The whip and gingerbread

Evie clenched the belt of his trousers in his teeth as he was tossed up and down, a large metal plaque jingled fervently. He was lying on the bed and when he had a free moment to catch his breath and breathe properly, he contemplated the flowered wallpaper. Beautiful. Then, without warning, another searing blow would roll all over his body and he would drop his head back onto the pillow, bite into the leather belt, but it was beyond his strength to restrain the muffled screams. Each time, Evie forcefully, instinctively clutched the edge of the heavy goose blanket in his hand. It hardly made it any easier. At the moment when the whip only touches the skin, the pain is not felt at all, only a burning warmth, but it comes very soon. When the back is covered with red stripes and the whip hits old (and not so old) wounds, the pain is many times greater than usual — Alyona, have I behaved badly? I won't do it anymore, I promise. – He will finally give up and Alyona will still think about whether to believe his words. Evie was sitting in the kitchen, bathed in warm lamplight. It's dark outside the window. It's past one o'clock in the morning. He drinks black tea with lemon trimmings. The freshly stripped back is still burning with pain. Alyona puts a plate of peppermint gingerbread on the tablecloth-covered table.