The men lined up and were suddenly nervous enough to fall into an uncomfortable silence, complete with determined stares at their feet, or the wall, or whatever was *not* another person. They didn't notice a different but no less draining nervousness in their would be tormentor, but Quentin assuredly did. It made him sneer approvingly. He could of course have sorted a less dramatic punishment, or dealt with it himself, but this was for Zoey's sake more than theirs. She was squirming, and that was perfect as far as the master of the household was concerned. The less comfortable she became - the more he could keep her on her toes - the better.<br/><br/>He wandered over to her and his eyes fell to the implement she'd picked. It would do so, after a moment looking over her covered but tightly outlined body for a moment, he stepped aside. "Go ahead. Don't hold back, else you'll have to bear the difference. And for god's sake don't let *them* see you tremble." He stayed close enough to murmur both encouragement and advice, but out of the way.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>