Dahlia is in a panic, wanting everything to be perfect. It isn’t. I have to send a couple boys home.Half-way through decorating, Dahlia stops and asks everybody, “Where is the haunted house? I thought Jerry and Steve had last period off and would be here before us.”Shaking my head, I tell her, “You realize that you left it up to a couple farm boys? They were bringing in pigs brains, sheep eyes and cow intestines instead of peeled grapes, jello and spaghetti. We have enough traumatized people, so I sent them home until the dance starts. We aren’t having a haunted house this year.”“What? How dumb are those boys?” Dahlia screams in frustration. She is disappointed, and it shows the rest of the time we are decorating.As we start to finish, Gun and Jane walk in, arms loaded with food from different places. I had them slip off and get each of my girls their favourite fast food. By now, everybody else helping with the decorations has headed home to eat and change into their costumes. My. The contrast was all I could think of for quite a while. And I had a sudden image of the strap as a microwave, quickly heating the flesh and muscle of my bottom from the inside, while the whip was a conventional oven, heating my legs oh so slowly from the outside. But just as both kinds of ovens get the job done, my thighs soon felt like they were on fire. The tears were streaming, and I was wavering between gasping and crying the way I’d get only by the end of a regular punishment session. But, having given me the escape word, Jamie worked away, seemingly oblivious to my response. Abruptly he switched from thighs to torso. Using side-to-side strokes, he was soon touching me from breasts to pubis. Maybe he was afraid the lashes would get tangled in the nipple clamps, but after a few strokes on the outer sides, he gave up on my breasts and concentrated on my belly for a while, then back to my thighs. That sequence I suppose inspired him to fall into the rhythm that seemed to capture.
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