Chapter Thirty One
Miss Ilona is correct about having the strength for exercise. When she finally calls it a day, I have perspired profusely and in wrenching against my bonds I am depleted of energy. I just lie bereaving my scorched flesh and wonder what I will look like when the young hand finishes its task. With nostril rings securely tied to the frame above, I cannot move my head to see. I must presume that the horrid cuts look as bad as they feel.
Yolanda enters to feed me and offers a comforting sponge bath. And of course my p***s expresses its gratitude, which the young girl ignores, dabbing the wet cloth around my genitals.
Hours later Gretchen enters. She stares at my wounds, seems to react with an odd combination of fascination and mocked pity, and declares that I must be wal
