No one’s dancin’. Nothin’. Then I see why, as I step out the front o’ the Manor. Blues lined up ready for a showdown, and that sweet lookin’...lady I clubbed. She’s pointin’ at me like I’m the one what was gonna kill her. Stupid lady, I saved you. Idiots. I’m not a murderer. At best I’m a world class thief. They order me to put my hands up. ‘PUT YOUR HANDS UP!’ I put my hands up. The seams under the arms o’ my new tuxedo rip. It reminds me o’ a bad deodorant commercial. Raise your hands. Sure.. The sound of something leather hit the wooden table near by. The feather is a surprise since it can’t be heard. The feeling of the softness rolls over your body from head to toe. I take it up one side, and down the other. You giggle, and wiggle from the ticklish torture. But your body wants so much more. A small hand held whip with a few leather straps trails up your back. Over your shoulder, and across your chest. The texture of the leather makes your nipples stand straight up when touched.. More

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