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She jerked violently against the cuffs, anger suffusing her incoherent shouts, he even thought he heard a garbled fuck you in the mess — but she didn’t snap her fingers.

It was like she knew what he really wanted in that moment. As perfunctory as it would be for her to break now, to submit, it would be so disappointing. He wanted to hurt her more, wanted her to scream more, wanted to break her down into component parts until he could reassemble her into something marketable.

Which, at this rate, would take so much time.

And he planned to appreciate each and every moment of her destruction.

Moving to the opposite side of her, he rolled the handle of the whip in his fingers, and then gripped it. His muscles twitched in anticipation, cock hardening again as he caught the sheen of his come on her thighs. She was already a slave, already a thing, she just hadn’t accepted it yet.

The next whip strike across her ass crisscrossed a previous one and she wailed, one foot lifting off the floor like she could block the pain, and then he struck her upper back. She arched, head angled back as she sobbed, and he wondered what she was feeling.

Was there fear in that complex soup of anger and pain? Did she know he could draw blood with the whip? Was she waiting for it?

A visual of crimson streaks rolling down her back filled his mind, and for a moment he even felt tempted. It would just take a little more strength behind the whip to cut flesh like butter. He could tear her to ribbons and listen to her weak screams until she blacked out. Something about the idea was tempting, despite the inherent mess of the blood and the inevitable risk of infection and scarring.

No.

Damaging the merchandise was foolish, and he was never foolish. That was Marcus’ territory. Impulsive and imprudent. Eventually she would need to make him money, and while the whip marks were getting darker, they would heal without lasting scars.

He had waited too long between strikes with his internal musing. Her breaths were evening out, she wasn’t even sobbing anymore despite the occasional sniffle.

If he couldn’t make her bleed, he’d just make her suffer.

Lifting his arm he brought the whip down hard over her upper back, then her ass. Back, ass, ass, back, again and again, and then just as she was screaming herself hoarse he landed the whip high on her thighs. The girl’s legs gave out as she sobbed weakly, hanging by her wrists from the cuffs — an added pain of her own making, but he didn’t want her breaking something.

Walking forward he wrapped the whip around her throat and used it to pull her back up, aided by his grip around her waist. She choked, coughed, sputtered against the gag as he tightened the whip, and his cock strained at his zipper.

“Do you want to submit yet?” he asked, watching her hands for any hint of an attempted snap.

Nothing.

He hadn’t planned to fuck her again, but there was nothing like screaming, or the desperate choking sounds coming out of her now, to make him hard. With her life in his hands, she was as pliable as she needed to be, too weak to stand on her own… but she wasn’t even trying to snap her fingers, and he had been so patient. Given her so many chances.

Anthony had refused to fuck her ass so soon after Marcus’ hasty actions, wanting to wait until the right moment, and now felt perfect. Dropping the whip he held on to her waist with one hand and unlinked one of the cuffs with the other. Her sudden intake of breath spoke of the hope she felt, the hope that the punishment was over, but he only moved the connector farther down the chain and then locked the cuff in place again.

She sobbed, the jerk of her body against his a clear indication that this was the right decision. The right moment.

With the second cuff shifted down he was able to pull her away from the wall, bend her forward, and she braced her palms on it, garbling pleas through the gag. He could hear a broken ‘please’, the barely perceptible versions of ‘no’ and ‘don’t’, but her refusals only made him smile because none of them were the answers to his questions.

The girl had not admitted she was a slave, had not called him Master, had not submitted.

“You understand what this means, girl. More punishment.” Keeping one arm around her waist, he opened his belt, his pants and zipper, pushing them down as he forced her legs wider. It strained her arms, forced her shoulders to twist, but none of that mattered as he freed his cock and slid into her hot cunt, still wet with the mix of the two of them. She hadn’t come, but he had, and her body’s defenses had made her more than wet enough.

Another contribution of his training.

Tightening around him, squeezing, she whimpered as his pants scraped over the whip marks. He moved inside her slowly, letting her believe for a moment that this was all he wanted from her. The girl started to relax, and he knew she was separating from this like she had so many times before.

It would be a short-lived reprieve.

He thrust a few more times, lubricating, before he pulled out and moved his cock to her ass. Body contorting, she whined as she tried to pull away, but his arm around her waist stopped it. She was so weak compared to him, helpless even without the cuffs. He could have done this a hundred times over, could have done it without wetting his cock inside her, but with her gagged and still crying from the pain of the whip?

This was the moment to take her ass.

“Have you realized yet that there’s nothing you can do to stop me?” he asked, watching her ribs expand and contract as she stayed silent. Defiant.

She was practically begging to be punished.

Unlike his brother, he slowly pressed against her tight ring of muscles. Waited for her keening whine to rise, for her body to shudder, her panic to peak, before he twitched his hips and forced the head of his cock inside her. So tight.