paper-shredder that ground up pictures

he was done with.

He had also referred

indirectly

but often to his relative poverty; This guy was definitely not getting rich doing this, and from the drift of his remarks, it seemed that he was just about resigned to a of penury in his chosen profession.

career

So from what Eric had told me, it was just about impossible for him -or anyone else, for that matter -to have copies of old photographs of Jana Haffaz. And from my impression of Eric West as.... well, let's say he was sort of out of touch with current events... it seemed unlikely that he would even know that his former model was now Miss Earth.

That left only one alternative: Someone else had written that Blackmail Note! But who? Who else would know that much about Eric's business?

"Nobody," He said, when I at

last got the conversation around

to this topic, "I haven't had anything you could call a Business Relationship that lasted more than a few months. It seems like the people who are really dedicated to this sort of thing don't have the money to support themselves at it, and the ones with money just aren't dedicated enough to keep up with me. Now open wide, Dear."

We were doing August: Back to

School month: And I was dressed as

a sort of grown-up schoolgirl, with white blouse (terribly tight and low-cut) cotton skirt (terribly brief) drooping white socks and saddle shoes, hair done up in ribbons and pigtails (terribly childish) and being forced to wear a dunce cap and hold an apple in my mouth while I held up the back of my skirt, exposing my white-lacepantied bottom for a spanking from Ushi, who was standing behind me, primly dressed, holding a two-foot steel ruler!

November came next, and I was dressed as a Pilgrim Maiden. Only I thought that Pilgrim Ladies wore a lot more than just the starched white collars, stiff linin cuffs, white stockings and high-buckle shoes! "Well," Explained Eric, "It's just natural that a thrifty girl of Salem would want to spare her wardrobe when she has to ride on the Ducking Stool!"

I should have been beyond blushing by this time. But as I was strapped into the Eric West version of a Ducking Stool, I felt myself redden with

a whole new burst of shame. The chair had no seat! My arms were crossed behind me and strapped to the back ("Shows off the tits more!" Eric explained) and my ankles tied to the legs of a chair that looked like it was built for a five-year-old. "That's right," Eric said, "Got