“You may now beg to be beaten, if you are not pleasing,” he said.

“You may now beg to be beaten, if you are not pleasing,” he said.
I did not speak. I was afraid to speak.
“How stupid she is,” he said, wearily.
“I am not stupid,” I said, adding, “Master.”

He rose from the couch on which he had been sitting, and went to the wall to my left. From a peg there he removed an object, with a long leather handle, which might be grasped with two hands, and five broad, soft blades, which he shook free.

“I beg to be beaten if I am not pleasing,” I said.
“You will be,” he said.
[..]
“Turn about, and put your head to the floor,” he said, “and clasp your hands behind the back of your neck.”

“Master?” I said.
“Now,” he said.
I complied.

Plunder of Gor, p. 54

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