If she wanted to watch some mushy love shit she would watch a chick flick or maybe Breakfast at Tiffany's, but she wasn't wanting that. She was wantin... deep dark scary stuff that would fuck her head up even more than it already was."Wacky Martin's Blood Shack."Wacky Martin was this guy that actually talked and looked like a robot. He stood in his trench coat, his eyes as cold as the killers he was talking about. His name didn't really suit him because he looked a bit too serious for a Wacky. Simon takes over, and starts rhythmically, methodically to thrash my ass with the cane. He allows enough time between each stroke for the pain to peak, then ebb, for me to "enjoy" all of the pain, the suffering. He also takes care not to strike twice on the same spot, each strike falls on virgin territory. Robert does not participate this time, he just watches. After maybe twenty strokes, Simon stops. My ass is on fire, my arms hurt. My tits still burn. I do not know what hurt to pay attention. More

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