My long black hair cascaded down over my head and towards the floor, forming a curtain around my face. My ass felt high in the air, and I knew he woul... see my glistening pussy as he stepped back behind me again. I heard rather than saw him step across to the desk. He picked something up. He used the tip of it to part my hair to one side, so that he could see my face, and I could see what he was holding. It was a black riding crop – about 30 inches long, with a bound leather grip, a slender. Itwas just one more prop in a play I didn't want to act in. I left it onthe desk, dismissing it as something only girls would be interested in. Imean, I've never known a guy to keep a diary. I certainly wasn't going tokeep one. Not me. I was a guy, no matter the evidence to the contrary.But I've noticed that with each passing day, I seem to be losing littlepieces of myself. When the change happened, I was angry and confused. NowI'm frightened. I had consoled myself with the fact that deep. More

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