Page 23 of Vicious

He pulls the key out of his pocket and raises it to my neck, going for the lock. The chain falls away with a loud clank, but the collar stays in place.

I flinch when he runs his hand along my jaw.

“Your back is going to look so beautiful,” Chase says. He points toward the big cross. “I’m sure you can figure out where your hands and legs go.”

“I’m sure you can figure out I’m not going to just walk over there so you can take a whip to me,” I retort, taking a step away from him.

“Ah-May, don’t be silly.” Chase places his hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eyes. “You’re going to do it willingly, because fighting me now is going to waste all the energy you could be expending in trying to figure out how you’re going to outwit me.”

My own eyes narrow as I stare at him. “Outwit you?” I laugh. “There’s no outwitting you once you have me chained to that thing, Chase Vicious.”

“Will it be easier to think if you’re exhausted and bleeding after I’ve whipped you?” he asks, still cheerful. “Because I can make sure the leather cuts your back. Or I can let myself be satisfied with just welts.”

“I hate you,” I mutter. I hate the way I walk stiffly toward the cross instead of arguing with him more, too—and the way anticipation starts to well up within me as I wonder just what this is going to feel like.

“Arms up. Place your hands inside the manacles.” Chase smiles. “I made sure they’d be at the right height for you.”

His words send a chill through me. This is so well thought out, and I can’t help but wonder how many times this smiling psychopath has considered this. “What if I just hold onto it and you don’t use the manacles?” I ask, warily approaching the device.

“And have you jerk around and cause the whip to hit you wrong? That’s a terrible idea, May.” Chase laughs. “Unless that’s your goal. Do you want the extra pain of the leather wrapping around your side?”

Shuddering, I press against the cross, the smooth wood cold against my breasts and making my nipples pebble. I slip my hands into the manacles, swallowing hard when he comes over to secure them in place. The cross feels huge—or maybe I just feel tiny in comparison to the large wooden device.

He taps against the inside of my thighs. “Spread wider. Get your ankles in place too.”

Biting my bottom lip, I slowly spread my legs, my body starting to tremble as helplessness descends upon me. “I don’t want to do this,” I say, my voice little more than a whimper—not that I think he’ll care.

Chase fastens the cuffs around my ankles. “You’ll love it,” he insists, like he actually believes that.

I scoff weakly at him, but I can’t help but think of the way my body had reacted to the spanking. It had utterly betrayed me, and I hope desperately that that doesn’t happen again.

He wanders away from me, and the bondage means I can’t turn enough to see what he’s doing.

“You know, they recommend starting with softer whips,” Chase says. “But I’m sure you can handle something a bit more than that.”

I tense, shaking my head. “N-no,” I say quickly. “We should start with something softer. For a beginner. I am a beginner, Chase.” I wish I didn’t sound so much like I was begging.

He scoffs at me, and I can imagine the mocking smile on his face that never really seems to face as his footsteps sound closer and closer to me.

I want to tell him that I don’t want this, that I can’t handle this, but I know he won’t listen. I?—

Before I even have time to complete my thought, the tail of the whip comes down on me in a stinging sensation unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I yelp, more out of surprise than pain. I try to fight against the cuffs, but there’s nowhere to go. Now that I’m here, I’m trapped until he decides to let me go.

“Lovely. Don’t hold back your sounds on my account, by the way,” Chase says with cheer.

The next time the whip cracks in the air, I go utterly rigid, and the pain that blossoms in the wake of that strike puts the first to shame. Despite his words, I bite back my cry, not wanting to give him what he wants any more than I already have to. He isn’t starting off slow and easy. It’s like he’s barely holding back, like he’s been thinking about this for so long that he doesn’t know how to slow himself down.

Maybe he doesn’t.

Up and down my back, across my ass cheeks, the lines bring more and more pain in their wake. I can’t hold back my cries, can’t hold back my tears, and I don’t even know how many times the whip comes down before I sag into my bonds.

It’s strange, though, because the next time he strikes me, it doesn’t feel so harsh. Maybe I’m just getting used to it, or…

I yelp again as he continues to whip me, and I can’t even follow the path my own thoughts are trying to take me on. He isn’t talking now, isn’t mocking me, isn’t laughing. No, this isn’t amusing to him anymore.

I hear his ragged breathing in between the lashes, and even the occasional groan.

He’s getting off on this.

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