“Shut up!”
“I’m not going to shut up,” he said, pointing a finger at me. “You didn’t only break our agreement. You also cheated on your shitty-ass loser boyfriend.” He went to his briefcase and unzipped it. “And why? What came out of it, but a lot of fucking hurt?”
“My life and my boyfriend are none of your business.”
“Maybe not. But I have you for another hour and fifteen minutes, and you’ve been a bad girl. A lying, conniving, two-timing bad girl.” He came at me with a pair of black clamps. “You have no integrity. That sucks. But maybe I can teach you the error of your ways.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked, shrinking back.
He took one of my tethered arms and held up the first of the intricate looking clamps, and worked it open and closed a few times in front of my eyes.
“No,” I said. “Please. No.”
I tried to get up but he had me by the arm. When I started fighting in earnest, he pushed me back on the bed and straddled my hips. My arms were crushed behind my back and my legs weren’t going anywhere. I watched helplessly as he tugged at my right nipple and opened the clamp’s jaw.
I didn’t scream when he applied it. It hurt too much for a scream. The sharp, biting pain went beyond screaming right to gasping for breath.
“Take it off,” I said shrilly.
“Hush.”
I bucked and flailed under him, but he was heavy and he had me pinned, and the second clamp went on, more painful than the first. When I cried out, he tugged the chain so they cinched even tighter, and jammed it up between my teeth.
“Bite this,” he ordered.
“No.” The pain was worse when I moved, so I’d gone still. My nipples felt like they were being gnawed off.
My refusal to cooperate earned me a slap to one of my aching breasts. “Bite the fucking chain. Keep it in your mouth. Otherwise I’ll keep hold of the chain, and you won’t like that.”
I snarled at him—and I’d never snarled at anyone in my life. The pain was that bad. But I opened my teeth and let him shove the cold metal chain between them.
“Good girl,” he said in a silky voice, staring down at me with elegant severity. I hated that my body responded to the approval in his gaze. Even through the pain and the helplessness, I felt some fleeting stab of joy. Which was quickly replaced by a fleeting stab of pain as I lifted my chin.
I dropped it back down and stared as he rose from the bed and returned to his briefcase. He reached inside and drew out a braided whip. It was only about the length of his forearm, but it looked sturdy enough to fuck me up.
I shook my head and moaned at the resulting nipple torture as he approached the bed. He grabbed my legs when I tried to kick him, and wrapped an arm around them, yanking them in the air. This, of course, left all my ass and pussy exposed, as well as the backs of my thighs. The marks from the bamboo rod had faded, but I remembered the pain.
“Don’t,” I begged through the chain. “Don’t. Don’t.” It sounded like duh, duh, duh, which was appropriate, because only a very stupid person would keep returning, week after week, to be tortured by this madman.
“Don’t lose your shit,” he said, looking down at me. “I can only leave those clamps on you for ten minutes or so before you start to suffer permanent damage. Your beating will be over before then.”
As he said it, he brought the whip down across the area where my ass met my thighs. I don’t know why it still shocked me every time, how much he could hurt me. My entire body arched in a panic. I jerked my hips and tried to escape his grip on my legs, but I only ended up hurting my nipples. Before I could come to terms with the slicing agony of the first stroke, he drew his arm back and hit me again, and again.
I started to keen against the chain, pathetic crying even as I fought to escape. He took such lazy pleasure in torturing me. He could have hit me harder, yes. He could have sliced me to ribbons, until I was a bloody mess, but he wasn’t a psychopath. No, just a pervert. He wanted my squirming and my panicked sounds and he knew this was how to get them. He wanted my features contorted in agony and my legs straining against his grip, and so he toyed with me, pausing between strokes, alternating hard ones and less hard ones. There were no soft ones with an implement like that.
After a couple dozen blows, I knew I couldn’t take it anymore. I spit out the chain and tried to explain it to him. No, oh, no, you can’t, no more, no more, no more, please, please. His response was to tug the chain until I screeched, and shove it back between my lips. I decided I’d better not do that again. How much longer until ten minutes? I felt the tip of the whip prod against my pussy.