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“Has she given you
any trouble?” Miles asked.
“She’s testing well,” Damien replied.
“Why don’t you use the baton on her pussy, that faltering shouldn’t go unpunished,” he said coldly.
“Can we watch?” one of the women asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Miles told them turning around to usher them out, “perhaps another time.”
Tessa was relieved, though not for long. When the door was closed again, Damien pulled out a stool and made her lie back with her legs open.
“The cuts the bitch gave you hardly show,” he observed, looking down at her exposed pussy. He slashed her hard against her pierced labia.
“Aaaaeessshhhhhhhhh,” she whimpered.
The baton sizzled again, and hit her on the other side, just catching the side of her clit, where the ring appeared to protect her this time. Another cut was laid directly in the crease of her groin, on flesh so tender that she couldn’t help the biting cry that rose from her mouth.
“Ahh, ah ah noooooooo!” she exclaimed aloud.
Another cut found its target on the tip of her clit. This time she shrieked vociferously. Her hips bucked angrily against the stool—she wanted nothing more than to bolt from the room and Damien’s nasty baton; but she knew that would bring Miles’ wrath on her in ways far worse than this thrashing. “I’m doing this for Miles”, she repeated to herself. There was no reason she would endure this on her own—the pain and humiliation were far too cruel to engage her lust.
The final cut from the baton landed viciously across her tits. Surprising her, she tumbled off the stool, landing clumsily on the floor. She felt like a fool, forgetting all her submissive training, and looking up at Damien wondered what reaction would ensue. He didn’t seem bothered by her deportment. Perhaps he knew how much he hurt her and that was excuse enough.
“I’m sure Miles will want you in the dining room,” he finally said, staring at her coldly. “I’d suggest you not tarry with your primping. There’s a private bath through that door.” He pointed to the side of the room, then nodded to her as he collapsed the baton and replaced it in his suit pocket. Without so much as another glance, he left the room.
Before Tessa had a chance to rise, Miles entered, this time alone. He looked at her miserable, trembling body. “My, look at this; he’s replaced Martine’s faded cuts.”
“It hurts like hell,” she said, her annoyance surfacing.
“You do look a bit worse for wear, Tessa,” Miles remarked. It was actually a friendly comment, though Tessa wasn’t in a friendly mood.
“And I should be,” she blurted out.
“Rattled?” he asked.
“This is the most absurd thing I’ve ever seen,” she charged at him. “These people are like ghouls, watching as if I were some sort of bauble being brutalized for art’s sake, and their perverted pleasures. Is this what I am?” she asked angrily.
“Is it? You tell me. What are you today that you weren’t yesterday?”
“I didn’t like it at all Miles,” Tessa ignored his implication. “Your friend is creepy.”
“Creepy!” he laughed.
“Odd, strange, bizarre,” she fought for another adjective.
“Bizarre? Yes. But he’s harmless.”
“Not with those eyes, or with that baton.”
“There are women would have given anything for the pleasure you had from Damien today.”
“And what makes him so special?”
“Only what you believe makes him special. If temporal power is important to you, he owns a great deal of that.”
“I don’t give a shit about who he is,” Tessa said. Her anger was only beginning to quell. “Besides it wasn’t just him, it was those fiendish women. I’d rather have Martine dominating me any day, than those bitches hovering around me as though I were their pet.”
