Tammy found that the only part of her body that could move was her head. If she strained she could lift her head from the table a few inches. She could even turn her face from side to side a little bit. But the little girl quickly discovered that this took so much energy that it was not worth it.

The man then crossed the large torture chamber to the wall where his many whips were displayed. He had whips of four and five lashes. The leather lashes also had varying knots tied in them. Some of the lashes had been soaked in a special brine solution so that they would mark the skin upon impact.

Tammy knew her ass cheeks would never look the same. From that point on – for the rest of her useless life – her ass would bear the marks of Bernard Cornfield's whip. She tried to preserve her dignity. She said a silent prayer.

She did not want to grovel. She did not want to shame herself by crying out with the pain. She prepared to bite her fleshy bottom lip in an attempt to stifle her inevitable exclamations of agony.

The man chose his most vicious whip.

It had a leather handle molded to fit Bernard's hand.

The whip was of the five-lash variety and soaked in brine. He knew that this whip – when used properly – caused more pain than any of his others.

He wasted no time.

Once he had the whip in his palm he moved to the side of the torture table. He could see the girl's muscles jerking with her dread. He gripped the handle of the whip so hard that each and every one of his knuckles turned even whiter than they were already. He was right-handed.

Bernard raised his right arm high over his head at that point.

He then brought the whip down as hard as he could and jerked upward with his strong wrist at the last second to crack the lashes.

Crack!