"I imagine you're quite ready to get down. I know you've seen the electric utensils waiting for you, let's see if you can still take them, like the good old days."

He unstrapped me from the cross, and caught me as I almost fell, the circulation coming back into my limbs, and with it the after shocks of the caning and the whipping, the blood burning in my veins, making my head swim. He took me to the chair, strapped me down, and proceeded to hook me up to the machine.

"Why?"

"Why did I let him do all this to you when I knew it wouldn't work?" He was very methodically placing the clamps on me, making sure to get them in all the right spots, the leads already attached, the pads all in place, taped down, the restraints holding me firmly in place.

"Yes, why?"

"Ego, very simply. He's always bragged about how easy it would be for him to break you, and I knew better, I wanted to see him brought down a notch or two. It worke...

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