Page 97 of Whispers of Obsession

“You have been a disgusting, fucking bitch. A conniving little slut…” He takes one step toward me, and I move out from under the blanket, scooting back. “You deserve to be punished for your behavior. Severely.”

I shake my head, moving to the other side of the bed, my feet hitting the floor with a soft thud.

“Admit it, Cora. Admit what a fucking whore you are. How desperate you are for cock,” he growls, walking toward me slowly. There’s an air about him. A new level of…danger? No…violence. Pure fucking violence is radiating off of him. He’s practically vibrating with it.

I suck in soft gasps of air.

“Get on your fucking knees,” my masked man hisses, but I’m in shock, either from seeing him here or his words. Or maybe it’s the hatred in his distorted voice.

Does he know I fucked Slater? Does he know how I manipulated Slater into fucking me?

He moves in a flash, his hand wrapping around my throat suddenly.

“I said, get on your fucking knees!”

He uses his hold on me to shove me down, my knees connecting with the carpeted floor so hard that I cry out from the pain. He uses his free hand, shoving it into my hair and yanks it back.

“I was going to choke you on my cock, but I don’t think you deserve to taste my cum.”

He lifts me, my feet dangling, as I’m slammed into the wall with so much force that my vision swims.

I groan in pain, but the masked man doesn’t care. His grip on my neck remains firm. My mouth pops open, as I stare into the eyes of the mask. The soulless black void. I can’t breathe. I claw at his wrists, my heart pounding, as my vision starts to go dark, I scramble for the mask, but my hands are weak.

Everything fades.

When I wake, I’m confused. Disoriented.

“I’m going to turn this pretty pale ass black and blue,” he warns, and I blink.

Wait, where am I? Who said that?

Looking over my shoulder, as my head pounds, I see the masked man. My heart rate goes into overdrive, and I gasp. I’m completely naked, and I can’t move. He stands beside me, and he’s got me secured to the end of the bed. Bent in half. Arms secured over my head, legs held open by ropes around my ankles, which are probably strapped to the bed somewhere.

The searing pain comes without warning. Once, twice, three times. I gasp for air. The pain is unlike anything I have ever felt.

He drags a leather belt down my cheek, through my tears.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, and I nod.

The initial pain is fading, but it leaves behind a constant ache.

“Good. Now scream for me.”

The belt slashes against my flesh over and over, and I scream until I’m hoarse, and my throat feels bloody.

After the seventh, I start to lose count.

I’m crying, no, sobbing. Tears fall down my cheeks, and snot clogs my nose.

“Scream, Cora.” Hit. “Scream for me.” Another…and then I scream again, the sound like nothing I’ve ever heard before. This one is guttural, and rips from my throat. I scream for what feels like minutes or even hours, but is probably only seconds.

“Dirty fucking sluts get punished,” he snarls.

My legs are released. Then my hands. He drags me up the bed, and then reties me to the headboard. This time, I’m on my back and my ass smarts against the covers. I thought the bedding was soft, but on my shredded raw skin, it feels like sandpaper now.

I think the torture is over.

But I’m so wrong.

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