“Yes, Master,” Emma replied, trying to sound strong and confident. But in truth she was quaking, her mind full of doubt and fear.
Master continued to hold her, his hands cradling her face. Evidently it would not be he who would administer the beating. That thought filled her with trepidation. Not only would her disgrace be amplified in front of a witness, should she plead for clemency, but the person doing the beating would not be her dear Master who, she deeply believed, had her wellbeing at heart however severe his treatment of her. It would be someone who did not know her, had no particular care for her, someone who might beat her simply for his own pleasure, disdaining what it might do to her. It might be a sadist whose delight was in subjecting girls to excruciating pain just for the
