This woman is revealed again, sweat streaked, bleeding, but undoubtedly beautiful. The crowd want more blood, there is nothing for it but to give it to them.
My aim now is to give it to them, but not to weaken the woman in front of me. I am determined that she will carry her cross all the way, when we have finished here. I need to cut the skin, to draw blood but not bleed her dry! To strike the sensitive, fleshy parts of her body, to make her dance and sing. This is the art, to please the crowd, to put on a show, but leave her strong for the main event.
Her spirit, now, that can be broken. To expose her to the crowd, to reveal her most intimate female parts, and then to torment them, to make her scream and writhe in torment, frantic to escape the pain, to escape the crushing humiliation, this is the road to breaking her resistance.
I pause, admiring her fine figure one more time. I want to see her back arched, see her legs kick, see her breasts sway as the whip guides her this way and that. I'm sure she was a good dancer, now her partner is unforgiving, his touch leading her to move in ways unhindered by any modesty.
This is my gift, freedom!
I draw back my arm, she tenses, delicious anticipation. Where shall I strike? Of course, the newly exposed thigh, smooth and so beautiful, a well aimed strike will wrap around and draw blood from her tight little behind, two for one. Then as she gasps a swift strike on the left breast, to get her swaying. Which one will make her cry out the loudest?
Swish!
Flick!
a satisfying deep "ah" from the first, but a beautiful high pitched squeal from the second. Now I see fear in her eyes.
And so we begin the dance.