I had seen a woman in a stockade once as a child in the town.
This was different…
Stripped, her dress hiked up past her sex, presented for his blows. She shook, she screamed, my feline form unnoticed in the room filled with people. I knew that she might have been safe had she simply spoken one word.
She didn’t.
Each strike of the whip brought her to the cusp of climax and then back down again with the next blow, until she begged, not really asking, not really wanting, surrendering her sex to him in this act of submission.
