She drew in a soft breath, and swallowed hard. He stared at her, his cruel question lingering in the air between them like some noxious thing.
"You'll grow old, kitten. You won't be attractive to him forever, even if he does manage not to grow bored of you. What will you do then?"
"I don't know, Master." She spoke honestly. She didn't know, and she preferred not to think about it.
"Do you speak to your family?"
"Sometimes. Birthday and holidays. He doesn't keep me from them, but...we're not very close."
"Hmm," he said. She didn't know what to make of that hmm, but he asked no more questions so she turned and completed her task, wiping down the counters and hanging the dishtowel carefully over the bar beside the sink. She was just going to turn to him and await more instructions, but there he was behind her, his hand on her back.
"Hold the bar. The one you just hung the towel over," he said when she hesitated.
She reached for the bar with a sense of dread.
"Don't let go." He pushed down on her back a bit, so she was bent over the counter. Then he left and Molly stood, uneasy and nervous, listening for the sound of his return. Perhaps he would make her stand there holding the bar for eight hours, simply to test her. Perhaps he would come back and fuck her again. That would be the best she could hope for. But part of her knew he wasn't coming back to fuck her.
She looked over her shoulder as he re-entered the room a few minutes later, going hot and cold at the sight of the whip in his hand. It was like the one Master used, the one that had raised the welts just yesterday.
"Eyes forward," he said without anger or any other emotion. "Don't let go of the bar."
The whip came slashing down against her ass cheeks. She cried out as a second blow followed, and went up on her tip toes from the spreading, heated pain. "Oh, Master. Please!"
Another stroke, and another. She writhed, trying to evade him as best she could without letting go of the bar she clenched, but he only put his hand on her back and pressed her harder against the counter. Now she was helpless to get away and the strikes kept coming. Stripes of fire across her ass, the tops of her thighs. She cried out at each one, panicked pleas that did nothing to dissuade him. She knew her only task now was to endure what he wanted her to endure. If her pleas for respite and mercy aroused him, she was happy for that, but she derived no pleasure from the capricious blows of the whip.
She began to cry eventually, sagging against the counter and resigning herself to the crippling agony. He caught her with a blow just under the juncture of ass and thighs and she tensed again, trembling from the effort it took not to let go of the bar and run. Hide. Fight him if he came after her. He would defeat her easily and beat her much harder for trying to evade him. "Please! Please..." she sobbed, and then she fell silent. Nothing she could say would make him stop whipping her bottom, not until it pleased him to do so.
Finally, with one last slice across the center of her ass cheeks and the flange of the anal toy, he put the whip down on the counter beside her. She stood still, sniffling and snuffling, too tired to even move away from him.
"Hand me that wooden spoon, kitten."
At his quiet command, Molly looked up at the canister of tools beside her, and burst into tears again. But she did as he asked, and a moment later, the first excruciating smack fell over the already-throbbing welts of the whip. He spanked her hard and fast, and now she screamed in earnest, grasping the towel bar. Just as quickly, the torture was over, and she was reduced to a blubbering mess slumping against the corner.
He lifted her with one firm hand under her arm and turned her to face him. She swiped at tears but he pushed her hand away and rubbed his cheek against hers. The tender gesture and the smoothness of his freshly-shaven skin settled her. She reached out for him and he pulled her closer, nuzzling against her ear.
"I know that hurt you." His voice was a low tickle against her cheek. "I imagine your Master keeps your skin well-marked when you're at home."
"Ye—yes, Master," she stammered through tears.
"Like him, I can't resist marking that lovely ass of yours. Or at least refreshing the marks he left on you. For my pleasure," he added with a touch of irony. "I wasn't punishing you for anything, you know."
"Thank...Thank you for explaining that, Master."
"You're most welcome. Although, of course, you are never owed an explanation."
She was finally calming as the urgent pain in her ass and thighs downshifted into a dull, bearable ache.
"And I have enjoyed talking with you, and getting to know you a little better this morning. Although I warn you, very soon you'll be put on speech restriction. So don't get too used to these chats."