Laverne threw back her head and took a deep draught of the late, spring air, smelling sweetgrass and hyacinths. She exhaled steam. The night before had been clear and cool, almost frosty, and the dew was heavy on the grass, but the sun promised warmth soon. She relaxed in the saddle, feeling the gentle trot of the horse under her. When the line from the saddle horn went taut, she turned and shouted over her shoulder. “Come on, Lazybones! If you don’t keep up, I’ll drag your ass!”

Muffy was bathed in sweat as she staggered wearily along. Her wrists, wrapped in rough rope, were extended before her. The other end of the rope was tied to the saddle horn of the trotting horse. Her legs were damp with dew, and strands of grass had snagged between her toes. At first, when Laverne tethered her to the saddle and mounted the horse, it had seemed only a cruel jest, an impossible demand. Then Laverne kicked her horse into a trot and rode off without a backward glance. The rope jerked the captive’s wrists out in front of her, and Muffy quickly realized how earnest the game was. She had run as though her life depended on it, up stony slopes and through fields where the skeletal remains of old thistles whipped at her bare legs, stumbling, off balance, her lungs burning.

Laverne had thrown on a jacket this morning before setting out, but still shivered slightly as she regarded the naked girl being towed in her wake. Laverne was a muscular mulatto with straight, dark hair and large bones. Her beauty was a terrible thing, like the beauty of a tiger or a hurricane. The victims entrusted to her care needed a single look into her cold eyes to know themselves lost.

Muffy had been covered with goose bumps when they first set out, her nipples chilled till they had become hard, little buttons, but after the first mile, she had run herself warm. Laverne reined in the horse at the creek, under the shade of a huge, old willow with drooping limbs, and slipped from the saddle. With the line between them finally slack, Muffy dropped to her knees in the grass, gasping. Laverne stood over her, looking down with contempt. “I’ll expect you to do better tomorrow, butterball.”

Muffy didn’t have the breath to answer her. She only whimpered when Laverne untied the rope from the saddle horn and jerked her to her feet. “Break time is over.”

Laverne tossed the line over a tree limb and hauled on it until Muffy was forced to stand on her toes to ease the strain on her sore wrists. Then she tied the end of the rope off to the tree trunk. Muffy blew her damp bangs out of her eyes and watched warily as Laverne used a pocketknife to cut a switch from the willow.

“Yesterday,” said Laverne, “I had to beat your ass before you would give me head. Today I’ll just start right out with the ass whuppin’ and save time.”

Laverne continued to strip leaves one at a time…
Muffy’s eyes grew wide as she listened, but her sobbing stopped…

The branch was bare now. Laverne positioned herself behind her prisoner… standing a moment enjoying the unmarked canvas before her, fascinated by a slow trickle of sweat that was making its way across Muffy’s sacrum, tracing a diagonal path down toward the cleft of her buttocks. She was warm now, but would soon become clammy as her sweat dried. Chilled flesh would be stiffer and more sensitive.

The last blow was delivered with such savage force that the wand shattered. Laverne discarded the tattered stub and circled her captive slowly. When she was standing in front of Muffy again, she took the sobbing girl’s face gently in her hands and whispered softly. “You don’t have to bullshit me. You are free to be yourself here. Confess and be healed.” …