She did not want the roses; she wanted something more direct, more physical. She wanted the thorns.She stopped on a street corner illuminated by a dim...yellow streetlight that barely penetrated the humid air, leaving dark pools of shadow in the empty doorways and the rubbish in the street. Far away she could hear the hot whine of tires on asphalt, and somewhere far in the distance there was the sound of an ambulance or police car. A forlorn traffic light a block down changed from red to green,. I caught sight of Miss Stevens briefly, dressed in a matching black shirtand skirt, before I was spun around to face the far wall and my trousersand boxers wrenched down to the ground, exposing my still-red, throbbingbuttocks.CRACK.My legs gave way and I squealed in agony as what must have been a canewhistled through the air and whipped across my arse like barbed wirelaced with salt. The guards wrestled me back onto my feet just in timefor the second lash to connect. CRACK. My knees faltered. More

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