He has to punish her, of course - even though, beyond the initial shock, he is more intrigued than annoyed. Immediately, he slaps her sharply in the face, once, then grabs her hair and pulls her up to her feet. Without a word, he presses a button on his desk, then drags her out of the library and down the corridor up to a door where two men are waiting. He opens the door and throws her into a dark room. When the light is turned on, she sees what is basically a minimalistic dungeon - chrome, dark glass, clean lines, a panoply of instruments which look like they wouldn't be out of place in a molecular cuisine restaurant. A Scandinavian designer's version of 50 Shades of Gray. And what looks like an Andrew cross at the back.
Her handler seizes her again by the back of the neck, and unceremoniously brings her up to the Andrew cross, where the two men immediately proceed to roughly take off her clothes (practically tearing them off) and fasten her to the cross, facing forward. She is left naked and exposed, her feet stood on what seem like stirrups, her limbs restrained by metal. The cross seems to swivel slightly, but one of the men places a block at its foot, and stabilises it.
Her handler takes a look at her: the slight sheen on her skin, her hard nipples, the juice running down her thighs. Her expression, terrified and painfully aroused. Ignoring his own arousal, he reaches for the crop which one of his assistants is already handing to him. He approaches Anna, then slides the crop between the folds of her vulva, brings it out sticky and glistening.
"I think it's time for you to realise what being a slave really entails, anna," he says, and she can hear perfectly how her name has suddenly lost its capital letter. Then he takes a step back and flogs her breasts, her belly, her cunt. Repeatedly and mercilessly.
The first strike winds her. The second one sets the skin on her entire body on fire. And the pain only grows and grows as the blows rain on her, the searing white heat like a thick mist fallen upon her mind, so that all she can feel and think is the pain.
He grabs her by the chin, squeezing her mouth. "I can smell you, slut. This is punishment. But you enjoy that, don't you?" He slaps her sharply in the mouth again, then forces her mouth open with his fingers. "You are a slave, anna. You are property. A thing. If I want to spit in your mouth, you will open it. Happy and docile. Like the piece of fuckmeat you are." And he spits into her, a large, disgusting gob, so that even in the midst of her pain her throat heaves involuntarily as his spit slides down. "Don't like it, do you? Well, let's see what else you don't like. Seven minutes. No respite" he tells his assistants, without taking her eyes off her. Then he leaves the room.
***
When he returns, she is hanging limply from the cross, apparently hardly conscious. He examines with satisfaction the crisscrossing welts on her white skin. Even though she marks easily, hers is the kind of skin which also recovers quickly, but the flogging has been sustained enough that the welts will last for at least a week. As will the pain.
He comes up to the cross again and caresses her face. "How are you feeling, anna?"
She can only mewl weakly. "Please..."
"We are not done yet, I'm afraid." He unblocks the cross with his foot, presses a switch so that her restraints are loosened, and swivels the frame briskly forward, so that she is thrown headlong onto the floor. Her entire body feels like a raw, open wound. She tries to stand up, but her legs give beneath her, and she collapses again on all fours.
"Like a dog," says her handler, reading her mind. "Like the bitch that you are, anna." He stands before her and stares down at her, monolithic and unmoving, and, through the pain, anna's stomach clenches into a knot of fear and shame and helplessness and burning arousal. Her dominant.
He walks around her and sticks the tip of his shoes between her legs, in her cunt, her arse, and she hears her own voice crying out in pain and lust, unrecognisable like an animal's. She hears a zipper being undone, and expects to feel her handler's cock, but suddenly one of the assistants steps into view, lifts her by her hair up to her knees and slams his cock into her mouth, so hard that she retches.
She feels someone grabbing her from behind, shoving rough fingers into her cunt and arse, and to her intense shame, she feels herself clench and juice around them. The assistant releases her head, and she sees her handler standing at a distance, coolly watching. She cums.
"Filthy," says a voice - she's no longer sure whose - but the hands continue their probing relentlessly. Someone slaps her again, and the hands drop her suddenly to the floor, and something hard is shoved up against her cunt so that she writhes on the hard wooden floor on the verge of cumming despite - or because of - the pain. "Filthy," repeats the voice, and she looks up to see her handler standing over her, and the hotness from the two men pours upon her, squirting endlessly, and she lies like a bitch in heat on the floor, in the welter of semen and her own sweat and cum, filthy, and cums and cums.
***
He watches as his assistants carry her out of the room, unconscious. They will hand her over to Astrid's capable hands, and she will probably spend the next 24 hours sleeping, recovering, then about a week performing mostly very low-impact tasks. The punishment has been quite brutal, but she needed a sharp shock, quite badly.
The question is, what now?
***
