Whoosh, crack the crop strikes mid sentence turning what was forming as a please into another wail. “Three, Massa Hopkins”. Again my arm draws bac...; I look down and see wet spots in the dirt as the tears stream from her face and fall. Another outburst erupts as her face draws into a grimace and Ed calls, “Four, Massa Hopkins.” I look back to her ass and see a crisscross of stripes forming. Again, and again the riding crop lands and a new welt springs up in its place. She is a mixture of sobbing. In the summer it grows mushrooms. I suppose I should have done something about it to make it look like the rest of the lawn but I rather like the idea of my own fairy ring. That Valentine’s Day I was alone and feeling lonely. I had come back from an evening out with friends yet I was dissatisfied. I had been the only single person in the group. Mary had organised the dinner party because she considered going out to a restaurant on Valentine’s Day meant poor service in an overcrowded restaurant.. More

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