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Looking away. The smooth, dark wood over which they’d have her bend, the ties for her wrists on the opposite side. Looking away. Looking away.She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. It was cold. So cold, sitting here, naked, on this solitary plastic chair. A single bulb hung above her, the only frail source of light or warmth in this lonely place.She’d been caned on admission, as the magistrate had instructed to her shock and to cries of disbelief from her family and friends crowded into the tiny courtroom. Twenty strokes as she touched her toes in the prison’s reception room, between stripping from her own clothes and covering herself with the rough, ugly, government-issue uniform. Each stroke unbearable, for its pain and its shame, each marking her transition, her loss of freedom.But today was different. No cane here. No mere Admissions Clerk. Any moment now: the prison Punishment Officer, bearing a birch. The birch, of which the girls whispered so reverentially. (Apart,. . we’ll see,” repeated Venetia. “Bring two studded martinets.”“STOOOOOPPPPP... OOOOOOHHHHHH STOOOOOPPPPP!” Xena was shrieking, tugging wildly on her bonds. She was in total panic. It really was most amusing to see! Two Overseers stepped forward, one on each side of the Block, their martinets dangling at the ready. All could see the three zircon studs at the end of each of the three thongs. Many knew, of course, just how agonising those martinets were. “Let me know,” said Venetia, “when you are ready to suck the cock that is waiting for you.” It was seen that the male slave was already steadily coming to erection. Venetia raised her hand. In quick succession the first two strokes fell, one from the left, one from the right, the thongs stripping the uplifted buttocks, the zircons biting cruelly into opposite flanks. Xena screamed piercingly in torment, her head pounding up and down, her bottom juddering madly. She had experienced pain before. Plenty. But never pain quite like this. It.
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