Hanging by the wrists, the metal cuffs cutting into her skin, she is awakened by the cold. She stirs. The chains rattle as she unknowingly pulls against them, beginning to realise that she is restrained. Head dropped, hair falling over her face, she gathers her strength. As she lifts her head, the dark dreadlocks shift slightly and her eyes open and begin to try to adjust to the light. Around her, she notices there are spotlights in several places, so bright that everything beyond them remains unseen.
A drug-induced blur of black moves. It resembles a person. Her eyes struggle to stay in focus. The blinking doesn't work. Trying to tune into the sound of speech around her, she comes to recognise it as being feminine. The blur moves closer. She's a brunette, but it's hard to tell because nothing remains still. The captive allows her head to fall once more as she tries, without success, to regain some clarity and strength.
"Amber."
The brunette pulls at the captives dreadlocks until Amber comes to and raises her head for herself.
"He's watching, you know. He wants me to hurt you."
Through her drugged haze, Amber moans a protest.
The brunette replies with "Now, now. Don't be like that. You know it won't help anyway. I sort of asked for the job. I want to hurt you for Him. I want to hurt you for me too."
The brunette pulls out a knife and begins to cut Amber's clothes off her body, tearing the pieces with her hands where she can. She gets to Amber's underpants. Her fondness for humiliation is obvious when she pulls Amber's underpants to her knees and leaves them there. The humiliation had only just begun though.
The brunette gags Amber. There is really no point in struggling. The lights are blinding and disorienting. Slight blurred shadows are visible to Amber. To the back of her, she hears movement. It's brief because the first blow strikes. Barely able to gasp for breath, the second blow comes, and then the others, too many to count now. Pushing through the pain becomes too hard and Amber's tear-stained face lies low. She stares at a place on the floor, her gaze unmoving. The brunette continues. Knowing that He is watching only makes Amber determined not to break. She sees a shadow on the floor, and then the tips of the black boots she recognises.
"Look at me", He says to her firmly.
She tries to lift her head. He helps her by taking hold of her hair in his hand and pulling back hard until her eyes meet His. The brunette keeps whipping but Amber maintains her lock on His eyes.
"I want you to know how much I love hurting you. I want to watch her hurt you, just for me. You hurt because I want it to be so."
Amber tries to move past the pain because she knows He can see it in her eyes. The hate in the pit of her stomach threatens to rise. As He walks away, the sounds around her seem to echo- His footsteps fading, the whip striking her body. She floats between numbness and the intense and unbearable stinging and cutting on her back. It's a life time later, but the brunette stops. Amber loses consciousness, dreadlocks falling back in front of her face as her head drops.
When she wakes, Amber sees a little more clearly. She sees Him sitting comfortably in an arm chair, smoking a cigarette. He blows the smoke into the lights surrounding Him.
He watched her like this for some time. His blue eyes never shifted their gaze. Amber couldn't have known, but the cuts and bruises on her body created an intricate and textured design which seemed to glow in the radiance of the lights surrounding her.
He ran his fingers through His short blonde hair, briefly scratching the back of His head. He disappeared into the luminescence and from Amber's view, returning with His camera in His hands.
"Definitely a sight to capture forever." He seemed to breathe more heavily while He gazed through his camera taking shots of Amber's broken flesh, as though the mere thought of the captive's cuts was arousing Him. Amber knew this did not bode well for her. She knew how His mind worked. He had been her Master for some time. Time had not tempered His desires, nor His creativity.
"Mistress?" He called out to the brunette. "I'd like you to clean up my slut before we continue."