Tonight he sat next to her in the royal palace private theatre, swathed in loose robes, just folded fabric wraps really, no buttons or ties. Richly c...othed in her exquisite garb, Leila sat sidesaddle, leaning her curvaceous body against him. One arm was laid across his shoulders, the fingers brushing affectionately on his hair and ear. Her other hand rested in his lap, atop the robes… for now. An air of low string and flute rhythms provided background ambiance. The room lights dimmed, drawing. Clawed gauntlets adorn the backs of his forearms, bearing short silver spikes. Despite their sharpness, they’re incapable of slicing through the mysterious whip which has entangled his limb so perfectly that he can scarcely pull back an inch. The past few seconds had been a heated berth of battle, and he’s glad that it should be over, given the precarious pincer he was now caught between. “No need to get rough, ma’am,” he says (or at least, this is the rough English equivalent, given the time. More

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