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The next strike was a sharp snap against my ass, right side, then left, then back and forth so fast I couldn't believe he could move like that. Maybe there were two of them. Maybe he'd brought in more people. Maybe that meant they didn't have guns trained on me and maybe then–
But the ropes were holding, I could barely move. I heard myself making a grunting sound with every blow. I'd lost count of the volleys of strikes, each hot and sharp, the sting radiating out.
I might have started to go numb but he changed sides, going after the left side of my ass, and now the timing wasn't certain. Where he'd had almost a rhythm going, now I didn't know when the strikes were going to fall. I couldn't even sense movement, no shadows, nothing.
I just stood there, jolting everywhere when the crop struck. After half a dozen or more he went after the thigh, beating it with the crop until I thought I'd come unhinged, then suddenly it all broke off. I could feel tears rolling down my face, and I turned my head to where I thought he was standing behind me.
That's when the first strike fell across my left breast.
His guards all but carried me out of the room I'd never completely seen. They wrapped my arms over their shoulders after Cole had draped a robe around me, cutting me down one arm at a time so I could hang on to the guards. The blindfold wasn't removed until I was free of the room.
I wanted to see what was in there. I wanted to know what else he had planned. There was probably no way to prepare for anything like that but if I couldn't take it, if I just couldn't bear it, what did I do now? I'd signed an agreement.
He'd paid money for me to a man who didn't own me and now he considered me his property.
If that was considered an actuality, my signing an agreement would definitely be binding in his opinion.
He had the muscle to enforce that opinion.
In the morning I'd felt so good, so free of the addiction and like even if there was more withdrawal to come, I could do it. I was on the road to a new life.
Now I just wanted to curl up somewhere.
… with someone.
That was the horrible truth. That was the one thing I'd never admit, never tell him. He seemed to think now the tables were turned and I'd been brought back, that I had no say in the matter.
He'd find out that wasn't true. I didn't want him and I wouldn't have him. He was a sadistic son of a bitch and I hurt. I hurt so bad. The places he'd hit with the crop were throbbing and I knew they'd swell along the edges, marking out designs, maybe even bruising in the shape of the thing.
For now I knew there would be sharp red crop marks all over.
And the thing I'd never tell him was that I wanted to be fucked. I wanted it right now. And I didn't want it from just anyone. Not just a cock. Not a dildo or a vibrator or my own hand. Not Mark. Not anyone else.
I wanted him. I wanted Cole St. Martin right now, preferably on the floor of the room I'd just been pulled out of. I wanted him to take me and to hurt me while he did, to plunge into me and hurt me in all new ways.
I thought with that line of thinking I was probably in trouble.
I thought that with me pursuing that line of thinking, Cole St. Martin might be in trouble also.
Because I wanted him to fuck me.
And after that? I wanted to kill him.
From what I'd read about the lifestyle, if that's what I was falling into with Cole St. Martin, and what I'd experienced in the dungeons on my way to some form of real life in the scene, there was supposed to be aftercare.
Cole didn't even follow his men. They dragged me back to the room I'd woken in and threw me down on the bed. By the time the robe fluttered down over me they were already at the door.
I lay there in a curl of misery, wondering just what I'd agreed to. When I'd been searching for Cole it had all seemed so simple. In part I had truly believed he was searching for someone to try his cure on. That seemed logical and benign.
I'd come into this nearly blind and that didn't make sense for someone who’d spent her career going into new roles, pretending to be different people, and judging every situation before setting foot anywhere near it. I knew better than to assume.
I had to expect I hadn't been assuming.
I'd been hoping.
As I lay on the bed, the need for sex kept flashing through me. Even if I'd thought my own hands could satisfy that amount of want, I wouldn't have indulged. The idea that this room wasn't wired for sound, for surveillance and for recording was laughable. He hadn't strictly told me I couldn't touch myself but it seemed a likely addition to everything else, one I might learn about too late and the hard way.
That wasn't what I wanted anyway. I didn't want to want anything.
