There are those in the scene who struggle to take six of the best; there are others who are disappointed if the tally comes to less than 60. One of the tests of a good top is therefore their ability to tailor the scene and the whacking to the preferences of their play partner. Give the “6″ girl 60, and she’d rightly scream blue murder. Give the “60″ girl 6, and she’d wonder why a light tickling was now classed as a thrashing.

Our friend Cath falls into the latter category: only a really hard, sustained series of strokes will do. One evening earlier in the month, she and I played a scene in which I gave her 50 with a new, particularly mean cane, and she took it remarkably bravely. (Until stroke 42, hey, Cath?).

Cuddling afterwards, and admiring her stripes, my Machiavellian side came to the fore. “So, young lady: that concludes the first part of your sentence.”

See, when the courts sentenced a girl to 150 strokes, the prison’s punishment officer would only give her 50 on the first evening. That’d be enough to punish the girl severely, to make her realise how painful a flogging could be – and to spend the night dreading the remaining 100 (twice as many again! over existing marks!) to be administered the following morning. Thus, rather than one painful whacking, over in minutes, the ordeal would be drawn out over hours.

We concluded that she’d been caught tearing down The Party’s propaganda, replacing it with her own subversive posters. Her thrashing would serve both to punish her, and to make an example of her to others who may have contemplated undermining the authority of their government.

The pained look on Cath’s face every time she sat down the following day was delightful to behold – even if each wince quickly gave way to a big grin! I, on the other hand, seemed to develop a mild form of Repetitive Strain Injury from the experience, the pain in my right wrist for days after making typing at work remarkably painful.

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