Enslaved in Hollywood, Part Three
"Stop squirming, you little slut."
Jeri fought to keep the smile from her face as she watched Freya writhe in her bonds. This was perfect. Freya had skipped straight from denial and gone straight to anger. Her pretty face was twisted up in anger and fury behind her gag, which muffled the string of obscenities Freya had yelled at her from the moment she realised who her captor was. Jeri was pleased by that -- playing with a girl was no fun now she was in the
No, no, this can't be happening!
phase. An angry slave girl was always more enjoyable as a play partner. Squashing that defiance was a lot of fun.
She grabbed Freya's face with her right hand, digging her fingernails painfully into her cheeks.
"Shut. The. Fuck. Up," she said, enunciating every word carefully, "or I'll kick your ass even more than I already planned to, bitch."
And to emphasise her point, she slashed the crop down across Freya's stomach. The girl's defiance turned to pain as she howled into her gag.
Jeri had dragged Freya from her cell and re-bound her. The girl now stood in the centre of the dungeon, illuminating her under the cold harsh glare of two ceiling-mounted white spotlights. Freya's wrists were cuffed to either end of a steel bar, holding her arms high over her head so only her toes touched the floor. A spreader bar between her ankles kept her legs nice and wide, giving Jeri unimpeded access to the girl's most sensitive and intimate areas.
She walked around Freya now as she stood in place, panting into her gag, and admired what she saw. Freya's skin was pristine and coated with a thin film of sweat. Not a surprise -- Freya had had plenty of time to imagine what might be about to happen to her, and the prospect was enough to make anyone sweat.
"You're so lovely," Jeri said, running the tips of her fingernails up Freya's sides and enjoying the way the girl flinched away from her. "I can't decide what to do with you first -- whip you or fuck you."
Freya's face screwed up into anger as she yelled a muffled but recognisable
"Fuck you, you bitch!"
through the gag. Jeri let her smile grow predatory.
"Fine. The whip it is."
She slashed her crop through the air and saw the fear blossom in Freya's eyes. She started moaning
"No, no, please!"
into the gag, those pretty eyes widening like saucers.
"Too late for that, girl," Jeri cautioned. "You should have thought about that before you decided to be rude to me. Consider this by way of a lesson."
And the crop slashed down again, this time across Freya's buttocks.
Freya howled in pain as Jeri worked. She liked to vary her rhythm and intensity to keep the girl on her toes, as well as her targets. Sometimes she struck at Freya's ass or stomach. Sometimes it was her back, or -- worst of all -- Freya's thighs and breasts. She was careful with those targets, of course -- she had other plans for ways to torment Freya's breasts and nipples in the future -- and soon Freya's body was covered in a criss-cross pattern of red lines that were very pleasing to the eye. Jeri liked to consider herself an artist -- so what if her brush was a whip and her canvas the pristine flesh of a beautiful, innocent young girl in way over her head?
By the time the punishment had finished, Jeri had worked up a sweat herself and resolved she would take a shower before bed, after locking the girl up again for the night. She walked slowly around the girl, admiring her handiwork and loving, as always, the click of her high heels on the cold concrete floor of the dungeon. In the darkness and silence, with the only sound coming from Freya's muffled breathing, it sounded wonderfully sinister.
When she was facing Freya again, she reached out with the tip of her crop under Freya's chin, raising her face and forcing Freya to look her in the eye. Tears streamed down a face screwed up in pain. Some of the defiance was gone. Jeri smiled at that.
"Are you going to behave yourself now, bitch?"
