ a somewhat sudden violence.” A small snort of amusement tickled the hairs in the small of his back, where the flesh was still smarting and tingling from her administrations. “My grandmother did say this receipt would raise the dead,” she said, her voice pitched low in order not to disturb the girls, who were rolled up on the hearth in their blankets like caterpillars. “Perhaps she was less careful in her applications.”
Posted on: Sun, 24 Nov 2013 11:23:42 +0000
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