Lesley left the slave locked in his box all evening. At about ten o’clock she stood up from the table at which we had been relaxing with a drink and said to me, “I better let the little bastard out of his box. Besides he has a thrashing to endure before being sent home to his mummy.” I smiled at the thought of how cramped he must be feeling and once out the thrashing was still to come.
“Does he know that he is to be whipped?”
“Oh, yes, he knows. He wants it really, but he will insist on bawling like a spoilt brat.” She looked back at me an idea flashing through her devious mind. “Look I have a problem with this one.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Well it’s not him that is the problem. Why don’t you come up with me, but I warn you no interfering. No matter how much you might want to, understand?”
“
