A Lesson
I spent the day quietly, bathing in scented
oils ... thinking. There were no lessons today. When he told me this, the relief
I felt washed over me. The lessons of yesterday are still with me. My hands
shake even writing about it.
The mark of the whip on my left thigh is fading, the welt only obvious to
someone who looks closely. It was unexpected. I thought the lesson was another
on positions, when abruptly there was a whistling sound and the sting of the
whip across my buttocks. It was all I could do to not scramble away, but I was
afraid it would be worse. The word "why" escaped my lips before I could bite it
back. The whip struck once more, marking the back of my thigh.
The night before He talked of girls on the slavers block being required to
writhe as though being used. He asked if under the threat of the whip could the
slave joy perform so in front of men. I did not know. My face flushed hot with
embarrassment thinking about it. I know the answer now.
God help me, I also know the answer to another question as well.