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She walked around him once, twice, patient, expectant, calm, allowing the fear he were experiencing to sink in, to let him fall deeper into it.She enjoyed the power she had, the revenge she would have, the training he would undergo, end the end result that were to come.The corners of her mouth twitched slightly upward in anticapation. The first swipe of the whip fell on his back, and he winced, more hits followed, 5, 10, 50, he didn't count, he just felt pain, and he would have screamed if the gag hadn't prevented it, and still she kept going. After a while, declaring she needed a break, one of the jailers entered, one of the to helpers, both of them were black, well muscled and powerfully build, no hair on his head.She gave him the whip, and told him to go on. He enjoyed being the cause of the victims pain, enjoyed the little movement he could see Michael was doing in pain. he eventually stopped the whipping, Michael's entire body red, filled with crisscross stripes, some places. "Sorry," she said.His smile was warm and said everything that needed to be said. Then she looked over at her mother, who was watching interestedly, said, "Hi, Mom," and turned her attention back to her father.They talked quietly about whether there was anything they needed her to do about insurance matters. The hospital had called the company for them and an agent had come over to see what was going on. Don said everything was all squared away, at least as far as the hospital was concerned. He knew less about the car, which he was sure was totaled and had been towed somewhere."What about your stuff?" the girl asked."Not really worth worrying about," said Don."It would be nice to have the cell phone," said Susan. "And my purse." She sounded mildly disgusted. She found four or five other reasons why retrieving their property from the car would be a good idea, including that they'd need something to wear when they eventually got out of the hospital. On a roll, she started to remember.
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