Knowing that this is not really a question, I kneel with my legs far apart and my back to Master Tree and Barb. Being kept nude at all times (except for the collar, of course - that only comes off when it is to be replaced by a noose) saves me the need to strip, so Tree doesn't have to wait any longer than necessary. I hear a final crack of the whip on Barb's body, followed by a gasp of pain from her. These sounds make each muscle in my body tighten in anticipation of what I have signed up for by speaking out of turn. The only other visible sign of my anticipation is a tiny drop of moisture that has started its descent down the inner side of my left thigh, giving away my arousal at the idea of serving to my best abilities.
The next thing I hear is the click of shackles being removed from Barb's wrists and her bare feet on the worn and cold concrete floor. Then there is silence. The Master walks around to face me and observed me from a few steps away, he seems to be choosing an appropriate "treatment" for me. Without any warning, he lashes out with his whip, hitting my abdomen with a force that causes my flesh to ripple. I almost loose my balance, but manage to keep from falling as a feeling of disconnection washes over the part of my body that was hit. My mind is trying to protect me from the pain, but I have long since learned that this protection is short-lived. I can already feel the stinging pain trying to find its way arount the brittle shield of numbness. The thought of the pain to come makes me wince a little, but also brings a feeling of warmth deep inside my body.
The flow of blood, you say. - Master Tree says in a calm and quiet voice. - We'll have to see what we can do about that. Any preference as to where I begin?
The seriousness of the last sentence is underlined by him opening a metal cabinet hanging on the wall in front of me, displaying a sizeable collection of instruments, which I can expect to be used on me in the hours to come. There are more of these instruments than I would like to imagine. Most of them consisting of blades of varying sizes and shapes - some edges straight, others serrated or chipped - others sporting spikes. My eyes draw to one particular implement. A rubber baton, as used by many law enforcement agencies worldwide, but modified by a skilled CF craftsman to contain shards of glass spaced unevenly throughout its length. Something tells me that this baton is going to penetrate me before the evening ends... I gather myself enough to remember that I have been asked a question. I swallow hard and reply.
No Master, no preferences. I am yours to do as you wish.
A couple of minutes later, Barb winces as she hears the first of my screams while she gets shackled to the coffee grinder.