He let the silk fall, exposing me. Close enough that I could see it when his pupils swallowed what little color his eyes possessed, black gaze fixed to my breasts. To the nipples puckered tight in the chill.
A beacon for a predator’s attention.
The silk pooled around my ankles when he turned. As if the rest of my nudity held no interest for a man of his stature.
And I squirmed, the chains tinkling above my head. Hands already going numb, I eyed the assortment of whips. Dread making my muscles lock up.
“There are several ways to train a slave,” he began, soft, as if we were engaged in polite conversation. “And it takes many years of practice to find a preferred method. But most agree a single tail whip is a dangerous chore. Of course, you already know this. You felt the true bite of a whip just this morning.” He stepped behind me, and I shivered as he traced a warm finger where the whip’s lash had been.
Had it only been this morning? I swallowed, the click of my throat audible in the hush.
“When you’ve trained as many slaves as I have,” he continued, “you begin to see the whip as the crude tool of an amateur.” He retrieved a small white bag from a shelf, ignoring the weapons laid out before me. “However, I’ve found the most effective punishment to be the combination of two vastly different things. This is a bag of rice,” he said, holding the open bag under my nose before dumping the contents on the floor at my feet.
He loosened the chain in the ceiling, giving my arms plenty of slack.
A frown creased my brows.
“Kneel,” he hummed, and thumbed my lower lip.
I sneered, deciding against obedience.
He smiled, dark eyes glittering. Seeming to enjoy my show of defiance, he pushed the hair back from my face, tangled his fingers in my caramel-colored locks, and pulled. Adding pressure to my scalp until I struggled to keep my head up or bow under pressure.
“Kneel,” he said again as if this were a game.
With my ankles bound to the bar, I had no way to ease myself into it. Thumping onto the scattered rice with a hiss of pain, I grunted. Tiny grains dug into my flesh, and no matter how much I shuffled, there was no comfortable position to be found. Struggling only made it worse. Drove the grains deeper.
Gasping, I dared to meet his eye, glaring with as much silent venom as I could muster.
“Uncomfortable, isn’t it?” He lowered himself, pressing too close. Making me taste the heat of his breath.
Teeth bared as sweat beaded on my brow, I almost smiled. No longer confused by his actions—this was indeed a cruel punishment.
Rising and selecting a whip with a braided leather pommel, he said, “It’s been a while since a slave of mine has needed a good whipping. Hope I haven’t lost my touch.”
An experimental crack of the whip made me flex in horrid anticipation.
And without giving me an instant to prepare or brace, the air whistled as he brought the whip across my back hard enough to make me yelp but not enough to lay open my skin. My back arched as I writhed against the pain, my every movement grinding grains of rice into the thin skin of my knees.
“One,” he said, and the air screamed again as he brought the whip down on the exposed skin of my bottom. “Two.”
I gasped through clenched teeth, determined to bear this punishment in silence. By the time he got to six, I was trembling, tears streaming down my face. The pain of each new lash compounding with those that had come before, giving me no chance to recuperate, the skin of my knees broken from constant struggling. But I was nothing if not stubborn, and I had completely focused on making it to ten, the assumption being my punishment could go no farther.
“Eleven,” he drawled in a dispassionate voice, and I knew then he intended to continue until I’d lost our little power struggle or I was beaten bloody.
“Stop,” I whispered, voice breaking. Worn too thin to bother hoping my accent wouldn’t be noticeable at this decibel.
He ran his hands over the bruised skin on my back, bottom, and thighs, making meburn.“Your name?”
I shook my head, moaning in pain. In fear.
“I can keep this up as long as you’d like, pet. Up to you.”
“I don’t remember!” I cried, panic flooding my system. Cold steel bit into my wrists as I fought with the ferocity of a trapped animal to free myself, aware I was wasting precious energy. Helpless to do anything but.
“You are a puzzle, aren’t you?” he hummed, stroking my hair back when I went still at last. Exhausted. Soaked in a cold sweat that stank of fear. “I don’t believe you, of course, but I’ve gotten everything I needed for tonight. Now, what do I expect when I ask a question?”
“An answer,” I whispered, disgusted by my weakness.
