Anne disembarked, a little nervously after seeing the prod in use. Francesca retrieved her, took her leash and led her through the town toward home. Casey was locking her shop for the night and called to them; with a broad smile she invited them in "to see my latest work".
Putting a finger to her lips for silence she took them to the back room of the store, where Florence hung by her wrists from a hook in the ceiling. She was asleep, her eyes closed and her head to one side, smiling like a baby.
Her body was covered with an arabesque of fine lines incised into her from shoulders to knees; she had just been scourged. Never had Anne seen such detailed work; not at the academy, or when the trainer at the brothel did her, or at Mme. Messier's. She marveled at the patterns of swirls, circles, and waves.
Francesca inspected Florence closely for a minute before speaking to Casey in low tones so as not to wake the girl.
They returned to the front room. Casey invited Francesca to bring Anne over tomorrow evening to be scourged before an audience; she already had two girls and needed a third.
Francesca thought for a moment while Anne held her breath; the experience was terrible, but the beauty of the results that proclaimed her condition to the world...
Casey reminded her owner of Anne's need to be driven out of her mind now and then, and Francesca agreed. She would bring her girl here tomorrow at six.
"And don't feed her after three; she can have water but nothing solid." Francesca understood.
She led Anne home, chained her in her cell, and left her for the night. The feed bowl was full and Anne enjoyed the luxury of dipping into it more than once before sleep overcame her.
She awoke mid-morning when her owner roused her and led her into the kitchen. A special treat awaited her there: a bowl of kitchen scraps from Francesca's breakfast. Apple peelings, eggshells, tea leaves, flavors she had nearly forgotten. In the morning she cleaned the house and prepared lunch, and was rewarded with a piece of bread.
Francesca led her out to the frame and spread her on it. She went inside and returned with a bucket and sponge. Dipping the sponge in warm soapy water she washed and groomed Anne like a prize heifer. She rinsed Anne off with the garden hose and toweled her dry.
Anne remained suspended on the frame for the rest of the afternoon; to lie in the dirt of her cell would undo all her owner's work.
A little before six, Francesca gave her a water bottle to drink from and let her squat before taking her in the house. From the kitchen Anne watched her retire to her bedroom and change into a casual outfit, a pastel blouse and dark wool skirt to attend the event.
As they walked into town, Anne's apprehension grew. The memory of her scourging at the brothel came back to her; she wanted this, yes, but she was not sure she could bear it. Well, Casey would know how to handle her.
Casey greeted them beside a group of young women bent over chairs for spanking, and the three went to the back room. They were the last couple to arrive; two girls were already suspended by their wrists from the ceiling.
Francesca held Anne's leash while Casey strung her up. Flo, now broken for use by her owner, put a ball in Anne's mouth and tied it in place with a strip of white linen. This was better than the wadded up cloth which sometimes unraveled and stuck in her throat.
She looked over at the other two girls. The far one was a tall brunette, her long hair tied up in a bun at the back of her head. In the middle between them was a short stocky girl with bleached hair in a crew cut, covered with tattoos.
An audience gathered and took their seats. Anne saw Maria and Celeste among them, and director Teri sitting a little apart. Casey explained that the first two girls would be scourged by their owners; she would do Anne herself with "a little invention of my own". Anne wondered what it would be and her fear increased.
The first owner was a woman in her forties, as tall as her girl, with streaks of gray in her hair. She took up a small steel rake with sharpened teeth and set to work. Gabrielle rolled her head from side to side as Harriet drew patterns on her, stood back to inspect her work, and finished with a few more flourishes.
The stocky blonde for all her tough appearance caved in at once. She tried to scream through the gag, cringed at the approach of the rake, and wriggled when it was applied to her. Casey told Flo to hold her down. By the end she was crying like a little child; her owner ignored her and bowed to the audience.
Now it was Anne's turn. Casey set the rake down on a small table next to an implement Anne did not recognize. She examined Anne closely before taking it up again.
Anne was in an agony of terrified anticipation, perhaps the intention of this leisurely prelude.
She began with Anne's front side, drawing swirls and curves down to her knees while Anne screamed soundlessly through her gag. After a few minutes of this she took Anne by the shoulders and turned her around to work her back and thighs.
When she was satisfied with this phase of her work she picked up the other tool. Anne saw it was a sort of steel comb with razor-sharp teeth set close together; she screamed again as Casey drew it across the areas outlined by the rake. Finally she carved her initials into the side of Anne's right breast.
Anne must have been turned around again to face the audience and have her belly and thighs finished with the comb, but she remembered none of it. She felt rather than heard the applause of the audience and did not see Teri and Maria admiring Casey's work. She was grateful for the honor of bearing the woman's monogram.
She heard Francesca speak and opened her eyes. Teri with a glass of wine in her hand was chatting with Maria while Celeste stared at her. It was like opening night at an art gallery exhibition.
She had attended many of those in her previous life, a wineglass in her own hand, meeting men she might spend the night with, except that now she was the artwork.
No, that was wrong; she was no more than the medium, her flesh the material on which the work was created.
Francesca was shaking Casey's hand. She wanted to abase herself before all of them, even Florence. But she could not; the three must remain here overnight to dry.
Eventually the audience dispersed. Casey removed the girls' gags, turned the lights out and left them alone for the night. Able to speak once more, they began to talk. Even the short stocky girl ceased to cry after a while and joined the conversation.
She told them her name was Butch; she belonged to a girls' outlaw motorcycle club where she bet herself in a poker game and lost.
