Taking her hands off her head, Alice moved into position, her nudity now forgotten in the face of the further humiliation that was to be inflicted on her. She leant forward, her hips touching the top of the wooden back of the chair, and waited.
Again, the dreaded stick tapped her behind, as her tormentor took careful aim. CRACK! The blow landed, straight across the centre of her buttocks, re-igniting the early fires. She bit her lip: “One, Sir, thank you sir.”
He paused, waiting, as she stared ahead. A long pause – almost as if he was going to take his time, to enjoy her discomfort. And then he whipped her again. “Aah! No… Two, sir, thank you, Sir.”
Again the pause. The rod lined up. Four gentle taps. And then back, and then down, and then the by-now-familiar anguish. Through clenched teeth: “Three, Sir, thank you, Sir.”
If anything, the next was the hardest stroke of any to date, and she cried aloud in agony, before subsiding into sobs. “Four, please, sir, no more, thank you, sir, please…”
WHACK! (Don’t flinch, don’t flinch, stay in position). “Oh God, oh no, please… six, sir thank you sir.” CONTINUE