I didn't wait for her to buckle up. A wave of cheap knock-off perfume, the stuff they sell in the 'hood that is supposed to smell like expensive stuff... rolled over me and almost made me gag. "Where to?" Behind that old Food Lion," she said, pointing to an abandoned grocery store a block ahead. Then she sat back and drank in the leather-clad luxury of a $60,000.00 automobile. Probably remembering better days."What's your name?" I asked, nonchalantly. "You can call me Peaches," she said. I. I was asked if I wished to continue. I agreed and the towel was re placed back on me and there were another 9 strokes applied. They hurt like mad and she could see me struggling under the restraining straps of the whipping stool. When the treatment was finished she re photographed my backside to show me. There were now 10 stripes that were red but looking as if they would fade after a few hours. She then wanted to carry out furthur treatment, only this time with a rubber whip. I agreed to allow. More

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