HARDCORE: Storm MC(43)
Realizing my position on the floor, hampered as it was by the useless wet blanket, would do me no favors in the next moments, I scrambled to my knees and then to my feet. I was completely soaked. That pipe packed some force, like a firefighter’s hose. The air down in that room was cold enough to begin with; add in drenched with freezing water, and I had no relief in sight for the shivers that had already overtaken my body.
The sick bastard laughed. “Ah, Sienna, you do not fail to entertain. Now, as I said, face the back wall. Feet wide apart. Hands behind your neck.”
“Or what?” I asked, wanting to know all my options.
“Do you really want to be Tasered again, my kitten?”
I turned and did as ordered.
He Tasered me again, anyway, and I fell hard.
Oh god, the pain. The contraction. My heart rate pumped high, my body convulsed, and my mind shut down.
When I awoke some minutes later, I found myself in yet another cell. This one also featured the cage, but no cot and no toilet. Instead, I was positioned flat on my back on a high table of sorts inside the cage area, and he had stripped me naked. My wrists were tied to my ankles, my legs strapped out to the sides, and my torso likewise strapped down. It was the perfect rape table, and I immediately dreaded the next phase of this hell.
I heard him before I saw him.
“Ah, I see you are beginning to come around again. Good. I want you wide awake for this. First, let us check on your sensation level. I wouldn’t want you to miss this lesson because of our little incident with the Taser.”
Right, like the Taser caused the incident.
He pulled on the hair on top of my head. It was still wet from my unplanned shower from hell, dripping cold water down my scalp and on my chest and back. My whole body was freezing cold, still shivering from the combination of that and the electrical-impulse contractions.
“Do you feel this, you sex bitch? Yes? Good. And how about this?”
He twisted one of my nipples, hard. I glared at him in response but said nothing. I would not give him what he wanted. I was determined to fight him all the way, in whatever limited ways that I could.
“This, my dear little sex kitten, is just the beginning of your punishment for what you did last night. And make no mistake; it will be a lengthy punishment, and it will be filled with your pain.”
He gave the same treatment to the same nipple again, then bent down and bit my other nipple so hard I was sure he punctured my skin and drew blood. I could not stop myself from screaming out.
That seemed to mollify him in some way, and he straightened again, smiled evilly, and took some steps away.
I didn’t see the next thing coming, but I felt the whiplash sharply against my outer right thigh. It was a shock, and I shrieked again.
He followed it immediately with another lash against my opposite leg, then landed a third directly along the center of my torso, from my solar plexus down to my pubes. He was grunting with every lash he laid, and I knew he was putting it all into each stroke, like a fucking tennis player serving aces. And fuck, did those lashes hurt. I don’t think he was breaking skin yet, but the pain and shock and burn of the lashes was all consuming, and I did not want to open my eyes to see.
He continued to whip me from different angles around the table—on my breasts, across my abdomen, on my inner and outer thighs, even landing one directly on my sex.
He seemed to be working himself up with each lash; his breathing was getting louder, and he was shouting, “Yeah!” with each stroke.
It was excruciating and humiliating, and by the time he was done, my shrieks had devolved into cries. My face was streaming with tears. I was having trouble breathing.
Finally, after I had lost count and was drifting somewhere in a mindless haze of pain and disembodied horror, he must have realized that I was no longer really with the program.
He threw the whip to the side and, flipping the switches to lock the cage and kill the lights, left the room.
Very shortly thereafter, I heard the cries of another voice, that lovely high soprano, but this was no ethereal song. This time, her sounds were in agonized rhythmic grunts and keening. I could only imagine what he was doing to her. It was a torture just to listen.
It could not have been good.
Chapter Twelve
Dom
When I got home after that awesome Storm church meeting—we finally had church back!—I had been so excited to grab hold of Sienna and hug her for minutes. I was so pumped. The meeting had gone great. After too many months without it, we were all back on the same page again.
Pres had had some hard moments in there. He’d been keeping mum about his daughter Zoe’s absence from the scene and his ties to Joey Ronn, the whole real reason our MC had been stuck working security for Ronn and Hardcore.