Tricked

“Fifty,” she managed, her voice breaking on a sob.

“You’re lucky I don’t give you fifty more,” Damon said nastily.

Hatred rose like bile in her throat, even as the tears continued to leak from her eyes. She sighed with relief when he released her wrists, bringing her arms down to her sides. Then he undid the ankle cuffs, allowing her to close her legs. Her poor pussy was on fire, as were her ass and thighs, but at least it was over.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her so she was facing him. He lifted his hand and she winced reflexively, expecting him to slap her again. But, instead, he only wiped away a tear with his finger. “Poor little baby,” he said with saccharin sweetness.

Then, his face hardened. “Now, stand against the cross again, this time facing me.” He had dropped the crop to the floor, and now he bent to pick up a short-handled whip, the leather tail about fifteen inches long.

The word No rose like a howl in her throat. Her arms tingled, her hands clenching reflexively into fists.

He was watching her, as if daring her to protest or make a move.

Callie forced herself to draw in a breath and let it out slowly. She unfurled her fingers, letting her hands relax at her sides. “Yes, Sir,” she managed, hoping the meekness of her tone hid the fury in her heart.

His smile was cruel as he stuck the nasty little whip in the waistband of his shorts. As he loomed over her to resecure her in the cuffs, she could smell his clean, freshly-showered skin and the warm scent of his cologne, a stark contrast to the acrid tang of her fear sweat. The contrast filled her with impotent rage.

Once she was again spread against the cross, he pulled the whip from his shorts and flicked it in the air. The whistling sound made her gasp. She’d seen videos online of what a whip like that could do. She stared at it, wide-eyed with fear. She very nearly begged for mercy, pleaded that he not do this—she’d learned her lesson. She would be so good from now on, she would promise, just please, please, please don’t use that whip.

His eyes narrowed, and again she felt he was silently daring her to defy him, perhaps hoping she would.

No. Don’t give the bastard the satisfaction, she desperately counseled herself. She closed her mouth, pressing her lips together to keep from uttering a sound.

His expression changed. Was that disappointment on the sadistic bastard’s face? Had he wanted her to break down and beg, just so he could have the pleasure of refusing her? But all he said was, “Ten strokes with the whip. Five on each breast. You will count each lash. Got it?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her vocal cords paralyzed with fear.

Each snap of the whip landed like a stroke of icy fire against her skin, the pain far more intense than either the spanking or the cropping had been. He alternated between breasts, leaving angry red welts over her skin. She cried out each number, her voice rising into a wail she couldn’t control with each searing stroke. When the whip snapped against her nipple, she actually saw stars dancing before her eyes. She would have fallen to the floor if she hadn’t been held in place by the cuffs.

But somehow, her breasts on fire, she made it to ten.

Damon took a step back and dropped the whip to the carpet. “I trust you’ve learned your lesson, naughty girl?”

“Yes, Sir,” she somehow managed to gasp. She’d learned her lesson, all right. No more haphazard efforts at escape. Next time she made her move, she’d be sure it would work.

Then she made the mistake of looking down. Several of the welts beaded with bright red blood.

She’d hated the helpless, peculiar feeling those few times in the past when she’d fainted. But now she welcomed the swooping drop in her stomach and the strange whistling sound her ears. Then the darkness swallowed her whole.Chapter 10“Callie?” Damon lightly slapped her cheek. She didn’t react. Her eyes remained closed, chin lolling on her chest, her mouth hanging open.

He placed his palm over her heart. The beat was steady and strong, but she remained limp as a rag doll. There was barely any blood on her tits—just some droplets on one welt, a trickle oozing from another. But the sight of it sent a dark thrill through his core.

He slapped her again, a little harder. “Callie. Come on. Wake up.”

Her eyelids fluttered and she moaned softly. After a moment, she opened her eyes. She stared at him blankly for several seconds, as if she had no idea where she was or who he was.

“You went out like a light. Guess you’re one of those types who can’t deal with the sight of their own blood.”