Chapter 7

They gave her just twenty hours to herself. Minus those short periods in which she was brought food, and the times they answered her summons to shut off the floor current and let her go to the toilet.

And minus the few naps she managed. It wasn't easy to sleep knowing how helpless she was, and the very real danger she was in -- to say nothing of the imagined dangers and punishments she was able to conjure up from a fearful and shocked subconscious mind. She woke from the few periods of sleep in a cold sweat, fighting off nightmares in which intangible things were performing invisible but nonetheless frightening acts which seemed to threaten her sanity.

When Paul finally led her from the room, she was eager to get out of it, no matter where she was headed.

He took her to the end of the hall and ushered her into a huge room which was a kind of gymnasium-looking place, but had wall-to-wall heavily padded carpeting instead of the usual wooden floor.

He had appeared so suddenly, and moved her so quickly from the hated cell she had come to dread, that she hadn't noticed until he closed the door of this big room behind them and stepped in front of her, that he was dressed in some kind of leather briefs and boots, and carried a coiled whip in one hand.

"Kneel!" he ordered her.

The abruptness of the command, and its surprising implications, so shocked her for a moment that she just stood there. By the time she had really registered what he had said and what he wanted, her mind began to search for a reason. Why did he want her to kneel?

The lash cracked with a loud, sharp sound as it fell on her naked back. She screamed a high, thin scream and fell to her knees in reaction, rather than in any deliberate attempt to obey.

"That's right!" he told her. "You have just learned what a tiny taste of the whip can be like. And every time you are not fast in obeying a command, you'll learn more!"

She was sobbing with the pain, and now he spoke another commend. Her ears could barely pick it up over the sound of her own choking cries. It slowed her reaction.

"Kiss my boots!" he had commanded. And while she tried to assess what the faint order had been that filtered through her sobbing, he applied another and fiercer lashing across her shoulders. It drew a shriek from her throat, blood from her skin, and an oath from Paul.

"Damnit, slut! When I speak, you move, and move quickly!

She knew she couldn't stand a lot of this, so she forced herself to bend down and place her lips on the toe of one of his boots. She would have to conserve her strength if she could find any hope of escape from this madhouse.

"Now, wench. Peel off my shorts!" She reached up and tried to get her shaking fingers behind the tight band of leather at his waist. Her shoulders were still shaking spasmodically, and it was hard to accomplish the task with her weakened hands. But she got a grip on the slightly flexible suede and managed to peel it down past his hips, then over his thighs, until it fell loosely down past his calves and lay around his boots at the ankles.

He placed a hand on her shoulder -- the one which was still faintly oozing a fine line of blood from the lashing and she winced but managed not to yell. He lifted one boot.

"Remove them!" he said.

She slipped the briefs from the boot, and he stood on it while lifting the other. She slipped the garment off over the second boot and held it in her hands, not knowing what he wanted her to do with it-afraid lest she do the wrong thing.

"Drop that and kiss my cock!" he ordered.

She dropped the limp leather bundle immediately, but it took too long for the meaning of his other command to sink in. The whip rose, but she moved rapidly to piece her lips on his softly dangling genitals. A faintly pungent male odor seemed to emanate from his crotch as her lips touched the flesh of his shaft. She identified another smell as the leather odor from the briefs, transferred by sweat to the skin they had covered.

"Take it in your hands and treat it like a baby," he said. "Kiss it nicely, and then you can lick it like a piece of candy."

She was more alert, now, determined not to earn another blow of the punishing lash. As long as pain and fear would make her comply with his orders eventually, she knew she would be wiser to obey with every bit of speed she could muster.

She grasped the elephant's trunk of his sex with a shaky hand and drew it to her lips. It shocked her to realize that a tiny thrill went over her at the contact.

She put out the pink tip of her tongue and touched it to the soft surface of the flesh, and its smoothness was astonishing. She moved her tongue over its entire length, noting the texture of it and the increasingly pleasant scent of his maleness, which started a strange trembling deep inside her.

Then it began to stiffen in her hands, and she could feel it pulse and enlarge under the sensitive detection of her lips and tongue. It made that deep inner trembling spread inside her.

"Suck it, baby," he moaned, dropping his whip and pulling her head toward him with both hands. She felt the hardening length flip upward and her mouth opened to take a hold on the end of it. As she did, it seemed to come apart, wondrously, and the skin which covered it slipped back to expose a swollen, purple turnip of a thing that pressed against her lips.

It gave her a weird momentary shock, and she drew back to look at it more closely. Before Paul could complain at her delay, she seized it again in her lips and ran them lightly over the silken surface of this warm, throbbing device.