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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!”
“Well, hell. Maybe you’re not as slow a learner as I’d pegged you to be.” I tossed the crop onto the bed and adjusted the crotch of my pants. Her mouth fell open, and her eyes widened as she watched. “Now don’t move.”
I looked her over, checking for bruises, finding several, all of which seemed to be a few days old. No fresh cuts, nothing that needed anything other than time to heal. Although time was limited.
Turning her, I touched the imprint of the shoe on her side. She hissed when I pressed. “You must have pissed someone off.” I chuckled.
“He didn’t appreciate my knee in his crotch.”
I laughed outright. “I like a girl with some fire,” I said as I slid my fingers into the waistband of her panties. “These have to go.”
She struggled violently until I smacked her ass with the flat of my hand. “I said don’t fucking move.”
“Please.”
“That won’t work every time, honey.” I tugged them off, watching them drop to the floor. Gia squeezed her legs together, clenching her ass as she tried to get away from me.
“Please,” she tried again.
I dug my fingernails into her hips to keep her still. “Do you need the crop to stop fucking moving?”
“No! Just don’t…please don’t—”
I felt her struggle to stop moving, and I knew what she was afraid of. I knew exactly what she was afraid of.
“Still.” My voice came as a low, dark warning.
She shuddered in my grasp and hung her head, her breathing loud and uneven.
That was when my thumb rubbed against a thick scabbing of skin. It was about two inches all around and when I pressed against it, she sucked in a breath. I leaned down to have a closer look. The circular scar stood on the side of her left hip. It was an intentional marking, a burn.
“What’s this?”
She just made a sound.
“What is it?” I asked again after smacking her other hip.
“He didn’t exactly bother telling me when he fucking branded me.” She swallowed a loud sobbing breath.
I straightened. It couldn’t have been more than a few days, maybe a week old. I’d see what it was once the scab healed. In the meantime, I had work to do.
