Lizzy could not move for at least thirty-seconds, as the Englishman’s boot was fixed too tightly for her to move. At last, he let up, stepped aside and reached down to undo the leash. A cane suddenly appeared in his hand and he whacked her hard against her thigh, and finally shoved her with his toe.
“Get started, we haven’t got all night.”
Nothing could have been more demeaning or laborious than struggling across the floor on her belly. There were more than a dozen, perhaps as many as twenty men whose boots she must kiss. But if she believed that the Society of the Braided Whip intended to watch her wiggle on her belly like a fish without water, she was mistaken. As soon as the Englishman released her to obey his order, her audience disintegrated into small cliques and bantering conversa
