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He used a wide leather strap like a flaming sword. Hardly before she could catch her breath the first twenty had blazed across her naked back leaving a swath of hurt that made her entire body burn.
“Please no!” she screamed, twisting inside the cuffs to no avail.
A moment later, a slap to her cheek and she opened her eyes on Jessup’s cruel face.
“Anything you’d like to say?”
“I can’t tell you what I do not know,” her plea was heartfelt and sincere, but he wasn’t budging from his stance.
He backed off, “Well see if forty will do what twenty could not.”
Col. Jessup moved around to her back side and began again, delivering the blows with skill that comes from plenty of practice. As he worked, his body felt a cruel satisfaction from the activity; the longer he laid on the hefty sentence, the more he relished the feelings generated by each measured strike.
The forty lashes dug in deeper. For a long while Jessup refused to change his aim, but then once her back was scorched with rising welts, he gave her some reprieve, dropping his aim to her thighs and calves until those places suffered as painfully.
“Oh, God, no! No! No!” she repeated again and again, her vicious cry rising up to fill the cell with sound.
She thrashed in angry rebuke, twisting and turning so violently that the lashing clipped her sides, even her belly when she turned nearly 180 degrees.
Jessup was right on that. “Enough!” He moved forward and stilled her with his hand.
Then moving to the winch that worked the pulleys, he raised Shelby’s body above the concrete floor. The strain pulled her shoulder muscles until she thought they might jerk from their sockets. “I’d suggest you exercise a little restraint if you want to stay in one piece,” he taunted her, his breath hot against her ear.
Her body heat rose with his awesome display of savagery.
“This will kill me!” she shouted.
“Oh, I doubt that.” He remained amused by her anguish.
Another twenty lashes came down against her back, then he moved to her front side and stared into her frightened eyes.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Please, have some mercy.”
“Mercy,” he chortled. “You expect me to be merciful. I’ve told you who I am, don’t doubt that, Ms. Ryan.”
Facing her with brutal determination, he picked up another, shorter strap and began to whip the tender skin of her thrust-out breasts.
“Yeeeeeeeeawwwwwwwww! Nonono!” Unable to control her physical response, she jerked erratically despite his warning, while her screams bounced off the walls, reverberating through the entire prison.
Lowering his aim to her belly and thighs produced the same anguished response from his helpless victim.
When finally the whipping stopped, Jessup moved to the side of the room and lowered her feet back to the ground. But he was on her again seconds later, snapping two clamps on her reddened nipples. From the clamps he dangled heavy weights. He then picked up a Billy club and began to work the head of it at the opening of her pussy.
“Well, I see you’re not dry,” he sneered.
He pushed a little and the head of the club moved inside the slickened space of her vagina.
“You’re making this too easy,” he taunted. “Maybe you like this too much. Is that is, Ms. Ryan?”
“No, you’re wrong.”
“Really?” He observed her with a careful eye. “What I think is that you are a real masochist. Could that be true?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t take me for a fool.” He jerked down on the nipple clamps to hear a genuine whimper, then a frightful shriek when she felt a whip slash against her back. Grueter had returned to the cell. “Maybe the bullwhip will make you talk,” Jessup proposed.
