11
John Collins remembered that first scream with particular pleasure.
There had been pain and agony in that scream, of course, and that had been
magnificent, but there had been plenty of that, and worse, in the screams that
had issued from her again and again and again, as the whipping had continued.
What set that first scream apart was the sheer shock at the horror of it--shock
at the unexpected intensity, the unimagined awfulness of the unbearable pain;
astonishment at the sudden knowledge that such pure animal agony could exist in
the world, could be experienced by any one person without being immediately
followed by unconsciousness, or death; horror at the realization that this was
happening to her, that it would go on happening to her, this torment that she
had never dreamed possible, and that there was nothing she could do to stop it.
John Collins had paused to savor all this, as he was savoring it now in
his mind. Then he had whipped her again, and had gone on whipping her, steadily,
mercilessly and with all his strength, relishing the inhuman shrieks and howls
and cries and strangled, inarticulate pleas for mercy; enjoying to the utmost
the struggles of the writhing, squirming, twisting body, which plunged and
kicked and flailed wildly as he circled it, lashing the whip across her back,
her buttocks, her breasts, her legs, her stomach, never stopping until his arm
ached with fatigue and she hung limp in exhaustion, gasping and moaning. Then he
had stopped to rest.
And after a while he had started again.
Now he continued to stroke his exposed cock idly as he gazed at the
dangling woman. Her head drooped, her hair was lank with perspiration, her face
streaked with sweat and tears. But the fine breasts, held high and taut by the
position of her upraised arms, were not diminished by the marks of the whip that
crossed them. The long, shapely legs were still perfect, the body still
arousing--more so because of the agony it was suffering. She had not lost
consciousness, and though she had no more strength to twist and scream, that
agony was expressed in every twitch and quiver and moan that came from her.
Now, slowly and painfully, she raised her head once more, peering at him
through glazed, tormented eyes. He smiled at her, still playing with the stiff
pole of flesh that stuck up through his open fly. "How do you feel, Joyce?" he
said mockingly. "Not too well, I take it. Being whipped is quite a humbling
experience, isn't it? Rather changes your outlook on things, I would think.
How's your outlook, Joyce? Feeling a bit more docile, perhaps?"
"Please..." Joyce gasped out. She was barely able to whisper. "Please, I
can't... stand it... for god's sake..."
"You don't want to be whipped any more, is that it?" Collins said
innocently.
"Oh god..." The words ended in a terrified gasp.
"Would you like me to take you down now, Joyce?"
"Yes... oh god yes... please... please..."
"And if I do, will you be a good girl? Will you be good to me and do as
I say? Think about it, Joyce. I don't want to have to take you down and then put
you up there again. That would make me angry. Do you understand, Joyce?"
"Yes... please..."
"Will you, Joyce?"
"I--yes... I will... I will... oh god..."
"We'll see," Collins said. He pushed a button. The winch in the ceiling
began to turn, and the cable slowly began to unwind, lowering Joyce gradually
toward the floor. When her feet touched the solid surface she gave a hoarse cry
of relief; but she was unable to stand, and still sagged in her bonds, until her
knees touched the floor. At that point, Collins touched the button again,
stopping the cable. Joyce was kneeling now, her arms still stretched upward by
the ropes on her wrists, her body upright, her breasts thrusting. She gave
another cry as the cable stopped, and looked fearfully at Collins.
He rose and walked around his desk, then came toward her, his rigid cock
poking out before him. He did not stop until he was quite close to the kneeling
girl. His prick loomed at her face. He took one more step, touching her lips
with the throbbing tool.
"Show me, Joyce," he said harshly. "Go on. Show me what you'll do,
girl."
Distressed and startled at this unexpected demand, Joyce instinctively
turned her head away with a cry of horror. Collins stepped back, his face hard.
"Just as I suspected," he said softly. "You're not ready yet, after all. But
that's all right, Joyce, darling. I'm rather glad, actually. It gives me more
time to enjoy taming you. And it makes it all the better when you finally
break." As he spoke he moved back to his desk, sat down, and once again pushed a
button. The cable began to wind back up.
Joyce gave a sudden shriek as she felt her arms being pulled up again,
then continued to moan with terror and pain as first her knees, then her feet,
left the floor. In a minute she was hanging as before.
"No!" she cried out. "No! Please! Don't! I--I will... I'll do it... I
swear it... oh Jesus, I'm begging you..."
"Dear Joyce," Collins said. "What you will do with me is nothing
compared to what you will have to do in order to make amends to our friends on
the Council. I have to make absolutely sure you will do whatever they want you
to do. Without hesitation, without argument, with nothing but utter and complete
obedience. Do you understand?"
"Ohhh... dear god... help me..."
"And only when I have made absolutely sure of that," Collins said, "will
I let you down from there again. And I suspect, Joyce, that it's going to take a
while."
"For god's sake..." the girl whispered. "Don't. I--I can't take any
more. Don't whip me again. I'll do what you want. I'll do anything. I can't...
Don't whip me any more... please..."
"Oh no, Joyce," Collins said, smiling. "I'm not going to whip you any
more. No. There are too many other pleasurable things I can do to you to make
you into the docile slave I know you can be. It's time now to try some of
those." Still smiling, he took a pack of cigarettes and some matches from his
pocket, pulled out one of the cigarettes, and lit it. Then, taking it from his
mouth, he blew gently on the tip of it, watching it glow redly. His gaze moved
from the burning tip to Joyce's dangling, helpless body, and then, slowly, up to
her bulging, terrified eyes.
