"I want you to whip me with a riding crop," he said. "I want to be gagged and tied. I want you to give me exactly twenty strokes on the buttocks. Thatís all."
"OK," she said. "Twenty will hurt, you know."
"I know," he said. "Thatís what Iím paying you for. Exactly twenty, no more and no less."
He took off his clothes and she tied his wrists up to the top of the cross, and then his ankles to the bottom, legs apart. He faced the wall, his buttocks exposed.
She put a ballgag in his mouth, buckling it securely behind his head. Then she put a loose-fitting hood over his head Ė she really didnít like to look at her clients, and his instructions were quite precise so she had no need to watch his face.
She raised the riding crop and brought it down on his buttocks with a pleasing swish and crack against his skin. A slightly raised red line appeared.
She raised it again and counted out the strokes as she hit him, "Öeighteen, nineteen, twenty." Finished.
The doorbell rang. She left him where he was and went to answer it.
It was her friend, Sarah. "Hi," Sarah said, "Hope I wasnít disturbing you with a client."
"No," she replied, "Iíve someone in, but he can wait a while."
"Whatís he in for?"
"Twenty strokes with the crop. Simple, really. No complications."
"Want me to do it?"
"If you like. Iíll make the tea."
She busied herself in the kitchen while Sarah found the riding crop and gave the client twenty hard strokes with it. Raised red welts were appearing across his buttocks and bruising spread from them.
"All done," she announced.
"Thanks, Sarah. Saved me the effort of doing it myself."
The two women sat, chatting, over a cup of tea and then Sarah left.
Who was the client still tied up to the cross? She tried to remember. What was it he wanted? Ah, yes. Twenty strokes with the riding crop.
She picked up the crop and started. Really, his buttocks looked as though he had been whipped very recently. Still, it was not for her to question a clientís instructions. Twenty he asked for, and twenty he would get. She put some effort into it, making sure, she told herself, he got his moneyís worth. Nothing worse than a client complaining she had not hit hard enough.
She had some lunch. Just quick sandwiches. Mary and Liz were coming round that afternoon. She had better clean up and get the place tidied.
Ah. A client still here. What was it he wanted? Twenty strokes with the riding crop. How boring.
She raised the crop to get it done and finished. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty. Done.
The doorbell again. It was Mary and Liz together. How nice.
Yes Iíve still got a client here. No problem. You can do him if you like. A simply job with the riding crop. Twenty. No more no less.
Then they leave. Tea time. Pleasant.
Good grief! That client! How long have I kept him waiting? What was it? Twenty strokes with the crop, yes Iím sure that was it. Better get on with itÖÖÖ