He let go of my hair and I fell to my handsand knees.He stood over me, his hands across his chest."I will be lenient on you because you are a new slav.... For a remarklike that, you could be whipped," he walked over to the closet andopened a small duffel bag. From it, he pulled out a whip. I slidbackwards a few inches. He walked towards me and sat in a chair,playing with it, uncoiling the strands."This is a gorean slave whip," he said, matter of factly again. "As youcan see, it has five strands.". I prefer Indian meself, but Phil didn't want his arse catchin' fire from a Vindaloo, so Chinese it was. As it turned out it was quite good, very fillin', and after we'd washed it down with a couple of beers we headed back up into Soho again.The rain was startin' again, so when we got to Old Compton Street we dived into the nearest pub we came too. It was the loudest as well, and packed. Phil asked me if it might be a gay pub coz there was 'ardly any birds in there, but it was gettin' awfully. More

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