Six
“Have you begun to appreciate good tight bondage, Thomas? You won’t be licking my boots, not here, but soon you will develop an affinity for the hands that bind,” Bai soothingly lectures.
It is day five, I think. I have not bothered counting. There is no point.
I stand between the posts of our concrete shelter. My feet are widely parted with rope attached to each ankle bracelet and secured to a post, right and left. I am forcibly bent at the waist. Bai has slipped a cord through each wrist band, drawn my hands back and up thus forcing me to bend at the waist, bowing to she who will impart discipline.
As she ties off each cord, my shoulders begin to ache – my long morning has just begun.
“Hormone time... ladies first,” Bai proclaims.
The minx Pattie prances to my front, smiles and
