I sat out of every PE lesson, forging notes, forgetting kit, turning uplate.I read poetry. Listened to music. A tortured soul.*My one link to normalit... was that I knew Riley.We had grown up together, our families went on holiday together. TheParkers and the Robsons were inseparable. "I wonder if they wife swap"Riley would often tease, both of us grossed out and laughinghysterically. We would spend whole Sundays at each other's houses. Rileyand I were actually pretty close, and she seemed to. "This slave must be punished!" said her master, who spoke English, not Latin. A little shiver of fear, entirely contrived, added zest to her predicament, as she was whipped across her thighs and belly, the Roman slave whip feeling too much like a hairbrush.When her Roman master's attentions failed to excite her further, she declared a change of venue. She had been captured by that notorious London rake, Lord Walsingham, who now declared, heh heh, that this virginal beauty was at his mercy. How. More

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