‘What…you think you can repent now? You should have thought of that before you committed your crimes!’ I yelled. And with that, finally, a tear rolled down her cheek. At last. ‘Wait…what is this?’ I said suddenly in an altogether different demeanor. ‘Archbishop?’ I said, gesturing for him to come over. Puzzled, he came over to the tree. When he was close enough to see, I scooped up the tear, and tasted it to confirm its saltiness. The Archbishop now saw what I did, and knew what it meant. There were now more tears, so he too captured and tasted one. His frown told me that he knew it was a tear. ‘Do we agree on what we are seeing?’ I asked. He nodded glumly. ‘As the Archbishop does attest, the prisoner cries!’ I proclaimed loudly. ‘And as everyone knows, witches are incapable of tears. Thus, while the lady does not speak on her own behalf, we must conclude that the lady is NOT a witch!’ Turning to the guard, I said. ‘Untie her from this tree, then bring her to me in the great hall.. ’She entered the room. Red corners with a pale luscious body. Four of hearts with a spade in the centre of the card. He felt her hand on his prick. “Can I tie you?”He heard the words but displaced the meaning. He stretched a hand to take the rope but she slid a noose over his wrist. Startled he put her words in the correct order. She was tying him. “Yes of course.” He replied, his dream altered by the thought of his wife riding him, her ass swallowing his prick as she knelt over his erection. She would control the fuck. This was her way of making the first time safe for her. The second would be different.It only took moments. The loops and the knots in the rope needed only to be tightened. He allowed her to tie him spread eagle on the bed, his prick like a flagstaff waiting for the flag. With a florish she pulled the last knots and he was ready for her to have the ride of her life. “Darling, now I can show you my fantasy, my dream of sex.” For a moment she rummaged in her bedside.
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