“And who,” asked Roland, enunciating each word slowly and clearly, “did you agree to sell yourself to?”
I didn’t answer, and he whacked me again.
“To you,” I said, as miserably as when I’d been tormented in the dungeons of the KGB when I was nine, in my fantasies. (As a kid I had a minimal enough knowledge of that issue to enable both disapproval/fear of the KGB and fantasising about what they might do).
“You have sold yourself to me,” he announced to the camera, “And I think that is very naughty, it’s a very dirty, disgusting thing to do, to sell her first time-” he flicked the tails over my bum again and I yelped even though I was trying not to -“to make a deal to sell her virginity” – the flogger smacked down and I wriggled -“Now that is disgusting and such a girl would deserve to be punished…” he said softly and whacked me again.
I whined “Tht’s not fair, you wanted to buy me so why would you punish me for giving you what you want?”
“Oh no,” he smirked proudly, “You offered your body for sale. You made a deal.Was that not what we were to discuss in the restaurant? You made an offer which I merely accepted.”
He struck me, and kept hitting the same spots so it hurt a lot.
“You’ve been very bad, Queen Tut,” he said, “You deserve to be punished.”
Every time he whacked me it hurt more. Then he gave me a very hard swat and I writhed over the benchand cried for several seconds. “That was pathetic,” he said, like in the story (Kemet 1).
Then he laughed and smacked it into my labia and it didn’t hurt at all even though it was a powerful smack; it just felt good and a few minutes later he did it again, and that time was even better. He beat me harder and harder (or so it felt) and I started to cry harder and even though sometimes I kept still and didn’t make a sound, most of the time I would.After several minutes of him flogging me and me wriggling, squirming and crying, he brought out the cane.
He asked me how many strokes I thought I deserved and I said two, but he had a grin on his face and he said six would be more appropriate. The first stroke was intense, it made the whole of me tense up and then go limp. I couldn’t see how I’d get through all six of them. The second burned even more and after the third, Roland asked if I wanted to stop and I didn’t want to but a part of me did, and I nodded. As he untied me I realised I was crying a lot. He untied me and held me close and said “It’s good to know your limits. And your limit is the cane. And we won’t use the cane again.”