“Oh, you were expecting that one huh?” I turn and reach into the large bag and pull out a long and wide, white, silky piece of fabric. I fold it...long ways and cover her eyes and cross it over the back of her head. “I am not going to tie this, but, this will not move from your eyes. Do you understand me?”“Yes, Sir.”“Good girl,” Whack! The flinch didn’t happen until after the belt gave its kiss. A duplicate mark formed in a parallel stripe next to the first one. Whack, Whack. Two more. Sushila was slim, with small almost non-existent breasts always dressed in a sari, petticoat and a blouse. (Sari-Is the traditional indian dress, it is a long cloth which is draped around by the females in India, Blouse- Is a top to be worn over a saree leaving the stomach exposed, Petticoat-A long skirt which is worn under a sari tied at the waist.) Although, her clothes would not be dirty or torn but they always had evidence of extensive use, and would look worn out always. Sushila, would. More

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