There were only two clear sounds in the room, Red Feline's breathing and the sounds of the rope as it was secured around the hook. There were no voices. The man was silent. No explanations, no accusation, no questions, no answers. Red Feline didn't know why she was there except that it was part of something she herself had created. She wasn't even sure if it was real or part of her daydream, a very vivid daydream.

Her wrists hurt, her feet hardly touched the metal bar under her, where she could relieve the pressure and the pain on her arms.

She was familiar with the pain, often caused by herself, like the time she took some ropes, climbed a tree, set the ropes up and tied herself to the tree.

She was able to hang there for a while, until she felt she could no longer be able to free herself. The sensation she had this time was similar, she knew she could be in that position for some time.She heard the steps of the man moving about.

To her side, hanging from the triangular frame, was a long whip. Down below, on a cut stone, there were a few nasty looking nails. She understood what the whip was for, of course. She didn't know the purpose of the nails.

The man reached for the whip and took it with him, stepping back into position. Red Feline began to breath heavily in anticipation. It was going to happen.

She had gone through such scenes in her mind many times, she played games with friends where she conceived plots that made her always the victim of some cruel fate. In her games she was always the damsel in distress, to the annoyance of her friends, although some of them glady participated in her passion plays. Now it was for real. She anticipated the lash with a mixture of fear and excitement.

She shook and held in a scream when she felt the first sting of the lash on her back, against her shirt.

The pain was real, almost unexpected, unlike the pain she caused herself during her self-flagellations, different from the pain she felt when she had a friend whip her timidly in one of those games she played.

This was the real thing and she knew that it was only the beginning. But that was also familiar. It was as if she knew how long and dreadful her ordeal would be.

She closed her eyes tightly and in her mind her surroundings changed. There was no metal base under her feet, she was dangling and the room was like a cave, except that there was an opening up in the top of the rocky wall and she could see the sky. It was night. She was hanging there and she knew why.

Piroska was not willing to serve her new master and the consequences of such defiance were visible on her skin.

She had been trained in the same way as the others, but she always made sure to let her trainer know that she would not submit to the wishes of those who murdered her parents. Her teacher tried to dissuade her of such a pernicious stand, but the young woman did not budge.

She lived like the others, sheltered in some way in what were the slaves quarters from where the Romans picked what they needed. Most of the women there went to serve in households, as house slaves, some were prepared for other duties such as serving in the house of the rulers. They were the special women, the most beautiful.

They were taught to read and write as well as some skills that would make them special to their lords. Such was the training Piroska was receiving.

But in addition to this training, her aunt, who was also her trainer, taught her to be a lady and to behave accordingly.

Red Feline felt the lash breaking through her garment, she felt a bit of cold air on the part of her skin that was covered before the lash went through the material, another lash, and then another, made the year in her shirt bigger.

She did not cry out, she could only moan softly, reacting to the pain, while trying to sort the million questions rushing through her mind.

"Was this possible?", she thought to herself as the lash ripped a bit more of her tight top, "Can this be happening?" Who is he? Is he real? Is he a ghost?".