She remembered an early morning fucking from her husband and a comment that he would not have to do without is morning fucks anymore. She remembered a gentle orgasm and falling into a deep sleep. She struggled to sit on the bed. Waves of shame and humiliation followed the memories.Shame and humiliation worse than any she had felt yesterday. Yesterday's shame and humiliation had been caused by things that were done to her. Today's shame and humiliation were caused by things she had said and done herself. Just as yesterday, her shame was compounded by the betrayal of her own body as the humiliation sparked the lust and her cunt moistened.Martha stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. She made a halfhearted attempt to straighten her hair. She opened the closet intending to put on a dress, and wear it right, in spite of her husband's orders, but all of her dresses had been replaced.The new dresses had been cut down the front so she would have no choice but to let her breasts hang. A guard pointed to two circles painted in the floor about two feet apart. He indicated that Amy was to stand with a foot in each circle. Once positioned correctly on the floor, the guard uncuffed Amy and placed her arms straight out from the shoulders and parallel to her feet.She started to lower her arms and received a sharp crack on her back from a thin cane. It hurt like hell, but Amy understood that she was not to move her arms. The hood was replaced before Amy had any chance to peer about the room. For a moment, a wry thought occurred that here she was a female version of DaVinci’s Vitruvian Man.The wait seemed interminable. It was interrupted time and time again by piercing screams coming from nearby cells. The floor was ice cold. Goose bumps formed on her arms, legs, and back. He nipples had hardened into pencil stubs. She started to lower her arms to hug some warmth into her body when she received another sharp lash across her buttocks. The arms straightened. They felt like.
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