The longer the spanking went on, however; the more Liza relinquished she became, the more the anger, the jealousy and the sense of loss disappeared. Everything seemed to be falling away in face of the pain. The feeling only increased with each strike of leather. Each brusque smack jarred her body and troubled soul. Dozens atop dozens. The fire became an erotic roar. Her only responses—and these were not verboten—were her lively erotic movements, and then the moans of pleasure. Her crotch pressed into her husband’s thighs as her p***y looked for a way to get off. She rubbed lewdly on his lap with the strikes augmenting not pain, but erotic joy. She felt as if she could fly with the intense inebriation—this after a night with Jack Salinger seemed impossible—but this was Oliver, her master, h
