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Perhaps, after asking how far he has got, I will casually double the lines he must write, or pick up the sheaf of scribbled papers and tear them up, instructing him to begin again in a colour more to my liking.

These are both much more likely than an act of mercy on my part – and he knows it.

His heart may leap when I enter the room, only to fall into despair when I pick up some item or other and leave him to his fate.

He knows in his heart of hearts that this is the most likely outcome.

And that hope, my dear, transforms what might be merely a tedious and unpleasant but inevitable night of discomfort into something quite unbearable. Because he can never resign himself completely to the inevitable while hope remains.

Of course, that hope rests on the most slender thread imaginable.

And yet, later in the punishment, his breathing hoarse as he has little left from screaming, I might ask him again and his heart will leap anew at the thought that I might yet let him off even the few remaining slashes from that dreadful cane and he will beg and plead for me again.

Of course, he knows the chance is always vanishingly small.

Well, let me quote John Cleese’s character in the film Clockwise: “It’s not the despair, Laura. It’s the hope I can’t stand.” You see, Mistress Scarlet, there will be other occasions on which skivvy is sitting at his desk, facing a numbingly tedious written imposition stretching impossibly late into the night. His hand aching, his buttocks numb from sitting on the hard stool, his mind a whirl with the humiliation of being unable to escape this mind-numbingly tedious and thoroughly pointless task.But while he still has hope, there is always a chance for him to pray for silently, and the crushing of that hope when I dash it, Mistress Scarlet, more than makes up for those rare occasions when I have to act against my nature and extend the little swine any mercy.Consider the skivvy strapped across the whipping bench, receiving a good dose of the cane. If I am simply to carry on regardless of his answer, then some formulaic sobbed “I’m so sorry Mistress” might be as good a response as any other.Without hope, I believe, I would have a shambling zombie of a servant to abuse – shambling from chore to punishment and back again in a constant state of degradation and defeat.With it, I have a human being: beaten and subjugated, to be sure, not much of a human being, but as there is always that glimmer of spirit, there is a spark of humanity there.

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I do note that in order to succeed Lady Jessica’s technique requires a continuing regime of very harsh endurances for her skivvy , but there is nothing wrong with that!

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