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“You don’t need to know, because I do,” he says with that calm, savage confidence. “I know what you need, Tarni, and I am going to look after you now, just as I looked after you before.”
He extends a hand to me, and I know that taking it means submitting to the pain he is talking about. I hesitate, and then I reach back. He guides me up from the pilot’s chair, and leads me back to one of the cabins, choosing the larger one, because he will need room to punish me.
I trail behind him, almost wanting to dig my feet in and make him pull me. I want to act as though this is against my will, and that I do not consent. But I asked for this. I practically begged for it. I am finally going to get what I have coming, and I know all too well what that is.
“Take that thing off,” he says, gesturing to the prison garb I still wear. “I do not like it on you. It does not suit you one bit.”
I am hesitant to make myself naked in front of him, which seems ridiculous given that I have been naked before him so many times.
I had not thought about how this attire feels on me. On consideration, it feels right, because it is the garb of a criminal and a traitor, and I am both those things.
“Off, Tarni.”
Hearing my name in his mouth in a stern tone jolts me into action. I obey his order, drawing down the zipper on the overalls and letting them peel off me like a second skin. His golden eyes fall on me.
“You have always been beautiful,” he says. “It is a great pity to have to mark you in punishment. Lie down on this bed and present yourself.”
Again, I obey. I asked for this, so disobeying now would be nothing more than another sign of deception and untrustworthiness. I lie down on the bed, closing my eyes as I do, which changes nothing because I couldn’t see him anyway. All I can see is the cool linen of the bed, starched with military precision. It’s comfortable, and I feel bad about that because it feels as though it shouldn’t be. I don’t deserve any comfort. I….
I scream as a blazing harsh lash lands across my ass. Kail has never purposefully caused me pain before, and the breaking of that barrier hurts almost as much as the physical blow, which is swiftly repeated again and again, lashing harshly. I cannot see what he is using, but the sensation suggests something thick, flexible, and strong.
I have to draw breath deeply to keep my composure. I don’t want to thrash and scream. I don’t want to beg for mercy, because I do not deserve mercy. I deserve this.
Eventually it is impossible to stop myself from crying out. Kail shows me no quarter. He whips me as I deserve to be whipped, hard, fast, and at a steady pace without ceasing.
I throw myself into the abyssal heat and pain. I feel my mind start to fuzz and my body begin to react in new ways, absorbing and accepting the pain, melting around it.
“More,” I sob when he lays down the lash. “I deserve more.”
“If I give you any more, you will bleed,” he says. “And that is something I am not prepared to do to you, no matter what you have done. We will resume your punishment later. For now you have taken all I will give.”
Kail
She would gladly let me kill her. In such a state, punishment is nothing but playing into her guilt. She loathes herself to protect herself against my loathing. She wants me to hurt her, because she fears me hurting her. Animal instincts are twisted up in this lying human, woven in such a way as to make her crave what she should avoid.
I have reddened her rear, but it is not enough. I have to talk some sense into her as well. “I need you to get your self-preservation back, and quickly. If we are going to survive out here, we need to protect ourselves.”
“I didn’t protect you,” she whimpers with reddened eyes.
“Of course you did. I was barely captured before you released me. You suffered a longer imprisonment than I did, and that was because I had to develop a plan of attack. I understand you feel bad, but you feel much worse than I do.”
“You do? You don’t hate me?”
“I told you I did not hate you.”
“I thought you were just saying that to be polite.”
“I am not someone who says things to be polite.”
“That’s true.”
“I forgive you.” I try to reassure her, but she cannot process forgiveness.
“You’re only forgiving me because otherwise you’re afraid I’ll wallow in self-pity and get us both killed.”
I growl. “You are the most… I forgive you because we were enemy actors. Both of us. Have you forgiven me? I intended you harm.”
She makes a face. “But you didn’t, though.”
