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Madam hears, and She will deliver.

Every year, when the pond turtle senses its time, dives to the bottom of his pond, and buries himself in the muck and mud. He pulls into his shell and goes still; his heart rate slows, almost stopping. His body temperature drops, staying just above freezing. He stops breathing, and he waits. For six months, he stays buried, and his body releases calcium from his bones into his blood stream, so that he slowly begins even to lose his shape.

But when the pond thaws, he will float up again and breathe again. His bones will reform, and he will feel the warmth of the sun on his shell.

I think of the pond turtle when I read some of your letters. About what you said about the need to be beaten for hours. I think that's something W/we'll have to discuss next time we meet. Perhaps the beginning of spring or the coming of summer soon...

'Say thank You, Madam.'

I do crave beating you and it upsets Me that you're not receiving the beatings you need. Good to know that you're looking forward to O/our bdsm time with your normal spattering of loveliness, filth, happy stories and soulful requests to serve Me.

Madam hears, and She will deliver.

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