She didn’t answer, but her body began to tremble. She squeezed her eyes shut. I watched as tears rolled down her cheek.
“Understand?” I asked again, trailing my fingernails up her back and splaying them beneath the heavy veil of hair at the base of her skull, ready to grip and tug and hurt.
She nodded quickly.
“Good.”
I abruptly stepped back. She almost fell but caught herself. She remained standing as she was, her back to me, her forehead against the wall. Her hands moved, wiping her cheeks.
“Turn around.”
It took her a moment. She moved slowly, keeping as much space between us as she could, keeping her bound hands raised so they covered her breasts.
Defiant eyes met mine, the green shining bright in contrast to her dirt-smeared face. There was something about her. Not once in the dozen girls I’d trained had I ever felt anything but emptiness, a space between me and them. The girls, they weren’t even human to me. It was easier that way. They were things. A means to an end. That end being me sinking deeper into depravity, so deep I’d never see the light of day again.
I steeled myself and let my gaze roam over her. She shivered, and I knew it wasn’t the cold that made her shudder.
“Raise your arms over your head. There’s a hook there. There are many throughout the room.”
I watched as she scanned the room. Her eyes would have adjusted to the dim light, so she’d see at least the outline of what I was talking about. Chains had been fitted to the ceiling in various spots. Overkill maybe, but like I said earlier, I liked fucking with them, and imagination was often worse than reality. Attached to these chains were large hooks, like meat hooks. When I needed to, I used them to secure the girls.
“You’ll have to stand on tiptoe to slide the ring at the center of your restraints onto the hook. Do it.”
Her chest moved as her breathing came in short gasps while her gaze traveled around the room again before finally coming to rest on the one over her head.
I walked over to the locked chest and took the key from my pocket. “I already told you, I don’t like to repeat myself,” I said as I bent to unlock it. I raised the lid, taking out what I needed. This was the usual. Gia was no different than the others. They always had trouble obeying at first.
I put the lid down and held the crop close to my leg so she wouldn’t see it. When I reached her, I took one of her wrists and raised both arms to secure her on the hook.
“No.”
She immediately started trying to free herself. It was futile, but what the hell. She could wear herself out. I already knew she’d be a slow learner. The fighters always were.
“Yes,” I said, moving around her.
She tried to follow me but on tiptoe, she was slower. I wondered if she even saw the first strike come because at the sound of leather striking flesh—a sound my sick brain loved—she sucked in a breath and went stock-still.
“Do I have your attention?” She tried to turn this way and that, wriggling to lean away. I raised my arm again and this time, struck the side of her hip.
“Stop!” she cried out.
I gripped her arm, turned her to face away from me, and brought it down three more times over her still panty-clad ass.
“Please! It hurts!”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
I struck again, this time spinning her to face me and marking the fronts of her thighs.
She screamed. I wondered how much of that was shock, although the crop could sting like a motherfucker, and I wasn’t being gentle. No sense in coddling them.
“More?” I asked.
“No!”
I laid one more stripe across her thighs anyway. “No, what?”
“No, please, no!”
