She attacked me like a Valkrye in blood heat. Her dark eyes sparkling from the ectasy of my pain. She stood there, sweat dripping off her erect nipples. Her smile of self-satisfaction mocking my howls of pain.
I hung against the wall. The shackles holding my slim body from collapsing. Tears were gone. The pain had emptied them days ago. Welts covered welts from days past. The blood rushing to their surfaces. Yet I lived. And looking down on me smiling, was the woman who had caused my endless nightmare.
Wiping the sweat from her forehead with a delicate gloved hand, she reached down and stroked my thighs with the handle of her whip. Flinching at her touch, I waited for the next round of torture. Bending down, she raises my chin so I look into her dark eyes. Her red lips smile at me. Not seductively, not leering. But a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"So, Senor. You winch at my touch now, Yes?"
Looking into those eyes, so deep with their pain, I refuse to speak. My chin plunges into my chest as she drops it from her grip. Suddenly, the lash of her whip smacks across my back. New pain mixes with the old. Blood mixes with the sweat. I howl at the lashing. My lungs suck in the dank, humid air. My body limp in the shackles, hangs there. My consciousness on the edge of darkness. My bloodshot eyes stare at the concrete floor. Counting the drops of sweat dripping from my face, I focus on how I got here.
Drug deal gone bad. There is no other explanation. But how the fuck was I to know the guy I was doing business with was working through the dictator of this piss ant country. Alll I had to do was accept the price offered. Even if it meant my profit was a few hundred grand less. At least I wouldn't of been in this god forsaken place having the shit beat out of me by some bitch with a fetish.
Hearing her heels march across the floor, I ready my mind for the next lashing. Stopping in front of me, she jerks my head up by my hair. Staring at her thong covered crotch, the beads of sweat glistening on her tanned thighs, I gasp pain.
"You are my first American to have Senor. I must admit, you are quite a challenge."
Releasing my hair, she strolls over to wooden chair sitting in front of me. Licking my dry, chapped lips I attempt to speak.
"Wha...What are your plans for me?"
The warm air burns my parched throat as I lift my head to stare at her.
"Why to kill you of course. Do you think you can name the price of your shipment to my husband and just walk away when he doesn't agree?"
"Your husband?"
Sitting on the chair, her legs crossed, she raises her head from studying the whip.
"Yes, my husband. The Emperor. Do you think you can, how do you Americans say it? Play hardball? With him?"
Reality strikes me harder than the lashes of her whip. Realizing my sudden understanding, she grins at me.
