When you visit our website, if you give your consent, we will use cookies to allow us to collect data for aggregated statistics to improve our service and remember your choice for future visits. Cookie Policy & Privacy Policy
Dear Reader, we use the permissions associated with cookies to keep our website running smoothly and to provide you with personalized content that better meets your needs and ensure the best reading experience. At any time, you can change your permissions for the cookie settings below.
If you would like to learn more about our Cookie, you can click on Privacy Policy.
Chapter Eight A Frolic With Freckles “Absent thee from felicity awhile, and in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain.” Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act V, scene II I was getting much better at this whipping business. I was applying that three-tailed tip exactly where I wanted it on the small, willowy body of Fiona, the petite Irish secretary. WHACK! “YIE-E-E-E!” I had chained her wrists to the ceiling, her arms vertical beside her head. I left the long ankle chain on her, allowing her slender legs to jerk and flail with each strike of my whip, dancing out a nude ballet of woe. CRACK! My whip lashed across her jiggling buttocks, adding yet another crimson line to their sweet roundness. “YAUGH!” She flung her head back, gritting her teeth, her head shuddering. “Oh, please sir! Please sto