De Sade stared out his window and brooded. Sasha, that mouthy wench, had had the nerve to accuse him of pouting. Ridiculous, of course. A man of his breeding never pouted. Brooding though, that was an appropriate response to his current situation because he was here, in his bed-chamber, and missing all the fun, rather than one floor up in the Master chamber. Even now he imagined he could
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