Contorting into a serpentine position, she struggles from the pressure of the added weight swaying down off her chest. Her nipples obscenely stretchi...g, her naked, whip marred body quivers, glistens under the stark light. Not done with her yet, the two other men step up; position themselves to either side of the stool. Gripping her knees, they pull; tug them apart as she’s forced to tiptoe, bowlegged. Her arms arch, her buttocks thrust back, her chest jaunts further outward. . I almost giggled. ‘Not an artist…an art student,’ I said. ‘I came up here to try to get the projects done that I need for my senior year presentation. We do projects at the start and the end of the year.’ ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Who are you studying under?’ ‘My professor is Phillip Whitlow,’ I replied. ‘Tough, demanding, but very supportive. I like his style and his manner, even though, on occasion, I have considered homicide.’ She laughed, a beautiful sound, like a spring rain on a window. ‘I know. More

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