Started a second part of my nightmare, but this time the difference from the belt that counted 50 strokes was without limit, just until my wife's right hand was tired.
I looked like a thrilled teenager who arranged his appearance in front of a mirror, only I was a 37 year old man.
The sound of her high heels disappeared, she was barefoot.
She was drinking a glass of wine up to half and left the room.
Definitely not a place where a man would like to find himself dressed in a dress and red high heels.
My tongue hurt beyond description.