He...he let me go.
His body heat stayed blistering and all-consuming behind, but he didn’t touch me.
Neither of us moved. I was too shocked to ask why.
Then, a noise hit my ears. A noise I wasn’t familiar with yet knewexactlywhat it was. Some primal part of me needed no confirmation, painting a vivid scene in my head of what Jethro was doing.
My heart sped up as the rhythmic sound grew louder. His breathing came short and sharp, sending my skin prickling with knowledge.
My mind filled with images of him. I pictured his head tossed back, his chest rising and falling, and legs spread for balance. I bit my lip as I let my imagination wander, bringing into focus his strong fingers wrapped around his cock, punishing himself with a grip that worked up and down, up and down. Faster and faster.
His breathing matched my sick daydream. My tummy clenched at the thought of him masturbating while I stood there prone, bleeding, and silent.
A soft groan decorated his harsh breathing as something hot and stinging splashed across my lower back.
Did he just—?
He moaned louder as another stream lacerated the cuts on my spine.
He grunted one last time as a torrid spurt marked my skin, seeping into my wounds like acid.
My eyes shot wide as my lips thinned in repugnance. Like some crazed beast, he’d marked me with his cum. He’d respected my plea and not taken me, but he’d had to service himself.
I shuddered in the cuffs as Jethro’s forehead landed on the base of my skull. “Fuck, you’re ruining me.”
The atmosphere changed instantaneously. It switched from abuse and debt payments to fragile and perplexed.
I couldn’t calm my heart or ignore the fiery sting of his cum on my wounds.
Wordlessly, Jethro stepped away. The faint sound of a zipper being refastened was the only sound apart from our tattered breathing.
Awareness slowly came back—I wished it wouldn’t.
Inch by inch, pain on top of pain made itself known. My muscles bellowed; my back hummed like a hundred bee stings. And the questions that bombarded me made nausea swirl with confusion.
Tears stole my vision as everything became too much.
The whipping.
Jethro’s desecration and confession.
It felt as if my skeleton had been ripped into view, hanging bony and stripped bare with every colliding thought on display. The licking flames of whiplashes stole the remainder of my energy.
I buckled, giving up all control to the cuffs.
I didn’t want to cry again.
I didn’t want to seem weak in front of the monster who’d not only hurt me but gotten off on it. He’d been turned on so much, he had to mark me with ownership. Like I was his territory—his possession.
No matter how much I wished I were stronger, I wasn’t. I couldn’t stop the tears rivering from my eyes or the hiccupping sobs building in my chest.
Softly, silently, the winch released, dropping my arms so I only remained standing by leaning against the post.
The buckles on my wrists were removed, cuffs no longer imprisoning.
Jethro’s touch was infinitely gentle and kind.
My legs gave a second warning before they collapsed from beneath me.
