I bobbed silently, my toes bouncing off the hard-packed sand. “Wanna try it?” Francesca asked with a devilish grin, her chin just above the water... I heard myself giggle nervously; the beach was for the most part empty, with small clutches of bathers ranged every couple hundred yards or so. Francesca came back in my direction with a breast stroke—how apt—circling behind me, one hand up on my shoulder, the other deftly undoing my top. I clutched it without thinking; a gentle insistence as she. Yanking up my trousers, I grabbed the desk and ran onto the stage. A conversation ensued between the ladies about exactly where the flogging desk should be placed in order to give all spectators an adequate view. I picked up the desk and moved it, then moved it again slightly to the right. Then to the left. Then forwards. Then forwards a little more. Mrs. Dickinson took up a suitable position sideways from the desk. She brought her riding crop down onto the desk with such a ferocity that I. More

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