“Remember the Stanford Prison Experiment?” it said. Okxxx * * * * * * * *
Forty-eight hours later I met my castratrix. “Typical male inconsistency.” Ms Siddall put on her spectacles and studied a clipboard, then looked at Ms Curtis. She lifted the leather strap over her head and smashed it into my balls. “Police search?” I frowned. A surge of anger suppressed the pain but bewilderment supplanted it. “Do you recall the insults you hurled at Laura during sex games? The woman’s left hand toyed with the whip. The bones seemed thinner and lighter. I was fleetingly jealous, then enraged at my jealousy. Now I understood.
