Torture

The whip whistles as it cuts the air, moments before it strikes across my back. Pain consumes me, and I cannot help but cry out. I barely recover before the next lash strikes home.

Whimpering, I beg them to stop.

They smile maliciously and ignore my pleas.

The whip stings my flesh again and again in a steady rhythm of rising torment.

I struggle against my bindings, trying to escape, but it’s no use. My tormentors are professionals.

Wracking my brain I try to think of a way out of my predicament. If only I could remember that safe word!

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