She pressed her back against the brick wall, and breathed heavily into his ear. With her right palm, she caressed his shoulder, and then gently pushed her knee into his stomach. His back met the wall, and she faced him, left hand on her whip, purring delightedly.

She dug her nails into his shoulder, and bared her teeth. Her left hand closed around the firm handle of the whip, and she brought it down hard on his bare chest. He closed his eyes and moaned in pleasure. She took the time to roll her eyes in disgust, but then, she couldn't complain; it was how she earned her money.

Beads of sweat glistened on the man's chest, which was now slowly turning the colour of a ripe plum. One more hit, she thought, and his skin would bleed. She twirled her whip, and suddenly flung it hard at the man. It descended with all of her strength behind it, and, sure enough, the skin tore. She smiled satisfactorily, pleased with her work. Only a few more hours of displeasure for her, pure ecstasy for the middle-aged, lonely businessman, and she would go home with a couple hundred dollars in her pocket.