It was the day she dreaded most in the whole week. The day when all her faults were pointed out to her, all the things she
had done wrong were elucidated, analysed, corrected. The day when the whip or the strap or the cane would whistle through the air,
to contact her helpless, screaming body. The day when she felt so small, she knew she deserved it. And today she really did
deserve it, she knew. Her conduct had been disrespectful, thoughtless, even cruel. It was time to make amends. She nearly
fled the room when she saw the ropes. She had only been tied down for punishment twice before, and she shrank at the memory
of what she had had to endure before she was released from the bondage. This time would be worse.
But nothing washes away guilt like accepting the punishment for her transgression, and nothing excited her inside so much
as the feeling that the pain was deserved. And nothing, but nothing, was better than being taken gently but forcefully there,
still strapped down to the whipping bench, her dues paid, having made amends.
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