Each bottom bore the marks of the weapons that had been selected for it, mad patterns of scarlet lines, vivid welts, darkening bruises. Their loins were puffy, red, and glossy with smears of grease. One girl had a whip handle jammed into her anus. It swayed like a tail as she shifted her hips to ease her stiffening limbs.
Regina wondered what it must be like for the women in the box, waiting in isolation for unseen hands and unexpected hurts. Could they even hear her?
“Like it?” asked the matron ironically. ‘This is what you will be cleaning the gals for. The usual shift inside the box is four hours, but I’ve known some to pull eight if they deserve it. We rotate them. Every hour, a gal goes out and another comes in to take her place. This is the slow time of day. Come evening, we usuall
