Let's try the truth!

"Sir, I... I went for a swim. I wanted to be clean for you, Sir, and so I went back to that pond and had a swim, and I fell asleep by the pond, Sir. That's the honest truth, Sir, I didn't mean to disrespect you."

You wait. Patrick seems to be thinking about what you said. Suddenly, he reaches down to where you're kneeling in front of him, and he grasps your left breast. You gasp, surprised at his sudden boldness, but you don't turn away. Patrick fondles your other breast. He runs his hand down your belly and over your back before straightening up. You hold your tongue as you wait for his judgment.

"Your dress is dry."

"I'm sorry, Sir?"

"You said you went for a swim. But your dress is dry."

"Yes, Sir, I..." Then it hits you. There's no getting out of it now. "I... took off my dress when I went swimming."

The boys howl with laughter and tears flood your eyes. This is going horribly wrong.

"You exposed yourself in public, with no one around to protect you?" Patrick whispers. "Boys," he says louder, "this is not how a woman behaves. This is how a _whore _behaves!"

"What? No, I--"

"Shut up, whore!" he shouts at you. "You are disgusting! I leave you alone for a few hours, and you strip yourself naked and flaunt yourself to every Tom, Dick, and Harry who passes by? What a filthy, sex-crazed whore. You don't even care who sees your body, do you, whore? You want everyone to come have a piece of you, is that right?"

"No, Sir, I just wanted to be clean--"

"Maybe," Patrick says. "But if that is so, then why didn't you clean our tents! You pampered yourself and scrubbed yourself and made your body fresh and supple, but our sleeping quarters are as untidy and unattended as we left them. You are selfish, and you are bad, and you deserve to be punished!"

You are fully crying now, your tears coming in heavy sobs.

"On your feet!" Patrick yells, and you quickly obey, holding your aching, empty stomach. "Now, since you're such a nasty, sex-hungry whore, you're going to act like one. Take off that white dress. It belongs on a woman, not on a slut."

"Please, Sir...." you beg, but when he raises his hand to strike you, you whimper and fall silent. You pull the straps off your shoulders and slide the dress off your body. It was going so well... you tell yourself. But you know it was never true.

"Boys," Patrick calls over the whistles and catcalls of the eight teenagers. "It's time you learned the difference between a woman and a whore."