Lashed Up On A Saturday Night

The boss loves him, but can never show it.  The only thing Tim Douglas understands is the whip.  He takes it like a hero, egging his boss on. `Go on Mr Sampson, give it to me, harder, I've been slacking this week ...OH YEAHHH... oh sir, that's it .....OH YEAAHHH`   The whipping sessions at the back of the aluminium yard, usually on a Saturday evening, after the yard closed.  It's all both guys live for.  Mr Sampson's pulse races each Saturday morning at around 8 when he hears Tim roar thru the front gate on his gixxer thou, stunting around and spinning up the rear wheel, shirtless and in only in his denim cutoffs, boots, gloves and lid.  He skids to a stop in front of the boss's window, gunning the motor, his legs spread wide on the big Jap bike, grinning at him thru his dark visor.  Finally he'll kill the engine, pull off his helmet and look at the boss.  Sampson will say `One of these days you'll throw that bike down the road Douglas, and that pretty body of yours will know all about it`.  `Well, I guess making me know all about it is what you're gonna do to me later on tonight, ain't that right Mr Sampson?`  `Get to work you dog, I'll sort you out later`  Saturday always passed slowly for Sampson, as he counted the hours til 6pm.  In the afternoon at about 3 he'd get eaten up with jealousy when Tim's girlfriend flounced into the yard.  Douglas would always make a fuss of her, stroke her back and arms, hold her close, and look up at the boss's window to check he was taking it in.  He'd see Sampson's steely stare through the glass, and knew he was working him up for a thrashing.  `Am I gonna see you tonight baby?` his girl would ask `You know I can't babe` Tim would always say `Gotta work late for Mr Sampson.  He puts the bread on our table for us and our little Timmy`