“Three years!” she groaned theatrically. “But…yes…I’d really, really like it if we could stay in touch, sir,” she said, smiling.
In the bag of toys I’d brought with me was a horsewhip; at least it was designed to look like a leather horsewhip. But the guy in the specialist shop in Boston had assured me that the lightweight woven plastic whip was intended to sting, but not bite into the flesh. It was more of a psychological weapon than a physical one.
“But it hurts, right?” I asked him.
“f**k yes!” he assured me. “This baby will give her some nice red stripes, but whenever I used it – even when I gave it my best shot – I never really managed to raise much of a welt. It’s the kind of toy you could use all night, and on a lot of different places on her body.”
In the hardware store in town
