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I shivered, my eyes locked on him. He pointed with the branch to my corner in the front room. I sneaked a glance at his shorts and saw that his erection was tenting them. I bit my lip and sucked back the water, wishing I could hold and squeeze his cock in my mouth. When I reached the corner, I placed my hands against the wall and waited for the striping. The first blow caught me on the fleshy part above my right hip. I cried out and pressed into the wall harder. The stripes came slow, over my back and then my hips. He striped my thighs more than he ever had before and I couldn’t help but twist under the lashing. I felt my breath catch in my throat and let myself cry, but he didn’t stop the switching. The stripes cut into my flesh and I heard Daddy’s breath and the whistle of the branch as he swung it and it made contact with my flesh. I began sobbing and blubbering. “I’m sorrrryyy, Dadddeeee, plleeeaaaaseeee. I’ll remember! I’ll remember!” I cried. He striped me until he was. The gnarled fingers of the old sycamore tree snatch at the shadows, swayed by the wind. She fumbles in her pocket for the crumpled pack of cigarettes. The scratch of the match striking against the sandpapery face of the battered matchbox seems irrepressibly loud. A cricket’s mating call from somewhere in the bushes grates against her ear, insistent – lonely. She is so very lonely. The glowing red light of the cigarette seems to act as a tiny, blinking beacon in the sea of darkness. She takes in a drag of the cigarette and puffs out cloudy white smoke. She sighs to herself, revelling in the peace. It is not to last, of course. From inside, the phone rings. She moves automatically to answer it, then in a brief moment of rebellion hesitates – decides to ignore it. There will be consequences. She does not care. At least, not now. The phone stops ringing. He comes up quietly behind her. She does not hear him until he is directly behind her. Her wrist is caught, quite suddenly, in an iron.
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