Melissa screamed pitifully, almost unable to breath. The whip wrapped around her back as she spun slowly, and the tail made it's mark across her young breast, cutting her ariola and nipple. The bullwhip flew again, cutting her stomach, her navel, her legs, calves, ribs. Melissa had received 40 strokes already, in only 20 minutes. Then the unthinkable happened. The bullwhip wrapped around her lower back, around her front and cut downward, with the tail landing directly across her exposed labia. The pain was immense. The priest had not spared the force of the lash, and both her outer and inner labia bled. Melissa reacted by both crossing her legs and raising her knees up to her stomach to protect her injured organ. The priest began to bullwhip the contracted muscles of her legs very hard, drawing blood. After about 5 lashes to the legs, Father Sulivan, grabbed her right ankle, and pulled it up and behind her. Her left leg dropped straight down floorward. Melissa's body was arched from. I took you on as a favour to the father who was tired of paying interest on his daughter’s credit cards and in despair of her ever getting a job. He told me that if you fucked up this shot at employment−and make no mistake, you’ve fucked up royally−there’d be no running back to him so he can recommence funding your Bond Street lifestyle.” Clarissa’s face scorched. Everything he’d said was maddeningly true. Her lacklustre performance had been muttered about at the water-cooler for weeks. She’d known time was running out. It had been at least one motive in fluttering eyelashes at her handsome boss. “Of course,” Gavin continued, calm and relentless, “I don’t underestimate the wiles of a daddy’s princess. So these photographs−and I don’t think I’ve misread you here−will provide the additional leverage required.” “Leverage to … to … So you are sacking me?” “God, no. You need to learn an honest day’s work. You’re going to graft that ass of yours clean off starting Monday and if there’s.
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