She starts.

The first strike lands across his back, the long tails wrapping slightly around his ribs.

Then another. And another.

She is moving fast.

Her control is insane—every swing is fluid, precise, effortless.

She doesn’t pause.

duckie’s voice is coming rapid-fire, barely keeping up as the blows fly by.

“Twenty!”

She is spinning, twisting with each swing, the flogger whipping across his shoulders and back.

“Thirty!”

It’s a blur of motion—she moves like a ninja with those things.

“Forty!”

duckie is drenched in sweat, breathing hard, but still counting.

“Fifty-four for Madam, thank you, Madam!”