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If the waitress had arrived at the moment I had finished, I might have made it back to work unscathed. But I wasn’t the only one on lunch break, and by the time she arrived, my internal struggle had been won by the enemy. As soon as she handed me back the change, I picked up my purse and raced down the street and into the narrow alley next to the shoe shop. “Fuck!” Why had this stuff to taste so good? I got slightly dizzy from it, and leaned back against the wall. I was in deep shit, and I knew it. I made it through the afternoon, albeit barely. But when I about to leave, Joelle caught me in the locker room. She didn’t look pleased. “Joelle?” I greeted her, and my voice couldn’t hide my nerves. “I’m sorry, Miranda,” she said, and panic tightened its tentacles around my chest. “We’ve had a complaint today.” “I’m sorry! It was just once, over lunch break. I swear, I’ll manage!” “I know. Still, I can’t have you working here until you can go through the day without smoking. You know. Finally I stepped back and Susan traded her cat for the long single tailed whip. She cracked a couple of practice strokes over each man, causing each to cringe and a few teasing calls from the assembled watchers, especially the women. I should mention that von Holt's three women were right there in the front rank with the native girls. They did not take advantage of their status to force their way to the front, but all three clearly showed the same interest as the several native women who were closely watching the three men.Suddenly the whip in Susan's hand flew forward. A loud slap of leather on flesh was accompanied by a sharp male cry and a dark line across already reddened buttocks. She delivered six to each man, leaving six stripes on each bare rear. Then she stopped and quietly said something to two of the native women from the front rank of watchers. They giggled and ran inside the shed, to return in a minute. They went to the sides of the benches and I saw that each had.
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