Page 211 of Doubts & Fears

She shuddered and hung her head but complied. She put her head to the floor, baring her back to him.

“Earlier, you hesitated when I asked about your clothing.”

“A kajira is sorry, Master. This slave whore won’t ever do something like that again.”

“I’m sure after this, she won’t. Lift your head, kajira. Kiss it like you did my cock a few minutes ago.”

She looked up and swallowed hard. She kissed and licked the whip. He stepped away, and she lowered her head once more. His arm moved up and back, and we all held our breaths as the instrument whistled through the air and landed on X’s back with a loud noise.

There was a quick, audible intake of breath and a long pause before her mouth opened, and a scream emerged. The scream she let out was terrifying. She sobbed, her breath coming in heaving gasps. Her body trembled in pain and fear now. A large mark appeared, angry and red. I stared at it, feeling faint.

I shook in fear, so much so that Winter’s pinkie squeezed mine. A silent command to calm down. It helped for a minute, but then he brought the whip down several more times against her helpless back. The worst parts were the preceding whistle and whoosh of the thongs as they flew through the air, and then her screams of pain as the whip exploded across her.

“You’re forgetting something, kajira,” he screamed.

“Tha…Thank you for correcting a kajira when she errs, Master,” she cried through her tears.

“Much better. Now prepare yourself. Those were a warm-up.” He gave her a sick, twisted grin. Her eyes grew wide, and try as I might, I couldn’t fight back the feeling of wanting to throw up.

“A slave whore begs for mercy, Master, and promises to do better,” she pleaded.

She shifted her position to her hands and knees. I didn’t know if she was going to crawl and beg him like she’d done countless times before, but this was different. It was like something had snapped in him. He kicked her hard, then reached down and grabbed her hair.

“Stupid whore,” he yelled, his voice full of anger. “You’re supposed to be teaching the girls the proper ways. Look at you, so ignorant that you can’t hold position. Maybe I’ll have you replaced, kajira? What do you think of that?”

She sobbed hard. “I’m sorry, Master…please…Master, have mercy on this stupid slave girl.”

He said nothing to her but instead dragged her across the room to where the wall had two large eye bolts, one toward the top of the ceiling and one on the floor. Each ring had leather cuffs attached to chains that could be adjusted.

“Arms up, kajira!”

She whimpered and obeyed him. He secured her and adjusted the chains, lifting her feet somewhat off the floor, and then secured her ankles and tightened the lower chains. Her body was now stretched so tight I wondered if she would break in half.

He picked up the whip once more and walked around her. As he brought it back, it whistled through the air. All four of us cried out as it came down across the back of her legs in a hard strike.

She opened her mouth, and at first, nothing came out, but when it did, the four of us, for five seconds, grabbed each other’s pinkies. I grabbed both Winter’s and Summer’s in mine and squeezed before we let go.

The high-pitched wail of pain and anguish released from her mouth filled our hearts with terror. I began dry heaving, earning me a glare from the instructor. X gasped and sobbed, and once more, we heard the cruel thongs whistle through the air.

“Fifteen strokes. Five for hesitating and ten for breaking position,” he said, then added, “You will count them out, and if you miss, we’ll start over.”

“Y-y-y-yes, Master,” she cried.

I had no idea how she endured them, let alone counted them out, but by the eighth one, I had to rush over to the trash can and got violently ill. I tried so hard, but I couldn’t hold it in. I finished as she screamed out the word “thirteen” and rushed back to the mirror, feeling dizzy.

When he was finished, he took her down from the restraints. She kneeled at his feet. He offered her the whip, and she placed it between her lips and kissed it with her mouth.

“Take this and hang it on the wall over there, slave.”

Her body was red and had raised welts.She had a hard time moving from the pain, and tears streamed down her face. She carefully hung it up and then turned and knelt at the Collector’s feet.

That was when he took a fitted metal collar and held it out to her. He said nothing, just smiled. Her body trembled, but she extended her arms, wrists crossed, toward him, offering herself up. It wasn’t like she had a choice, really.

“Say it, kajira.” He glared.

“This kajira begs to wear your collar, Master. A slave whore prays that while she’s wearing it, she will honor you with her service.”

They spoke the ritual words, ones that all four of us had been forced to memorize in the event our Master wanted us to be his kajira. She declared him in control of her, which was ironic. It wasn’t like she was ever given the opportunity to say no.

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