The girl shuddered and then her mind raced on to even worse things the man might have done to the maid. By the time she had scared herself shitless, her new master came into the room.
"No," she yelled. "You don't touch me! I… I'll scream!"
"Go on and scream. The room is soundproofed. Besides, there is no one who cares within miles."
"I don't believe you."
"That's your perogative. But, let me put it another way. Screaming hurts my ears and if you hurt my ears, I shall discipline you. Discipline you very effectively."
She screamed.
The man cringed slightly but gave no other outward sign of noticing her outburst. She kept screaming. He slowly walked around her as if studying a piece of sculpture devoid of all life.
When her throat was raw, Vicki stopped yelling. She was panting, almost crying from exhaustion. The man came and removed the untouched food from in front of her.
"Since you seem more interested in shouting than eating, I think it would be best if I punished you now."
She looked up at him, her brown eyes going wide with fear. He hadn't been kidding about disciplining her. He meant every word he said. She was just beginning to realize that Mr. Valentine never joked about anything. He was deadly serious.
The emphasis on "deadly".
"See those eye-bolts fastened into the ceiling? By the mirrors over the bed?"
She looked up and saw them. They appeared to be innocuous. They couldn't possibly bring her any more pain than she'd felt at the receiving end of his wooden stick.
She was wrong.
The man quickly fastened slender chains through the eye-bolts in the ceiling and produced a pair of soft leather cuffs. Even though she struggled, he managed to place the cuffs on her wrists. When she was stretched out above the bed, her knees resting on the surface, he went and fumbled out another set of the soft leather cuffs.
"For your ankles," he told her.
Then she panicked. He was going to hoist her up so that she was hanging suspended by only her wrists and ankles. She couldn't allow that. She kicked out – hard.
And missed. His hands easily caught her leg and pulled it upward. The man fastened the leather cuff around her ankle and then jerked to one side. The pain shooting though her taut cunt made her slide her other leg right into his grip.
Before she knew it, she was hanging about a foot from the surface of the bed, dangling suspended only by her wrist and ankle.
"There. That doesn't hurt much now. But it will. Soon," he promised.
She was already feeling uncomfortable. The pain lancing across her shoulders told of the immense strain on her wrists and arms. And her hips were taking up the rest of the load. No, it wouldn't be long before she was in dire pain.
And that was only the beginning. The way he had strung her up made her legs drift wide apart. Her cunt was open to his lewd and obscene gaze. And there was no doubt he was looking.
The girl could see the man's eyes gleaming with an evil inner light as he studied her strung-up body. She was helpless, totally at his mercy.
And the man had mercy for her. She knew that. This was going to be a long and painful session with Mr. Valentine. The way her body weight was already working on her arms, shoulders, legs and hip joints told her that.
"So, my slave is beginning to see how her master operates, eh?" the man said, a slight leer to his lips. "You shall learn even more in the next few minutes!"
Vicki didn't like the sound of that. She was already in pain and it was getting worse every second. The girl's struggles only added to the agony so she stopped and simply hung. Her ass almost touched the top of the bed, almost.
The man had been calculating in the way he'd hoisted her up. She was hung so that her legs would remain wide spread no matter how she moved and her cunt would always be open for his inspection. And other things, as she quickly found out.
"No, master, no! You can't do that!" she screamed.
He advanced on her, the wooden whip in his hands. The way it snapped hard against his hand, she knew this could kill her if he really got to swinging it. And he would, he would!
The first blow from the singing wood rod smashed across her tits. The red welt formed directly on her nipples. But, like when he had used the wooden rod on her cunt, lips, her body became confused. The stimulation wasn't felt so much as pain as pleasure. Her nipples began to harden just as if she had been promised the best fucking ever.
As more and more excited blood pounded into her nipples, the erectile nubbins hardened. She felt her tits expanding with the blood to the point where she was certain they would pop from being over inflated.
"So the slut likes it? I thought so!"
And then the man really began to rain blows down on her soft, tender young body. The rod rose and fell repeatedly. Each time, the teenager cringed before the blow landed. The stinging pain ripped through her entire body, no matter where the wooden stick landed.
If he was whipping her flat, smooth belly, she felt pain throughout her legs. The way he was beating her made the pressure increase on her arms and legs. He was systematically guaranteeing she would feel more and more pain.
The beating was bad, the other pain was worse.
And Mr. Valentine continued meting it out to the young girl until she was crying in abysmal agony.
"Would you like something in your cunt, slave?" he demanded.
"Yes," she sobbed, "yes, anything, anything! It has to be better than what you're doing to me now!"
She was wrong.
He took the end of the rod and lightly touched the inside of her thigh. She cringed again at the feathery caress. She knew instantly what he was going to do to her.
"Please, no, you… you can't ram that stick up my cunt! You… you'll hurt ale!"
"You think yourself so valuable an investment that I wouldn't?"
That answered her question. He would do whatever gave him pleasure. She was nothing more than an expendable commodity. She wondered how many others he had bought and tortured to death or maimed totally. She guessed the number was large, too large.
Then she wasn't thinking of anything at all but the pain in her cunt. The end of the wood rod edged down the soft inner flesh of her thigh and finally touched her cunt lips. When he jerked the stick a little bit, he inserted the end of the rod about an inch into her cunt.
"Stop this, stop it!" she was crying. It didn't matter to the man. He wasn't listening. He was too busy seeing the way her pussy lips jerked and twitched as he inserted the rod up her cunt.
"You're not frothy yet," he accused. "Get excited over my rod or I shall really punish you!"
How could she possibly get juiced up in the cunt over what he was doing to her? That was impossible – or was it?
As the rod began twisting around inside her, she felt the vague stirrings of lust. This was so totally unexpected she was surprised by it. Pier tits hurt horribly from the beating he had given them. The red welts stood out like red lines on a road map where the wooden rod had smashed into tender titflesh. And her arms and legs were aching from simply having her weight hung on them.
But this!
It was obscene!
And she was getting off on it. The stick went another inch into her cunt. Then another and another. She felt her softly clutching pussy walls recoil in horror at the first rough touch of the wood stick. Then she actually felt her cunt oils begin to seep from her twat.
She was responding to him!
It didn't seem possible, yet it was happening. She hated herself for this. She shouldn't help get his sick thrills.
But she was.
Looking straight up into the overhead mirror, she could see everything he was doing to her. The sagging body, the ugly red welts all over her belly and tits, the aroused nipples, even her pinkly scalloped cunt lips spreading wide apart to lewdly kiss the wood rod stuffed into her cunt.