The bathhouse was in the trailer part of the campsite. So like it or not, I was going to be near the shouting. I was sleeping in my clothes, so the .3...7 was near me, but not inside my jeans. Before I left the space the pistol was back under my sloppy tee and inside the waist band of my jeans.The bathhouse should have been the only puddle of light in the dark night, but the trailers were all lit. I noticed the small group standing outside shouting at each other. Even dumb ass me could tell it. Jane could feel the lines branded across her bottom each one a small submissive token to the Headmasters authority. Between the strokes she felt his hand between her legs. She remembered as a young girl how he had explored her to see if she had had the audacity to enjoy herself. It was all part of the ritual that she should allow her breasts to be squeezed, her genitals to be stroked. The very public fondling of her private areas was almost worse than the strokes of the cane. She could. More

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