Spicy Hot
I say.
The first blow lands. The sound cracks in the air, and the pain explodes on my thighs. I cry out—I cannot help it. A raw cry, torn from me, echoing in the rotunda. The burning, the bite of the leather on my skin, spreading in concentric circles, invading everything.
Second blow. On my buttocks. The same burning, the same explosion. I clench my teeth, I do not cry out this time. Tears rise to my eyes, but I hold them back.