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“As you’ve seen, I am a collector of implements of flagellation. Over time, I’m going to use many of them on you. Sometimes I’ll use them to punish you. Sometimes I’m going to do it just for fun. Because inflicting pain turns me on. So the last thing you want to do is give me an excuse.”
The horror of my new life explodes over me like a bomb, and I feel all my bravery washing away. I can’t stop staring at him, misery and fear painting my face.
He holds the stick up, turning it in his hands. “This is a cane. A barbaric method of chastisement. It’s still used in corporal punishment in many countries, including Singapore, Malaysia, and Saudi Arabia. Do you know why?”
I drag back a little bit of my courage and say something I know I’ll regret very soon. “No, but since you love the sound of your own voice, I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” I have to. I’m getting more and more frightened, and I’m afraid that soon I won’t have any more courage left, so I’ll use it while I still can.
He laughs, as if I’ve just said something terribly witty. “It’s used because it hurts like a bitch. The first few blows aren’t that bad, but then the skin starts to soften and it’s agony. I’ve trained in every kind of whip and cane. There’s a technique to it. You have to strike the areas where there’s fat and muscle, and avoid the bony areas to prevent permanent nerve damage. And the cane can decide how hard to strike. It’s the movement of the wrist, not the arm, that’s important, by the way.” He turns the cane over in his hand, admiring it. “This is one of the thicker canes. I prefer them to the thinner models. Thicker canes are less likely to break the skin, and they leave deeper bruising, which will give you something to think about for the next week or two.” He slaps it on his palm, and the sound makes me jump.
He laughs again, a warm, rich sound.The bastard laughs.
Fear is funny to him.
I hate him so much that I can’t believe the sheer force of my rage hasn’t killed him. My hate is a storm inside me, emptying me out and hollowing me with fury.
He moves forward, and I don’t resist as he spins me around to face the wall. When he tries to cuff my ankles, though, I kick him in the face as hard as I can. It’s like kicking a building. My foot bounces off, but his head doesn’t move at all.
“Five strokes for talking back to me at dinner. Five for spitting in my face. Five for kicking me.” And he captures and cuffs each ankle, leaving me secured, hand and foot.
I go rigid, bracing myself, but he waits so long that finally my muscles tire and I slump in my chains.
That’s when I hear something whistling through the air, and I don’t even have time to tense up again before I feel a crack across the top of my left butt cheek.
“One,” he says.
A split-second passes, and it’s the last moment of my life when I am ignorant of what real pain is. Then a slash of red-hot agony claws into my flesh. I thought it hurt when my stepfather whipped me with his belt. That was a gentle caress compared to this.
Joshua said the first few strokes weren’t that bad.Oh God, will it get even worse?This is a line of pure fire running across my skin. I buck and gulp in air. Before I even get the chance to scream, he strikes again. Another slash of fire is painted across my buttocks, crisscrossing the first. “Two.”
“Nooo!” I scream.
“Three.” He strikes the right cheek. I feel every blow as a lightning strike that never ends, burning and burning with eternal agony. I buck and howl, my legs jerking violently at the chains.
“Stop!” I shriek at the top of my lungs. It’s not the conscious part of my mind saying that; it’s the survival instinct of my maddened animal brain. I can’t throw my hands out to block the blows. I can’t run away. All I have is my weak, useless words.
Another crack across the right cheek. “Four.” Wildfire burns across my flesh.
“Stop, stop, stop!” My voice rises higher and higher until it’s nothing but a helpless squeak, with no force behind it.
There’s a long, long pause, and I’m sobbing, gulping for air. It’s agony waiting for the blow. When he hits me again, the strangled noise I make isn’t a word.
“That was the first five. For talking back to me.”
Oh God, ten more.
I can’t survive this.
“Please, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I’m really, really sorry!” I want to vomit as soon as I spit out the words.Why am I so weak?
“Irrelevant.” His vile voice rings out behind me.
And he resumes, this time with a rapid flurry of blows across each butt cheek, moving from top to bottom. He barks the numbers in staccato fashion. “Six, seven, eight, nine, ten!” As he finishes the last blow, I feel a wildfire roaring over my skin.
All I can do is howl wordlessly in agony now. It burns and burns without end. My entire ass feels as if someone drenched it in gasoline and set it aflame. My muscles clench and spasm, and I shake my ass from side to side in a frantic attempt to relieve some of the pain. I’m desperate to rub my burning flesh, but the brutal cuffs won’t let me.
He’s not hitting me anymore. We must be done. I have to believe that. He took mercy on me—he’ll spare me the final five. If I don’t believe that, I’m going to die. My body shakes with sobs, and I’m gasping so much that I feel lightheaded. I don’t know how much time goes by before he slides the cane along the wall, in front of my face.
“We’ll move on to your tits next. I like a riding crop for the tits. Kiss the cane and tell me thank you for punishing you.”
