...Thwack!?The last flurry just over the top with each lashing, I can appreciate the expertise of the crop curling downward as I tug Jo’s chocker co...lar further back with the flexing chain, the leather tip embedding itself into a puckered nipple, momentarily disappearing into the dark oval as the titflesh bounces, spreads beside the other mound awaiting its turn only to be flattened also, to bounce as the leather crop’s crisscrossed, swished back and forth. And, like instructed, Jo’s grunts. Peter had gone into town that morning in his new olive green Chevrolet pickup; a gift to himself after last year’s bountiful harvest. He had banking and business to attend to and a Co-op meeting to attend which would take up most of the day and the women would join him later that afternoon for an early supper after a well-earned shopping spree.Peter’s mother Margaret Balfour was only seventeen years his senior at forty two. Meg was long-legged, slim-waisted, and big-breasted. Her black hair was. More

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