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It was fine with her if her boyfriend was a bit reluctant to consummate their union, but she saw the need to fine a substitute to give her what she needed in private or when the lights went down low.The perfect solution was the married man next door.He was a fine mannered gentleman with a traditional attitude of gentle treatment of all females. Mister Asagi would often carry her trash bag out to the disposal point bowing often to show his full respect of her feminine honor. It was quite a change from the men on the bus or the train that would grab her soft undefended flesh with naughty fingers without a single word and with the slyness of a fox stealing eggs. She felt so degraded by them but in retrospect she was happy to receive their nastiness because she was so young and inexperienced that her disrespected flesh was better suited to their insolence than the finely dressed office ladies or even the motherly housewives with their drooping cheeks. In a way, she felt like she was. She heard the whoosh of the lashes and the slap of the rope against her bloodied skin. For a moment she felt nothing and wondered if she entered a state beyond pain. She was oddly aware of her nakedness, of standing nude on the deck, and then the pain swelled, burning through her. She began to retch. ?One hundred and fifteen.? An image of her horse flashed before her but she felt sad because she knew it had died. There was a strange numbness about her, almost as though she could see herself standing naked, bleeding, bound to a heavy wooden frame, could pity herself. The next lash struck hard on her left shoulder, a couple of thongs reaching over to clad at her collar-bone. Her head bobbed and she felt sweat running from her brow. She could see the purple welts where the lashes had crept onto the front side of her body, blood bubbling where two knots had caught. She heard voices. Hudson saying something about hearing screams. She hated Hudson. She heard the other one?s voice, the.
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