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The stripes began to shine on his rump. The pattern had started to form. Suddenly this was no longer a boy's belt. It was a
cat o'nine tails taming an unruly mid-shipman. It was a flog forcing a confession out of a medieval backslider. It was
justice punishing every male offender in the world.
Merkel:"Silence! You'll suffer just as long and as much as I decree, my captive. Now stay down there, dog, and TAKE IT!"
Hollande:"Merkel, STOP! I can't take any more pain. It hurts so ..."
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Her strength seemed to increase rather than fade. A quiet joy suffused her entire being as Hollande's rump turned the color
of a sunset. His head dropped to the ground, a gesture of total, abject surrender.
Hollande: "I'm yours, Merkel. I'm what ever you want me to be. I'll do whatever you say. But .... Oh! ... Oww! Please, I
don't think I can stand another ... OUCH!"
Merkel:"You can stand more, Hollande. MUCH MORE! You see my canine companion, you just don't have any choice."
Hollande:"I know, I know. But how it hurts. Ooooh, Ooooh!"
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This was JOY! A knowledge she had never hoped to know. To be absolute supreme. To have complete power, life and death
control. To make a man continue to know pain long after he had passed what he thought was its final threshold. Then at long
last, satisfaction. When he stopped protesting, Merkel didn't know, but there came a time when Hollande just laid on the ground
quiet and unprotesting, no longer caring, no longer feeling. Merkel found herself breathing heavily and she stood watching the bruised, silent body.