Quentin had lead an exemplary and prosperous life on Earth.  He shared his good fortune with the less fortunate and never hurt anyone.  When he passed it was to go the good place.  He found that the good place was perfect (as it should be).  All needs were taken care of so it was like an expense-free vacation at a five-star resort with perfect attendants.© Y Lee Coyote

Quentin enjoyed the rest and relaxation and that nobody was needy for sometime but increasingly realizing he was missing something.  A whip.  A nice bullwhip.  A nice bullwhip that cracks loudly when snapped properly.  And makes a live target howl with pain when struck and spurt bright crimson blood when sliced asunder.

Quentin recalled that he had had some live targets back in his previous existence but although they were most willing targets but they could not be injured.  But even such limited play was not within the social norms here.

There was, however, something that was absolutely unique which was visiting the other place down below.  Most visitors went to see what they escaped by proper behavior in their previous existence and rarely made more than one or two visits.  Quentin was different for there were things happening there had wanted to do in his past existence but it lacked the mysterious healing that happened here.

His first tours were like all the others did – in a wagon with a clear cover for protection which was pulled by a twenty teams of the condemned on hard labor duty.  The ride was rough because the roads were in need of repair but Quentin found it beguiling.  What most would consider insignificant was fascinating to him – the crack of the bullwhip used to inspire the harnessed teams to better their efforts.  He longed to do that again.

After a couple of tours he moved onto the solo adventures which used small buggies with just a single team to pull it.  Soon he was driving the team holding the reins and the longed for whip.  He wished he could go full out with the whip, but that was not permitted.

Quentin’s skills did not go unnoticed, however.  He was approached and asked if he wanted to volunteer to be a flogger.  He immediately leaped at the opportunity.  He turned out to be a natural and soon was doing what was unthinkable in his previous existence and even in his current place.

The punishee target was strung up with his wrists tied above to the whipping post.  Quentin toyed with the whip while savoring the situation and even cracking it causing the target to flinch.  Then he steaded himself and took careful aim and swung at the unwilling target.

A red blotch appeared where the whip end hit dead center below the nape for this was not the lash to cut or slice but to merely to hurt and scare.  Several times over he repeated such strikes.  Then he delivered a really vicious lash that cut halfway across the back splitting the skin and gushing bright red blood.  It was heralded by a loud screech of pain and agony.

Quentin was more excited than he ever had been in his current or past existence.  He lashed out over and over until the victim fainted with a bloody lacerated back.

The victim was replaced and he started anew.  This was repeated until he was exhausted for the there was a seemingly inexhaustible supply of miscreants to whip.

On the return to the transit point he even lashed the team pulling his buggy.  When he changed back to his upper place clothes, he noticed that he had, like an adolescent, messed his pants in his exaltation.

Back in the nice place, he thought constantly of the wonderful experience and anxiously looked forward to the next time.