The belt came crashing down against Callie’s already tender ass. She squealed behind the gag, instinctively trying to roll away from the stinging leather flicking against the backs of her thighs.
“Stay still, you cunt,” Damon roared, the anger in his voice frightening her as much as the belt.
Callie forced herself to lie still as the belt snapped again and again against her tortured flesh. She closed her eyes and hid her face against the soft quilt, trying desperately to conjure some kind of peaceful place in her mind to which she could escape. But it was no good.
Finally, the beating stopped. She felt the weight of the mattress shift as he fell onto the bed beside her. Though she tried to be quiet, she couldn’t stop whimpering behind the gag. Every inch of her ass and the backs of her thighs was on fire. She wondered if she was bleeding again. Just the thought sickened her.
It was hard to breathe through her nose, which had become clogged from her crying. If only she could get the fucking ball gag out of her mouth!
Finally, to her vast relief, she felt Damon’s fingers at the back of her head as he unbuckled the horrid gag. He pulled it away. “Hey,” he said, his voice suddenly gentle as he stroked her hair. “Don’t cry, Callie. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I was pissed and I took it out on you.”
Had the bastard just apologized to her? The irony of that small apology in the midst of the impossibly unforgivable situation almost made her want to laugh. Yet, at the same time, tears again filled her eyes, not from the pain, but because she was actually grateful for that small shred, that tiny glimmer, of humanity.
But the gratitude was quickly followed by rage. It was like running someone over with a car repeatedly, and then apologizing for the rip he’d caused in her stocking. Seriously?
Still, she needed to seize this brief moment of apparent compassion. In order to escape, she needed her strength. In order to survive, she had to get some food.
She forced herself to look at him, striving to keep her expression subservient and docile. He was regarding her with a soft, sad expression which she knew could vanish in the blink of an eye. Gathering her courage, she pleaded, “I haven’t had anything to eat in so long. I promise to be good from now on. Please, Sir. May I have some food?”Chapter 12How long had she been his captive? Three days? Five? The days had begun to blur, bleeding together into one long, endless test of endurance in the face of constant torture and humiliation. She’d been horrified when she’d caught a glimpse of her bruised, welted ass in the bathroom mirror, the tangled mess of her hair and the hollow, fearful look in her eyes. She’d taken to avoiding the mirror, averting her gaze while in the bathroom.
It had almost been worth it to take the vicious belt-strapping she’d received after his phone call. His contrite mood had lasted the rest of the day. Granted, she’d had to endure an obnoxious game of fetch as he tossed segments of orange, chunks of pineapple and bits of cheese onto the tiled kitchen floor. He’d forced her to crawl on her hands and knees and pick up the bits of food using only her mouth.
She’d eagerly scampered after each delicious, life-restoring morsel, sucking it into her mouth as quickly as she could. She’d ignored his cruel chuckling as he amused himself at her expense. She’d ended up eating more than her shrunken belly could handle, and had paid the price with terrible stomach cramps afterward. But it had been worth it.
It had been harder to drink the water from the dog bowl he’d set near his feet. She’d made a mess of it, dunking the ends of her hair into the water and sloshing half the contents onto the floor, but she’d managed to quench her thirst.
At least he allowed her to eat regularly now, and no longer forced her to crawl around like a dog for her food. She was permitted to sit on the floor beside his chair for meals. He allowed her to feed herself from an actual plate and drink from a cup, though she wasn’t permitted utensils. Maybe if she continued to play her cards right, lulling him in the belief she’d accepted her lot, he might eventually let her sit at the table. But she wasn’t holding her breath.
Still, there were some improvements. He’d moved her from the basement to his bed at night. She’d only had to go back down there once, when the maids came in to do the deep cleaning. He’d made her go into the small, empty storage closet in the basement. After forcing her to sit down on the floor, he’d pressed a sticky piece of duct tape over her mouth, bound her hands and feet together and then closed the door.