Chapter 26 #2
She strained hard, curling her body up with a desperate groan.
The position was absolute hell — gravity pulling against her, her shoulders screaming from the earlier pose on the island, her abs already burning from the effort.
She only made it halfway before her core gave out, and she dropped back with a pained gasp.
Three more cane strikes that made her scream, and then, “Again. Better. You’re a fucking wolf, act like it.”
She tried harder, muscles shaking violently as she fought to curl higher. Every inch upward felt like her abs were being shredded from the inside out, the strain so vicious it stole her breath.
“Better. Do it again and hold for a count of twelve.”
She went back up, and he counted so fucking slow, she collapsed when he reached five.
Then came the cane again, and he counted every strike the rest of the way, from six through twelve, at the same speed he’d gone before, but it seemed way faster now.
Then calmly said, “Again.”
She made it to eight the next time, which meant only four from the cane, but he said, “It feels like this isn’t enough incentive. Maybe the whip antenna I got off a wrecked seventies Trans Am in a junkyard last year will better convince you.”
Only Knife would walk through a salvage yard and see kink equipment.
The thought surfaced and dissolved in the haze of endorphins and adrenaline before she could hold onto it, replaced immediately by the sight of him walking back with it, and her stomach cartwheeled, even upside down, because the damned thing looked fucking evil.
“Move, little painslut.”
She was determined to make it to twelve the next time, but she collapsed on eight again, and the first strike immediately landed like a line of liquid fire slicing viciously across the backs of her thighs.
The flexible steel whippy antenna bit deep, delivering a white-hot sting that made her scream and jerk violently.
It felt like someone had taken a red-hot wire and snapped it across her flesh, creating a burning line that throbbed worse with every heartbeat.
The second strike landed right below the first, then the third.
The thin metal cut through the air with a terrifying whistle before it connected, and it felt as if he was fucking branding her.
Her thighs were already bruised and tender, and the antenna turned the entire area into a canvas of pure, blazing agony.
She was sobbing openly by the fourth strike, every nerve screaming.
She made it to ten the next time. And the next.
“Amazing what properly applied motivation can produce, isn’t it? Listen carefully, little painslut. I want slow crunches now, up and then back down in a controlled manner in reps of a dozen. I’ll count, but if you come down too fast, the rep won’t count.”
Sweat as well as her tears now soaked into her hair, and her ab muscles quivered with every rep.
She’d strain upward with everything she had, body shaking, vision blurring, and then let herself back down just as slowly lest the cane once again land.
She went up and back down, slowly, over and over until she couldn’t, and then the cane struck again while he counted the rest of the set.
She was beyond exhausted and her abs felt like they were melting. The backs of her thighs were a throbbing, stinging mess.
But she kept going, forcing herself through rep after rep because she had to please him. Even when her core completely failed and she was left hanging there, sobbing and shaking, she still tried to lift again the moment he gave the order.
She sighed in relief when he put the eight-foot-long whippy antenna away, but then watched with trepidation when he walked to her with nipple clamps and a handful of weights.
He squatted in front of her, cupped her breast, pinched the already-tender nipple until it stood out hard and aching, and attached the first clamp.
The metal jaws bit down, sending a sharp, crushing pain straight through the sensitive, already bruised nub.
She gasped, hips jerking uselessly in the suspension.
Before she could catch her breath, he did the same to the other nipple.
Then he added the weights.
One heavy metal ball after another clicked onto the long chains hanging from the clamps, so the weights were dangling below her shoulders.
Each new weight pulled her nipples downward, stretching the tender flesh farther, turning the bite of the clamps into a constant, dragging agony.
The chains swung with every shallow breath she took, tugging and twisting her nipples mercilessly.
The pain bloomed hotter, deeper, radiating outward until her whole chest once again felt like it was on fire.
She whimpered helplessly as the weights continued to swing and pull, each tiny movement sending fresh sparks of torment through her abused breasts.
He stepped back to admire his work, dark satisfaction clear in his eyes.
He looked up at her feet, stepped back to her, and released one ankle, but he moved it to the end of the five-foot beam. He did the same to the other, and her legs were suddenly stretched impossibly wide. Her thighs burned, and her pussy and asshole were completely exposed and vulnerable.
Still upside down, she watched him return to the chest, then walk back to her with a rawhide flogger she’d never seen before.
Something new.
The strands looked thick and stiff — unconditioned rawhide that’d never been broken in or oiled.
The falls were coarse, with rough edges.
The kind of leather that would bite and scrape rather than kiss.
The handle was bare wood, unstained, and the whole thing looked mean.
Vicious. Like it’d been made specifically to hurt soft, sensitive places.