To have writing described as decadent is praise indeed; words capable of inducing a sense of luxurious self-indulgence in those who read them.

It seems some like to read my stories in bed, already undressed. Some like to read in public, with a sly smile and blushing cheeks, others whilst soaking in a fragrant bath. A dedicated few dress up in old school uniforms, and read whilst sitting at a desk, imagining themselves in a classroom of old.

It seems some like to touch themselves, synchronising their final delight with the climax of the story. Others have more self-control, preferring to lose themselves in their imagination like a wanderer in a waking dream.

However you read, your enjoyment is my pleasure.