“That’s my girl,” he said with false fondness.
“Oh, very nice,” Greta said from beside them. “Me, too, bitte.”
Damon laughed. “One at a time. We’ll show you how it’s done.”
Rage moved like a red film over Callie’s eyes. How she despised this horrible man. If she’d had that gun of his in her hands right now, she’d have happily blown his fucking head off.
Instead, she allowed herself to be led to the pool table, which was covered in a fresh sheet, the ropes waiting to tie her down.
Damon uncuffed her wrists from behind her back and lifted her into his arms. He laid her on the padded table. She winced in pain as her welted flesh rubbed against the sheet. Ignoring her discomfort as he always did, he pulled her arms and legs into place and looped the ropes around the cuffs at her wrists and ankles. Then he pulled them taut, forcing her into a spread-eagle position.
“She has a very pretty Muschi, er, pussy,” Wolf said.
Callie could feel their gazes boring between her legs. Heat swept over her chest and throat, lodging in her face.
“She does,” Damon agreed. “A nice, tight little twat. She can practically come from a cunt caning,” he lied. “She loves it so much, she’d let me whip the thing to shreds. Of course, I’m far too responsible to allow that,” he added smoothly.
“It’s good you are a responsible Dom,” Wolf replied.
He’s not, he’s not! Callie wanted to scream. He’s lying. Please, can’t you see that? Help me! Save me!
Greta appeared over her. “You are brave. The pussy caning is hard to take, even for me.”
Callie shook her head vehemently, desperately trying to convey her distress. But Greta continued to smile. “Don’t be bescheiden.” She glanced up. “How do you say, Wolfie?”
“Humble,” came Wolf’s response.
“Ja,” Greta said with a nod. “Don’t be humble. It is a proud thing, to submit.” Then she vanished from Callie’s line of sight.
Defeated, Callie closed her eyes.
“I’ll give you five strokes,” Damon said. “You will show our guests how perfectly you’re trained. You will not move a muscle or make a sound.”
Breathe in… One, two, three, four, five… Let it go… Breathe in… … One, two, three, four, five… Let it go…
The cane ignited her pussy, the searing stroke cutting like a blade. In spite of Damon’s warning, Callie jerked hard against her restraints, gurgling in pain behind the tape. The second stroke was even worse.
“Be still, silly girl,” she heard Damon admonish over the roar of blood pounding in her ears. “Don’t embarrass me in front of our guests.”
Two more strokes landed in quick succession.
Suddenly, Callie recalled something from one of the erotic romance novels she’d read back in her other life. When the sub in the story couldn’t use her safeword, she had opened and closed her fists in what was apparently a universal sign of distress in the BDSM scene.
Desperately, as the fifth stroke found its mark, Callie opened and closed her fists.
“Was macht sie?” she heard Greta say.
A moment later, Damon appeared, his face looming over hers.
Her lungs collapsed with terror as she stared up at him. Had he seen what she’d done? Had anyone?
He smiled as he gently stroked her cheek. “You did well, darling. I’m so proud.” He untied the ropes that held her down and scooped her into his arms. Turning to the others, he said, “Callie is tired now. I’m going to take her down to bed. I’ll be right back up, and we can give Greta a turn on the table.”
Wolf glanced at his watch and shook his head. “No, thank you. We have an early flight out tomorrow. Thanks for the intense scene. I think we’ll be going now.”
“Der Knebel,” Greta said. “The gag. Please to remove it so we can say good night properly?”
Hope again soared like a bird, its wings batting furiously in Callie’s heart.
Yes. Yes, yes, yes!
But Damon shook his head. “No, no. Callie asked me to please keep it in place while you’re here. It really turns her on. Maybe next time. I’ll just get her settled and meet you downstairs.”
Without giving them a chance to respond, he moved toward the stairs and began the descent, dashing Callie’s last hope in the process.Chapter 20Callie was hunched on the floor of the bedroom closet, her wrists cuffed over her head to a chain that hung from the clothing rack, duct tape still stuck over her mouth. Tears streamed down her cheeks, despair threatening to overwhelm her.
She twisted her head in the dark, trying to wipe her tears and runny nose against her bare shoulder. She couldn’t hear anything beyond the closed closet door. It was almost worse to have had a chance, however slim, of connecting with someone from the outside world. To have her hopes raised so high, only to be shattered into a thousand pieces, left her lower than low.