Peter
watched Solly push Sal into the room. He almost failed to recognize her because
her usual clothes and makeup were gone. All that was left of the goth look was
Sal’s jet black hair, which currently looked disheveled, as though she’d been
dragged backwards through a hedge.
Sal hadn’t
a whisper of makeup left on her face. Peter thought she looked more beautiful
like that, but under the circumstances he wasn’t going to tell her. She wore a
nineteen sixties school uniform. It looked accurate except her pleated grey
skirt was way too short.
Peter was
particularly impressed by Sal’s school tie, replete with red and purple thick
diagonal stripes. Her blouse sported a left breast pocket with an embroidered
school badge on it. The badge included a rearing red dragon, which demonstrated
Han No’s attention to detail. Peter made a mental note to remember that, it
would undoubtedly be important in the future.
“Peter…”
Sal began, but Peter held up his hand in a gesture to shut up. Sal felt the
straightened herself up pulling her tie into its proper position before pushing
the ends of her blouse into the ridiculously short skirt. Peter noticed her
careful movements when she tucked in the back of her shirt and the flickers of
pain on her face.
“You sold
me out to Han No.” Peter stated. “The only way I could keep your father alive
was to send you back while making it clear to Han No that I still cared for
you. I ensured you remained a useful piece in the Game.”
Sal put
her hands out imploringly. “He had me caned,
Peter. They made me wear these clothes and put me in a room with a sadist in a
headmaster’s uniform, cap and gown, the whole thing. He said they’d kill my dad
if I didn’t obey him. It hurt, Peter, you’ve no idea how much it hurt.”
Sal burst
into tears. He stared at her, seemingly unmoved by her tale.
Peter had
a good idea how much her thrashing hurt. He wore a couple of scars on his
buttocks from his session with the Commandant. Corporal punishment had always
been a significant feature of Establishment schooling.
“Look for
yourself!” Sal exclaimed angrily when Peter didn’t respond to her words or
tears. She lifted up her skirt and pulled down her blue knickers. She turned
and lifted up her micro skirt and bent over to give him a good view.
‘Obviously someone who takes pride in his work,’ was Peter’s first thought as he
observed the finely spaced red and purple lines covering Sal’s bottom from the
top of her cheeks down to her thighs. He mentally winced at the level of pain
inflicted, but kept his face stiff and unyielding. He needed to be able to
trust Sal but he was far from sure he could.
Sal pulled
up her knickers carefully, making sure the elastic didn’t touch her skin. She
was shocked by Peter’s lack of reaction.
London Gothic by John Booth
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