**** Warning: this chapter contains graphic violence. Please skip to C4 if not your thing. ****
*
The man, still smiling and holding the whip just watches me lying on the floor sobbing for a moment. As I try to stop crying, I remind myself that I have to be very smart in order to get through this night. He's rented me for only one night. I can do this.
I tell myself, His name is 'Sir'. Think of his name as 'Sir'. It will make it easier to remember to say it.
He (Sir!) tells me, "Stop that. Get on the bed." I try to stop crying and get off the floor. He says, "Well, go clean your face first." I clean up in the bathroom and lay down on the bed.
He comes towards me with the whip, then seems to think better of it and goes back to the cabinet. He sets down the whip and looks around for a second or two. Then he takes out four tiny collars. He comes to the bed, directs me to lay on my stomach, then puts the collars on my wrists and ankles. He gets some chains with hooks and attaches one to each collar. He hooks the chains leading from my arms onto the headboard, high up and far apart. He does the same with my ankles on the baseboard so that I'm kind of hanging with most of my weight on my lower torso. This makes it slightly hard to breath.
My instinct is to immediately start pulling at the restraints, but I force myself to remain still.
The man retrieves the large whip and stands next to the bed. I tell myself that I don't think he can kill me with it, and if he breaks the skin, the monitors will stop him and this will be over. Knowing it's going to hurt, but telling myself it won't be too bad, I steel myself for the first lash. I tell myself that no matter how much it hurts, I must not move, must not speak. My life may depend on it.
He raises the whip high and brings it down across my shoulder blades. The pain is unbelievable. I've never felt anything like it. I tense every muscle in my body and clench my teeth to prevent myself from struggling or screaming. Surely he must have broken the skin! I hope to hear the monitors come into the room, but they don't. I know another lash is coming and it does. He whips me again and again, moving down my back.
Tears start running down my face. I clench my teeth harder, willing myself with all my might not to make a sound. But as he moves down my back, he whips harder and harder. I thought the first few lashes were painful, but realize now he was holding back at first. I can't help myself and start to scream with each new lash of the whip, but manage to remain motionless for the most part. I am certain that I must be bleeding everywhere, but the monitors still don't come.
He ('Sir', I remind myself) starts to pant. With the next lash, he screams with me, startling me, an animal scream of rage, "Ahhh!!!" I lose my self-control and start pulling and struggling to get away. I hear a beeping sound.
He stops and inhales deeply. He holds his breath, and steps back from the bed for a moment. He exhales shudderingly and moves towards me again. He whips me a few more times, until he reaches my ass, but the lashes are not nearly as severe. I realize the monitors were warning him that he was getting out of control, in danger of really injuring me.
He puts the whip away and kneels on the bed between my legs. He leans over me and rubs his finger lightly but very painfully across the highest-most welt on my back. "Does it hurt?" he asks.
I almost say, "Yes, sir", but remember not to speak. I nod instead, rather vigorously.
He says, "You may speak."
"Yes, sir. It hurts, sir." It comes out as a whisper.
He does the same thing, asking the same question, sounding more and more angry, with the next welt down and the next, moving down my back. After a few more times, he says between gritted teeth, "Good." Suddenly, he screams in rage again and pounds both fists onto my ass cheeks. He leans forward, reaches around me, grabs both tits, and squeezes brutally. He lies on my back and bites me between the shoulder blades.
The pain from the bite on my welted back is tremendous. My body, already arched back from the restraints, arches more, and I scream again. For a moment, I barely register the beeping. Then he stops biting me and rests heavily on my back. Again, it's impossible to believe he didn't break the skin, but he must not have. I can't believe he bit me! He really is crazy, I think. And I know that he had been very, very close to losing all control before the warning was issued.
I realize now that I was wrong. He has, he can, and he is going to hurt me terribly, even though he's not allowed to really injure me. I know I am going to feel more pain tonight than I've ever felt before and it's just going to go on for hours. I start to tremble.
I sense that he is unsure what to do next. He is still gripping my tits. As he lies on my back, I think furiously. I review everything that's happened, everything the attendant said, everything I know about this man.
The attendant who brought me here had said that I "fit the description the closest." Okay, he didn't just want a tiny redhead with a particular look. 'Description' implies a description of a particular person. This man was searching for a look-alike and hired these people to find him one and to make sure she was 'clean'. I recall that the tiny woman with the huge tits in the auction room was a redhead. Picturing her face in my mind, I realize that we could have been sisters.
He wants a look-alike to take his rage out on in a place that will allow him to do so, at least to some extent. The only thing I can think of that would cause such rage is betrayal. It was a wife that cheated on him. That must be it! He wants to punish me for what his wife did. I realize, too, that he is somewhat insane. He doesn't just think I look like her, some part of him thinks I really AM her.
Okay, I tell myself, the reason for the anger is jealousy and the reason for jealousy is sex. He had sex with this woman. I realize how I might prevent him from hurting me too badly. The sex aspect of this set-up is just a veneer at the moment, but I have to try my best to turn this into a real sexual encounter. Somehow, I have to turn his mind away from his rage and his desire to hurt me and make him just want to fuck me.
But how? I can't move and I can't speak, and even if I could, I wouldn't really know what might arouse him. And, in my position, I can't really see his face, in order to read his reactions.
I decide I have to try something, though. As I've been thinking, he's moved so that he is not pressed so heavily against me. I start moving my torso side to side, just very slightly, in order to move my tits around within his hands. I know he can't really feel them with the gloves, but I hope he will like it anyway.
He asks, "Did I tell you to move?" I shake me head and stop moving and tense for a blow. I kick myself mentally. This was a mistake.
The blow doesn't come. Instead, he walks to the cabinet, and pauses to think. He takes some nipple clamps out of the cabinet. Pulling my hair to raise me off the bed slightly, he clamps them to my sore nipples. They aren't like the ones in the auction room. They are simple spring clamps with a small chain between.
He releases my hair. He grabs my tits again and says, "NOW move. Like you were before." I move like before, rubbing my tits against his gloved hands, but now with the clamps on, it's torture. My body wants very badly to stop moving, to stop causing myself this pain, but I continue as ordered, although very jerkily, fighting against my strong desire to stop.
He tells me, "Keep doing that." He releases my tits, and I continue moving them against the bed. He pauses for a moment, then reaches around, slides his hand under me, and starts yanking again and again on the chain. It feels like he's going to rip my nipples right off!
