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I leaned down in front of him, looking into his eyes. “Guess what, Carlos?” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “I fucked someone else yesterday. Took his cock balls deep, and I didn’t think about you for even a second. How does that make you feel? Do you want to slap me like you used to? Grab me and yank me around until I have bruises I need to cover?”
“I— I— Christ, don’t hurt me anymore, please,” he said, begging.
I sighed and stood straight. “Everyone always begs in here.”
He opened his mouth to speak, and I slapped the whip down between his legs.
The sweat suit he wore was like mine, but it did little to soften the blow. Breath exploded out of his mouth, and his swollen eyes bulged as he tried to double over in pain. Even more than yesterday, I felt powerful. Almost like a god. The power of life and death, pleasure and pain was in my hands, and I could dole it out how I wished.
Gasping in a breath, Carlos said, “No more, okay. I’m sorry, all right? I shouldn’t have hurt you, okay. No more.”
I was already back at the table. Lifting the lighter in one hand and the coat hanger in the other, I ran the flame along the wire, heating it. “Carlos, I don’t believe that for a minute. I bet you’ve done the same things to every woman you’ve been with. You need to be taught a lesson.” I looked at him over my shoulder. “Today is when your lesson begins.”
His screams were some of the sweetest things I’d heard in my life. I was barely fazed as I burned, whipped, and slapped him. Again, a sexual urge filled me, my panties were wet, and my clit throbbed. As I punished Carlos, all I could think of was how good it would be to fuck Drake again. Maybe right here in front of Carlos. I smiled the entire time I taught Carlos what happened to bad little boys.
Chapter 24
I slept like a baby that night, and the next day, I was sent back to Carlos again. There was a small tool on the table, along with a gallon bottle of rubbing alcohol and an empty spray bottle. The lighter and coat hanger from the day before were gone. Carlos sat naked and shivering in the chair. His body was covered in bruises and thin red marks where I’d burned him with the red hot coat hanger wire. I’d slid his sleeves and pants legs up to give me more skin to work with. Now all of his clothes had been removed.
When he saw me walk through the door, he rushed to speak. “Please, Dee, er, sorry. I’m sorry. Dahlia. Please, Dahlia. Get me out of here, I’m so sorry. I’ll never talk to you again. I’ll forget we ever dated. Please get me out of here.”
Before I could answer, the chime went off, silencing Carlos’ pleading.
Bong. “Dahlia, on the table you will find a modified utility knife, and a bottle of alcohol. I leave it to you to figure out how to use these together.”
After Sam stopped talking, I walked over and saw the blade he’d mentioned. It was a razor knife, but had been modified as he said. Only a tiny triangle of the blade was visible, and several bolts had been run through the handle, preventing me from raising the blade or taking the knife apart to change the setting. Whatever cut I made would barely get a millimeter into the skin, if that.
A moment later, I stood in front of Carlos who shook his head back and forth and cried. “No. No, Dahlia. Don’t do it. I don’t want any more.”
I sighed and shrugged half-heartedly. “I’m sorry, Carlos. This is out of my hands,” I said. “If I don’t do what he asks, I’ll get punished. And then? Someone else will come take care of you anyway. Nothing personal.”
I was shocked at how nonchalant my voice was. The words I spoke were true, but there was no compassion inside me for this man either. He’d been a shitty boyfriend. He’d slapped me around, forced me to have sex when I didn’t want to, was controlling and jealous, and was an all-around crappy human. Did that mean he deserved to be tortured? Maybe or maybe not.
All I knew was that I was enjoying taking back control of my life. If Sam had given me one thing in all this, he’d at least given me that little bit of control back. And the small harms I was doing to Carlos were no worse than what he’d done to me.
Lowering the knife to his skin, I pressed it in and ran it an inch down his arm. The blade barely cut him. It was more like a deep papercut than anything. A tiny, almost imperceptible bead of blood ran down from the wound. Carlos hissed in pain but didn’t cry out. Anticlimactic.
I frowned in agitation. I wanted more. Needed more. I turned and looked at the alcohol, and an idea clicked.
Quickly pouring some of the alcohol into the spray bottle, I tightened the lid. I walked over and, without pausing, sprayed a misty burst of alcohol onto the cut I’d made. Carlos hissed again but worse this time.
“Very clever,” I whispered to myself and grinned.
Over the next hour, I cut Carlos dozens of times, and after each cut, I sprayed him with alcohol. After ten minutes, his hisses and moans of pain became cries of agony as it kept going. The whole time I did it I kept being surprised at how strong I felt. The best part was when I put about a dozen cuts all over his cock and balls and poured a full cup of liquid on him. He roared and bucked in the chair, and I reveled in the feeling of being in charge. Control. That was the word that kept coming back. By the time the session was over, I was wet again, and already daydreaming about the next time I might get a chance with Drake.
Bong. “Well done, Dahlia. As a reward for obeying so well, I have a small gift for you in the viewing room. Please step out of the playroom.”
I looked at Carlos openly weeping and hanging his head, and wanted to keep going, but decided to leave and see what kind of present Sam was going to give me. Something similar to the silk pajamas he’d given me all those days ago, perhaps?
No sooner had I stepped through the door, than it swung shut behind me and locked. On the wall beside the window, a small panel slid aside, revealing what looked like a tablet. A phone? Maybe a way to contact the outside world?
There was no way he’d let that happen though. As I walked toward the tablet, I came to my senses. Regardless of what this looked like on the surface, there would be no way I could use it to my advantage. Sam thought and planned for almost everything.
Once I was in front of the screen, I was shocked to see my face staring back at me, smiling. It was a picture of me and Carlos on one of the last nights we’d spent together. I remembered it clearly. I’d already decided I was going to break up with him, but was still putting on the act to make sure he didn’t realize it too soon. We were sitting on his couch at his place. I couldn’t remember who’d taken the photo. One of his friends, I was sure. He’d used Carlos’ phone to do it.
My mouth fell open as I understood what I was actually looking at. It was the home page of one of my social media accounts. It showed that the picture had been uploaded a day before. How did this happen? Reaching out a trembling hand, I found I was able to scroll but not click. I moved down and saw multiple posts from me over the last few days. None of them were written by me, though. Looking on in horror, I understood what was going on. Sam or someone working for him had hacked my accounts. They were pretending to be me, and making it seem like everything was fine. It sank in that no one would be looking for me.
The few acquaintances I had that I was friends with on these sites would see these posts and think I’d changed jobs, gone on vacation, or simply decided on a change. Even Clint and Marie at the diner wouldn’t think to search for me. They were the closest thing I had to family, and they were probably hurt that I’d ditched them and hadn’t even called or stopped by to say sorry. Tears welled in my eyes as the hopelessness of the situation cascaded over me. This wasn’t a reward, this was more punishment. That’s all this place ever was. Punishment. Day in, day out, forever.
