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“We’ll get through this, okay?” I tell her once her dress sags from her shoulders. “You and me, no one else.”

It’s a dumb thing to say. We’re in a room full of spectators. Captives, like Silas. My father. His followers. But when I look at her, at her beautiful face, I feel it: me and her. Us.

The dress drops, sliding down her narrow hips, hitting the floor. Reaching for the hem of undergarments, I lift her top, exposing her to the room. My eyes fall to her nipples, watching as they harden. I run my fingers down her sides, resting them on the waistband of her shorts. I pause, unable to push them off—unwilling to show her perfect body to these vultures lying in wait.

Her hands cover mine, urging me to finish what we’ve started. She shimmies the shorts over her hips, and they fall with the dress, pooled around her feet. My gaze falls to the brand, still scabby after all this time. Painful and slow-healing. Every act from my father sends a message, and that brand is the loudest. His initials, bold but hidden. His ownership.

I press my thumb into the soft skin just above it and clarity strikes. He had to brand her because he knows that deep down, she’ll never belong to him. Not like she belongs to me. To Silas, Elon, and Levi.

That thought allows the anger and rage, all the frustration and dark thoughts to vanish for a moment, another emotion taking hold. It’s unfamiliar and pure. It’s pure instinct—maybe, fuck, maybe it’s the ever elusive Enlightenment. Whatever it is, it propels me to take her face in my hands and brush my thumb over her full lips, whispering, “I love you.”

The smallest, brightest, most life-affirming smile tugs at her lips. “I love you too.”

Before I can process it, act on it, she inhales deeply and then turns to face the chair, bending, hands flat on the arms. She’s offering her body to me, under duress, but offering it all the same. It’s wrong, but my cock twitches at the sight of her soft, supple flesh and all I want to do is—

“I love your initiative, Imogene, but you won’t be bent over for this. Sit in the chair, sweetheart.”

I blink, my father’s voice snapping me back to the moment.

She rights herself, hands moving to cover her breasts and pussy. Her forehead creased in confusion. I feel the same.

“What are you asking me to do?” A thought flickers in my mind. “You want me to beat her face? That’s foolish even for you.”

“Of course not.” He waves this off as if it’s a ridiculous thought. As if I’m the sadistic lunatic. “Her breasts. A lash for every Regressive act.”

Next to me, Imogene’s arm flattens across her tits.

I start to ask why, but I know the answer. Imogene does get a thrill from spanking. She and Levi have been experimenting with that more and more. My father isn’t willing to go over existing territory. He wants to push her further. Degrade her more. Expose her to the room—face and body.

“How many is that?” I try my hardest to keep my voice even.

Anex licks his lips and holds up a hand. One finger ticking off at a time. “Meetingwith Silas.Alteringher supplements.SpreadingRegressive thoughts to the other women in the Center.Lyingabout it when given the opportunity to confess.Defyingher leader.”

Five. There are five in all.

“Rex,” he says. “Do it right.”

The threat is implied. Do it right, or the consequences will be far worse. Reaching around Imogene, I grab the paddle off the chair. Schooling my face in the hard, controlled expression my father raised me to wear in situations like this, I command, “Sit.” She does, dropping her arm, revealing her breasts without being told. I brush a strand of hair off her cheek. “Good girl.”

In our world, women’s bodies are hidden under thick cotton, high collars, and complicated buttons. In the secular world, I’ve had my share of tits. I’ve sucked, fucked, bitten, and come on many. But Imogene’s are the first I’ve revered; that I’ve wanted to cherish. I take them in now, full and round, nipples a dark peaked pink.

I say a silent prayer that she doesn’t hate me when this is over.

The first slap comes without warning. A hard strike to the soft side of her breast, driving it into the other. She cries out, eyes instantly watering, cheeks turning red.

Her hands grip the arms of the chair.

“One,” Anex says from his throne. “Don’t hold back.”

I switch hands, elbow back, slamming the paddle against the other breast. Welts rise from the raised surface. Her teeth bear down on her bottom lip and a fat tear slides down her cheek. The sight of it triggers something inside of me, and I lower the paddle. “Imogene—”

“Keep going.” She cuts me off, her eyes forged of steel. Lifting her chin she whispers, “That’s two.”

Again, I paddle her, my grip wavering, catching her nipple with the rivets. She yelps but swallows it quickly, pale throat bobbing dramatically. It’s after that third strike that I see it. My eyes draw up to hers, then back down. Her hips shift, the slightest squirm.

My balls twitch in response.

Licking my bottom lip, I slap her again, just the tips and hitting both of her nipples at the same time. Imogene groans, head falling back. Her fingers tighten around the arm of the chair, but I realize now it’s not out of the urge to run—it’s to stop from touching herself.