The Tocker explained: "Each stroke in the drawing corresponds to a real stroke administered during the sitting. The artist, known only as The Scribe, works in real-time. The graphite is the paddle. The paper is the flesh. Droo-Cynthia does not flinch. But the paper does."

— End feature —

GALLERY QUARTER, THE UNDERMIND — The invitation arrived not on paper, nor vellum, nor screen, but as a slight, warm sting on the back of the left thigh. That is how one knows: The Spankers have noticed you.

And indeed, looking closely, you see the grain of the paper is bruised—pressed so hard in places that the fibers have split. The drawing is a scar.

This is where the gallery becomes uncomfortable—deliberately so. Drawing 153–23–09, "Over the Armchair of Revision" , shows Droo-Cynthia draped across a Victorian bergère. Her face is turned toward the viewer. She is not weeping. She is counting. Her lips form the number fourteen .

The largest work in the show, "The Gallery Watches the Gallery" (153–23–17), is a panoramic mural done in sanguine and sepia. It depicts this very gallery. In the mural, a crowd of faceless patrons stands before a drawing of Droo-Cynthia. But inside that drawing, a smaller Droo-Cynthia stands before a mirror. And inside the mirror, a tiny Tocker points at the viewer.

She folded the newspaper carefully. "The spankings are choreography. The visibility is the actual punishment." She stood, turned her back to me, and lifted her shift just above the knee. There were no marks. No welts. Only faint, intersecting lines—like longitude and latitude.