Sunday 8AM

There’s a girl on the mattress on the floor of my office, curled up under the duvet.

She’s pulled her pyjamas back up now, after she was used. She was used; then a character – unnamed – was beaten.

“Were you with a boy?” “Yes, sir.” “And did you fuck him?” Indeed: hard, from behind, her submission absolute.

Six strokes of the cane were the only possible consequence. Flat down on the bed, a pillow under her hips. Re-invigorating the marks from yesterday. Her silence required to avoid waking the others in the house.

And then left in the bed alone. Told to touch herself, whilst I add to her shame by documenting her ordeals so very publicly.

This has been a good weekend…