Cracking His Code
But first he takes something from Dirk’s collection of impact instruments, keeping it behind his back as he saunters over to me.
I crane my neck to look at him, waiting to see what he brought.
He looks down at me for a full minute, not saying anything, hiding the implement from me. Just watching and smiling.
“Kir,” I finally groan. “Show me.”
He produces a thin, black fiberglass riding crop with a tiny leather flapper at the tip.
"You are very impatient," Kir notes, tracing the thin fiberglass rod down my spine. The cold tip makes me shiver.
"You left me here for ages," I complain.
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