"I wouldn't have asked. It would never occur to me they could be so mean. She must have been desparate to get out of jail."

"Maybe. I understand the jails here are pretty bad. Oh look. That is a nice touch."

He pointed out the man and girl with black hair. She was leaving on her hands and knees while her man led her with a leash attached to a dog collar. It seemed to be the ultimate humiliation to be recduced to nothing more than a pet dog totally reliant on it's master. It suddenly occurred to me that I had described myself. I was nothing without Jon. I had no assets and no way I could earn enough money to enjoy the life style he provided. I knew I would let him lead me down main street totally naked if he wanted to rather than leave him.

The crowd had thinned so he helped me up to lead me to the exit. I was given my clothes and hurriedly put them on to feel more secure.

To my horror he asked the man at the door when the next show would be and was disappointed when told in a week since we had to return home and he would miss it.

We got on the plane the next day. I was frightened that the show might encourage him to be meaner and was really relieved when I did a dumb thing in tracking mud onto our white rug and he was satisfied by simply spanking my butt with a quirt.

No further mention was made of the show but I knew he had not forgotten it when he came home with a diamond studded collar and leash. he got a big kick out of leading me around then teaching me to "Heel" sit up and beg, and play dead. Playinf dead was the hard part. I had to lie on my side and not move or cry out while he spanked my butt or breasts lightly with a small wooden dowel.

About two weeks after we got back the statues arrived. He had the workmen uncrate the kneeling one by our pool and the crucified girl in a corner of the torture chamber. The men embarrassed me by looking at our torture devices then leering at me to let me know they knew I was the subject of torture.

I loved the crucified girl and spent hours fondling her body and welts while I imagined myself in her place.

One day he found me staring at it and said, "The statue really fascinates you doesn't it?"

I said, "Oh yes. She was so brave. I think she must have been tortured to reveal some secret. Maybe the location of her spy lover."

"You always like to romanticize things. She is probably just a figment of the artist's imagination."

"Oh no. A model could never get that expression on her face or the exhausted look. She was whipped alright. I wonder how it must have felt." He made no comment but a few days later some men arrived with a replica of the cross he had placed in the opposite corner.

As soon as they left I begged him to put me on it.

He had me stand on a chair to put on the wrist cuffs and let me bend my legs slowly until my pussy was resting on the peg. He removed the chair and said I was beautiful and looked just like the statue. I found I could lift myself by my arms to apply just the right amount of pressure on my clitoris to rock my hips and work toward orgasm. I couldn't quite get there and begged him to whip me. He just used the thong whip but that was enough to bring me to full orgasm and let me release my arms to let my whole weight rest on my clit and press it against my pubic bone.

He ran to get our polaroid and took pictures before letting me down.

He exclaimed, "This is fantastic. Look! She looks just like you. I wonder if she is a long dead relative."

He was right in some ways. We both wore the satiated expression from the ultimate orgasm and had relaxed our arms to let all our weight rest on the peg but I was only red while she had skinny dark red welts with some oozing blood.

I said hesitantly, We don't look exactly alike. I am just red while she has skinny welts that must have hurt more.

"Yeah. He must have used the same kind of whip the girls used in the show. That would be too much for you."

I realized later he was just trying to be kind but I took it as an affront to my courage.

I said defiantly, "No it wouldn't. At least not if I was excited enough from the peg and the lighter ones first."

He stared at the statue and I saw a lump rising in his pant but then he surprised me by saying, "No way. Our whips are too thick to cut you. You would just get terrible bruises."

"Maybe we could shop for a skinny whip."

"There is no "We" I am not going to be blamed for scarring you. If you want that you are on your own."

He evidentally did not think of his initials on my pussy as scars. I said, "Only the ones that cut would scar and there are only four of them. One on her breasts, one below the belly button, and two across her pussy. No-one could see them when I have clothes."

"You are really serious about this aren't you."

"Oh yes. I could imagine I am protecting you from evil spies."

"Well I am not going to get a whip that will cut you."

He revealed his hypocracy though by giving me his gold card and saying, "Here go shopping. It will take your mind off it."

We both knew I would be shopping for the whip.

Since I would be shopping in sex shops I thought it would be appropriate to look like a hooker. I put on a thin spandex micro dress that hugged my boobs and made the nipples show and showed off my tiny waist and round bottom. At the last moment I decided to leave off my panties even though all I had were g-string types that barely hid my slit.

I called a taxi and had him take me to the sleazy part of town that had all the sex shops. I was surprised we didn't have a wreck since the driver watched me in the rear view mirror as chuckholes made my boobs shudder.

The first shop just had sexy costumes, sex tapes, and an assortment of dildos and vibrators. I wasn't interested in them so moved on.

The second shop was more of the same but it had a man clerk and we were alone so I got a kick out of bending over to look at tapes on lower racks to let him see the bottom curve of my butt and maybe my pussy. I walked over to him letting my heels hit hard to jiggle my boobs to enjoy his wide eyes. I was beginning to think all the shops were the same and said, "Don't you have any S & M stuff. You know. Like whips and things."

He looked at me suspiciously and said, "Are you a vice cop? That stuff is illegal in Seattle."

"Oh no. Here is my purse. You can check my I.D."

He looked through it. Then said, "This doesn't mean anything. Cops have their badges and I.D. in a separate case they can hide. Can I pat you down to look for it?"

That was ridiculous. In my costume I couldn't hide anything but the idea of this strange handsome man feeling me appealed to me.

I said, "Okay. If you have to."

He came around the counter and ran his hands down my back and over my butt cheeks then came around to my front and lifted my right boob to feel under it and then did the same to my left one. It seemed extra exciting since someone could walk into the store at any time to see us.

Since I did not object he became bolder and ran his hands up my inner thighs until his thumbs pressed against my pussy. I made a little gasp then he pulled up my skirt with one hand and cupped my pussy with the other to drive in his middle finger as if I could hide a folder inside my vagina. Then he pulled back his hand to look at my pussy. He must have seen the initials because he said, "You reallly are into S & M."

He left me standing there trembling while he went to the door to lock it and put up a closed sign.

Then he came back and said "I have your things in the back room. I have to be careful. Vice would confiscate everything plus fine me."

He led me over to a door and into a huge backroom. The walls were full of things. Cuffs with chains, all kinds of clamps to be put on nipples or pussy, winches to stretch someone, and on the back wall a large collection of whips, straps of leather and rubber and paddles.