The valiant knight’s head who had tickled me the first time I saw him, who had made me tremble from my toes to the back of my neck, now dangled, bruised and battered, at the door of the princess whose he had struck countless times. From top to bottom I could see his short hair, shoulders wide enough for me to sit comfortably on, strong biceps, chest muscles bulging like sails, abdomen like a statue, long, well-built legs, and that big thing dangling between them. It was as if a sinless, innocent girl was crying in the hands of her torturer. I could sing sweet lullabies to him in my soft voice, or dirty words, if that’s what he wanted. He hooked his fingers in the string of my thong and pulled hard, ripping it off. He stank of cheap booze, smoke and sweat, while I smelt of strawberry. He’d arrived at the end of his fight and no amount of grumbling or denial was going to change the outcome.
