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Celebrations were in order, but first a certain writer needed to know what his "analysis" was worth. I opened up my email and there was a message waiting from him. He'd sold a collection of his stories, and did I want to be his guest for lunch before he left town? I liked the idea of springing my story on him at lunch, so I turned on my instant messenger, caught him on line, and confirmed the restaurant and time. It was a good restaurant, too - not one that I'd go to on my own wallet. Lunch was great! He had lobster and Scotch; I had a tender filet and a rich Tuscan cabernet. Between ordering and getting our food, I handed him my printout. He chuckled a couple of times, lifted his eyebrow twice, and finally set the papers down. "Not bad," was his comment. "I know a couple of short story aggregators who would be interested in this." A couple more drinks, and we wound up heading to his hotel room to get the names of his contacts. I sat at his laptop to copy down the information while. Her arms andlegs were secured to the legs of the frame, in Velcro-fastened cuffs, torestrict her movements and prohibit any attempt on her part to escape.The uncomfortable position, the fetters, and her nudity increased bothher sense of vulnerability and her humiliation, demonstrating, as itwere, her utter helplessness and loss of dignity. She knew, when sheassumed this awkward and uncomfortable position, that she was utterly atKevin's mercy, just as she knew that he was unmerciful and that he wouldspank--or beat--her mercilessly. The display of her male genitals, too,was embarrassing to her, for there was no hiding them, tugged down,between her thighs, as they were, thanks to her husband's attention tosuch details.Kevin raised his arm high overhead, the cane, cutting through the air,making a frightful whooshing sound, and aimed the instrument at hiswife's beautiful buttocks, intending to cut another narrow stripe betweenthe last two lines he'd laid with the brutal cane. The cane.
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