Only the soles of her feet were denied the whip. She had read of the bastinado. No doubt Mark had too. That day would come. To be whipped on the soles...of her feet. How awful. How a girl would scream. It was though all of her cried for the whip. The cords held her curved. She heard their voices. Her breasts did not know themselves inviolate. They cried ‘Whip me, whip us both. We’re too beautiful not to feel the lash! It’s our destiny.’ Her bottom, her poor caned bottom jutted, curving its. She said to me, "I wonder how that bastard would like it if I screwed around on him?" and I had my 'key'. From then on every time Maddie would cry on my shoulder I would make sure that the conversation would be steered to the subject of her getting even."You can't do something like that Maddie. In this day and age you have to be careful of Aids and shit like that. If you want revenge you better make damn sure that you find someone you can trust completely."The more the subject of getting even. They shall herald an age of ice and fire, bringing to this land the storm that sweeps away the very trees, the moving earth that levels great mountains. They shall do great deeds, changing the paths of the future beyond any power of Myself or My Brother to foresee. Good comrades, or terrible enemies they may be. They shall smite their foes with wrath like unto thunder and lightning, and so shall you know them." We have been told these words many times, since long before our fathers' fathers. My art master, who must, I think, have been inclined to depravity, disapproved of the vagueness in drawing with which I disguised my discomfort with female frontal anatomy, and soon discouraged me from proceeding in his profession. Before being thus rejected, however, I had taken every opportunity to study every available piece of statuary that revealed the naked buttocks, for there I was now convinced lay one of the noblest aspects of the human form, whether male or female. In my researches, I.