FILE2> Kimprints

I looked up at the woman with burning red cheeks and a very wet diaper.  The straitjacket kept me firmly placed in front of the opaque glass, as others watched me on the other side.  Or did they?  Was there no one on the other side?  I'd been sitting here so long that I couldn't keep track of time.  The woman towered over me and held out a new photo: one of red welts across my thighs.  I shook my head. 

"You don't scare me," I muttered.  If there was one thing I could handle, it was a beating.  My pain tolerance was higher than anyone I'd ever met.

~~~

"Good, I'm your teacher, not your disciplinarian. I'd hate for you to be afraid of me." 

Physical discipline was a poor choice, because anybody could learn to tolerate pain, and anybody could come to like it all the same. Kimmy, the woman supposed, was probably closer to the latter group already, so maybe pain would become a reward for her. 

"Tell your watchers how tough you are, tell them how much you can take."

~~~

I looked up at her nervously, then at the window.  Was anyone there?  Was this a game?  I took a step backward, away from the woman, until the leash on my straitjacket was pulled taught. 

"I am tough... I'm tougher than you!  And I'm not scared!  And... and you gotta let me go now!  I wanna go home!  I don't belong here!"

~~~

"You do belong here, Kimberly." 

The statement was sharp and stingy: sharp as the blonde girls wit and stingy like the crack of the switch against the back of her thigh that came out of nowhere. And just as soon as it hit her, it seemed to disappear. 

"Tell them all."

~~~

She took another step toward me and I pulled back, caught by the leash, and glaring at the switch behind her back.  The line on my thigh stung - it hurt more than the belt and paddles I was used to - but it was nowhere near what I couldn't handle.  I smiled proudly. 

"This isn't anything!"

~~~

"It's not, is it? It's nothing at all, a friendly little tickle, am I right? I bet you can handle more. I bet you want more, just to show how well you can handle it, don't you? Why don't you tell the watchers? Tell them that you want more, that you can handle it all, tell them how much you want to feel that sweet sting of pain, how proud the marks on your skin make you." 

It was easy to see how the words washed over her, how they impacted her, how they filled her mind with thoughts and feelings. She was easy to play.

~~~

Eighteen strikes with that switch.  Eighteen huge red marks on my thighs.  My knees wobbled and buckled and I fell to the floor, wetting myself a second time.  The diaper grew warm between my legs and my arms trembled.  Tears dripped down my cheeks.  I could feel it all slipping away.  I couldn't take another hit... I couldn't handle it again.  Fear was filling me up.  But the woman didn't strike me again.  She stepped up to me and played with my hair. 

"My my... you really are a strong little girl.  You should be so proud." 

And I was.