A third time, and a fourth. There is no rhythm. I cannot predict when the cruel instrument will strike. A faint swish is the only warning I get, then ...he cut. Now lower on my back. I do not know who wields the crop. I cannot stay quiet any longer. I start to grunt with each stroke of the crop. They move further down my back. Now they strike the top of my thighs, below my butt. They are sparing my butt, for something worse, I fear. With each strike I gasp. Sweat flies from my face as I struggle. I didn't know what to do. He didn't know about my dilemma and I couldn't tell him. One night-- our first night together-- I had no idea what would happen. We were at my place, in my bedroom. We were slowly undressing each other, breathing heavily. I was now only wearing the choker, black nylons and stilettos. I told him that my feet hurt and that they would hurt more if I tried to take off the shoes. He offered a massage, but I said I would be ok. His eyes moved up and down my body. He was. More

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