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He derives a real pleasure from these words I speak, these tears I cry, my total despair kneeling at his feet. He seems to get the kind of satisfaction from this that most men get from a blow job.
I flinch when he starts to stroke my hair.
He reaches down, takes my hands in his, and pulls me to stand. Then he spins me around so that my back is pressed against his front, so that I'm exposed, facing Seven. He holds my throat in a possessive grip with one hand as the other moves slowly over my body—as though he's displaying a pretty object he intends to sell for the right price.
“Look at her,” he says to Seven. “She’s so fucking perfect. Already she's so perfect. You will soon come to appreciate all the work I'm doing. Watch her.” Then he whispers in my ear. “Look at him. Do you see the lust? He's not your hero. Remember that, Pretty Toy. Remember that when he goes dark. Because he will.”
There’s anger at our captor in Seven's eyes, but beneath that I do see it. I see the lust. I see the animal way he wants me. One side of him wants to break free of these chains and protect me—and he does make a valiant effort as he pulls on them with all the strength he has. But the shadow inside him wants to feed.
“Now, I need you to be a very good girl for me and go stand next to your chains facing the wall. It's time for your punishment.”
“Please,” I whimper. I'm falling apart in his arms. I can barely hold myself up as the terror of that cane grips me.
“Shhhh,” he says, “I'm very pleased with your begging.” He cups his hand against my mound, pulling me back against him. I feel his hard length pressing into my bare skin through his pants. “You've earned some mercy. Now go, before you lose it again.”
He releases me, and I stumble a few steps forward. Seven reaches out and catches me. His thumb strokes over my arm—a barely perceptible gesture of comfort. I look away from his gaze, right myself, and go to the other end of the cell, turning to face the wall.
When our captor comes to me, he's collected the cane and the silver key. I think I may hyperventilate as he unlocks the shackles and locks my wrists into them. These are smaller than Seven's for much smaller wrists—like mine.
“Press your hands flat against the wall, up near your face to support yourself,” he growls in my ear. “And do not move them. You're getting five.”
I whimper as he slowly and gently drags the tip of the cane over my back. I find myself arching toward these soothing pleasurable sensations, but then he pulls away.
The pain from the first strike across my ass makes all of my nerve endings cringe, trying desperately to escape his reach. The instrument he just used to give me comfort has transformed back to its true form—a thing to be feared. My scream bounces off the walls of the cell. There’s no way I can handle four more of these.
“M-master, please...”
“Ooops. I promised you some mercy. I forgot. It's so easy to forget rules. I'm sure you can relate.” His voice drips with acid.
“I'm sorry! I swear I'll never speak his name again.” It pains me to say this because I really like the sound of Seven's name on my lips. When I forget it's a number, the simple sound of it is comforting and sensual, like a far more sophisticated and worldly Kevin.
“Good girl,” my master says.
The next four strikes are tolerable but still leave their searing impression into my flesh. Tears slide down my cheeks in response to each harsh kiss of the cane. My body trembles, but I can handle it. It doesn't feel like the world is on fire. It doesn't feel like I am on fire.
This time he keeps his word and stops after the fifth strike. He leans the cane against the wall and begins to carefully rub the welts he left. Then he's kneeling behind me, his tongue trailing over them, causing me to shudder against his warm questing mouth. He presses a kiss against my skin and rises.
“You will be a good girl from now on, won't you?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Good.” He presses his hand between my legs and chuckles. “I knew you would be wet for me after your punishment.”
He strokes between my legs for a moment. I try not to grind against his hand, but I fail. He stops, only needing to make the point that my body belongs to him whether or not my mind has fully caught up yet.
He unlocks the shackles, and I slide bonelessly to the floor, leaning against his leg for support. But he’s far from done with me. I feel the energy in him change, and I brace myself for whatever is coming next.
I chance a glance at Seven. He looks broken, like he was the one who just got caned.
“Let's play a different game,” he says. “Today it's lady's choice. I can fuck you while Seven watches, or I can give him a punishment to spare you this indignity.”
“I'll take the punishment,” Seven says without hesitation even though he just truly healed from the last one.
“Are you a lady? I wasn't asking you. That's not how this game works. She gets to choose.”
I bite my lip, willing myself not to cry anymore. I hate how much I cry now, how weak and fragile I've become in so short a time. He steps away from me, and I manage to catch myself, my hands bracing against the floor.
I look up and his cold gray gaze settles on me. He knows what I'll choose. I can't let him beat Seven. I can't choose for him to beat Seven. He already took a punishment to spare me.
