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"It's going to be a pleasure to whip you," he said, smiling sweetly, his eyes almost innocent. "You may chalk it up as another human experience, rather like cavorting with your English lord. "
"Do it. I hate you," I said. "I'm a man and you deny it. "
He looked superior and gentle but not amused.
He came towards me, and grabbed at my head, and threw me face down on the bed.
"Demon! "I said.
"Master," he replied calmly.
I felt the nudge of his knee in the small of my back and then down came the switch across my thighs. Of course I wasn't wearing anything but the thin stockings that fashion decreed, so I might as well have been naked.
I cried out in pain and then shut my mouth tight. When the next few blows came, walloping my legs, I swallowed all noise, furious to hear myself make a careless impossible groan.
Again and again, he brought the switch down, whipping my thighs and then my lower legs as well. Enraged, I struggled to get up, pushing vainly on the covers with the heels of my hands. I couldn't move. I was pinioned by his knee, and he whacked away without the slightest deterrent.
Suddenly as rebellious as I'd ever been, I decided to play games with this. I'd be damned if I'd lie there crying, and the tears were coming up in my eyes. I closed my eyes shut, gritted my teeth and decided that each blow was the divine color red and that I liked, and that the hot crashing pain I felt was red, and that the warmth swelling up in my leg after was golden and sweet.
"Oh, that's lovely! "I said.
"You make a fool's bargain, little boy!" he said.
He whipped me harder and faster. I couldn't keep my pretty visions. It hurt, it bloody hurt.
"I'm not a boy!" I cried.
I felt a wetness on my leg. I knew I was bleeding.
"Master, you mean to disfigure me?"
"There's nothing worse than for a fallen saint to be a horrid devil!"
More blows. I knew I was bleeding from more than one place. I would surely be bruised all over. I wouldn't be able to walk.
"I don't know what you mean! Stop!"
To my astonishment, he did. I curled my arm up under my face and I sobbed. I sobbed for a long moment, and my legs burned as if the switch were still hitting them. It seemed the blows were being laid on over and over, but they weren't. I kept hoping, Let this pain die away to something warm again, something tingling and nice, the way it felt the first couple of times. That would be all right, but this is terrible. I hate it!
Suddenly I felt him cover me. I felt the sweet tickling of his hair on my legs. I felt his fingers as he grabbed the torn cloth of the stockings and ripped it, tearing it off both my legs very quickly, leaving them bare. He reached up under my tunic and tore loose the remnants of the hose.
The pain throbbed, grew worse, then a little better. The air was cool on my bruises. When his fingers touched them, I felt such terrible pleasure that all I could do was moan.
"You going to break down my door again?"
"Never," I whispered.
"You going to defy me in any way in particular?"
"Never in any way ever. "
"Further words?"
"I love you. "
"I'm sure. "
"But I do," I said sniffling.
