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hard enough to draw an exclamation. The best
analogy is clapping your hands together hard -- if you do it a
few times, you're not going to like it. Well, each blow should
be a bit harder than that.
I remember trying to teach Roger my limits. He has a greater
liking for pain than I do, and it seemed to take him overly long
to learn where my threshold is. The man who was beating me this
time knew just how hard to hit me. He only went over once, near
the beginning; I warned him with a code word, and he honored it
scrupulously. Was it Roger? Could a stranger pick up on my
moods that well?
Finally, it was over. He removed the rope, led me to the bed,
and fastened me to it via a rather long leash. He joined me, and
tried to arouse me again. He succeeded, too, but I refused to
return the favor. Being bound to the car was the end result,
though at the time I didn't know what was happening.
His first move was to lead me out to the barn. I had left John's
winches in place, but I didn't think my captor would use them;
that whole memory was so traumatic I would have aborted the game
had he even tried. Instead, he knelt me down inside the barn
without fastening
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