Suddenly She stopped. Watching his writhing form She said sternly as She walked around to stand in front of him, “I want more…the front.” “Ye... Mistress,” he stammered. “Good boy.” Their eyes locked. She flicked the whip, its tip bit perfectly on his left nipple. It felt as if his nipple was sliced away. Then his right nipple, left, right, left, right, on She continued, each expertly aimed lash brought cries of pain. “Yes, suffer for Me,” She said. The bites came faster as She whipped him. Chick singer.’ I thought. ‘And she’s okay to look at.’ I put my notepad away, swung my stool around, and waited to see if she could warble. Someone hit a spotlight, and that’s when I got a real good look at her. All pale skin and dark clothes, and no make-up except painted ruby lips. Jazzy Girl. Behind her sat a serious looking quartet: piano, sax, drums and bass. They reminded me of a wicked trio I had a couple-three years back in the days when I had a CD out and concert hall gigs and money. More

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