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breath, the blows crack-crack-crack-crack like pistol shots in her ears and it was like there were two of him, three of him, four of him, coming at her from everywhere at once.
         Ah ah ah ah ! she heard and it was her own voice leaping startled out of her at the fall of each blow, mixed with a high wining' keen and that belonged to her too though she'd never heard her voice or any voice make a sound like that. She could take no more no more and she twisted from yet another blow to her anguished shoulders and the whip found her breast again burning across it like a laser cutting deep and PLEEEEEESE! she screamed, not in protest nor even begging but a prayer to the grim gods of pain, the gods of the body's disaster.
        He stopped. She heard him breathing behind her.
        "You'll get that every time you disobey. Each and every time. And worse," he said.
        From her calves on up her body trembled from the sheer effort of standing. Somehow she found a voice.
        "Why? Why are you doing this to me? What did I do to you? I didn't do anything."
        "Oh. You're innocent? Is that it?"
        "I…"
        "Let me tell you something, Sara."
        She started at hearing her name. Almost as though he'd hit her again.
        "That's right, I know who you are. And I didn't just lift your name off your driver's license either. I know plenty about you. But we'll get to all of that later. Let me tell you something. The only innocent on God's green earth is an infant, Sara. A baby. Some people would say an unborn baby. But I'd extend that to, say, the first six months of life or so. In my own opinion. What's your feeling on the subject?"
        "I… I don't know. I…"
        "Let me ask you something. What were you going to do with your unborn child? Your baby. Your innocent..." He laughed. "I know perfectly well what you were going to do with him. You were going to let some fucking jew doctor kill him and flush him down the toilet. Now that's real nice. I don't think that makes you exactly an innocent yourself, do you? I honestly don't think so. Plus you had to do a little fancy fucking in order to get yourself knocked up the first place, didn't you? And I don't see any wedding ring on your finger. So you tell me. Who's innocent here?"
        She heard a series of snapping sounds and realized that he was taking her photo. Walking around her, getting her from various angles. She heard what sounded like him opening and closing a drawer behind her and then heard his footsteps approaching.
        "This won't hurt," he said.
        And then his hand was moving over her, rubbing some viscous scentless lotion over her shoulders, down across her back and waist. The relief was immediate. But he was wrong about the hurting. In a way it hurt like hell. When he got to her buttocks it hurt and when he got to her breasts. It hurt that this sick son of a bitch should be touching her in these places and that she had no say in the matter. She was learning that there were realms of hurt she'd never imagined.
        "You're doing this because I…?"
        "I'm doing this because I can, Sara. Get that through your head. Because I can. But yes, I also have an agenda. Let me tell you how it's going to be," he said almost gently. "Have you ever heard of the Organization?"
        "No."
        "I didn't think so. Open your legs."
        She'd been holding them tight together. She didn't want him touching her there. The whip hadn't touched her there thank god so there was no reason and even if there were a reason she…
        "I said open them. Do you remember what happened to you just now? Just a couple minutes ago? You want me to turn you around maybe, try the other side?"
        She uncrossed her legs and braced herself, shivering. She felt his lingers smooth the salve over each of her upper inner thighs. His fingers coarse, the salve soothing. But the fingers went no further. They left her alone