Written by: Jenne

She stood awaiting her fate. The fact that he uttered not a word was far more disconcerting than if he had shouted and scolded her as her Father always had. The young man who had given her so much pleasure quickly gathered his garments and disappeared back into the shadows from whence he had emerged. It also became apparent to her that the Master's son was no longer in the room either. She was alone with her Master once more.

Her nakedness making her vulnerable, her hands trembling, she shrunk back as the Master reached forward and roughly grabbed her face, forcing her to raise her gaze to meet his. The gentleness gone now, his eyes burnt as fiercely as the fire in the room once had, not with lust but loathing, the anger apparent through those blue portals.

His hand raised. She gasped as it whooshed through the air before falling sharply across her face. The tears welled in her eyes, almost spilling down her cheeks, but held back by a mixture of pride and anger. Her anger was not only at this man for striking the blow, but also, more bitterly, at her Mother. She had lied, "They will not harm you." The words resounded through her mind. She deserved to be punished. She accepted that by now, but not like this surely. Her anger at those words now outweighed the feelings the slap had produced. How could her Mother have lied to her?

" Whore," he spat at her. The words slowly registered, confusing her still more. The word she had spoken was wrong, but she was no whore. She had done his son's bidding, nothing less and nothing more. She had obeyed just as her Mother had told her to. Why? Why, was he treating her this way?

She winced as he raised his hands once more, closing her eyes as she waited for the flesh-to- flesh contact.

It didn't come. Cautiously she opened her eyes, unsure as to what sight would meet them, sure that he would hit her again. His finger gestured toward her, his eyes burning through hers. Handing her her clothes, he motioned that she should dress. She needed no second bidding, obeying without question now, wanting only to please him, the ache that gnawed at her jaw serving its purpose, sharpening her mind.

Together they left the cottage. Thunder stood proud and strong at the gate, the other steed gone. He mounted Thunder and pulled her behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, taking some comfort from the closeness of his body as he urged Thunder forward, pressing his heels deep into the horse's withers.

Thunder responded, soon reaching full gallop, the ride exhilarating, and the speed phenomenal. The stables were reached too soon, her feeling of freedom short lived. The stable lad rushed out to meet them and she recognized him immediately. Standing in front of Thunder was the same fresh-faced lad who had pleasured her that afternoon. She blushed scarlet at the memory of his actions. Dismounting quickly, the Master took her hand and helped her down. His action seemed strange; it was as though the ride had dissipated his anger to some degree.

Hastily he led her through the same courtyard and passages she had traveled with his son earlier that day. He led her into a small unfamiliar room, deep within the bowels of the large house. This was unlike any room that she had ever encountered before, a small damp room, the walls bare, no furnishings of any kind, the ceilings low--just a bare damp room. Why had he brought her here?

He beckoned her closer to him and she obeyed. His hand reached forward, his eyes told his intention was not to hurt her. Her garments dropped to the floor, the goose bumps spreading over her body like an ugly rash as the cold and damp invaded her body. His caress of her breasts, pinching her nipples sharply, caused her to gasp for breath. Her arms stretched towards him, the clasp of iron, hard and cool against her wrists. The confusion returned and she searched his eyes, looking for the answers once more, but nothing was to be found.

Being turned away from him, the blindfold placed on her eyes, the darkness, the confusion, the fear returned. Listening intently now, relying on the smallest sounds for clues. The clang of iron as her ankles were secured, leaving her helpless to her Master's whims and wants, sent her into a sudden panic. She struggled as she had seen the rabbits do in the village after her Father had trapped them. She recognized the sound of the door swinging shut, the heavy clang of the metal echoing round the small room that was now her prison.

Alone now, scared and alone. What now? Why was he treating her this way? Her punishment had been administered in that slap, hadn't it?

She listened, quelling her fear, trying to focus. She heard the sound before she felt the furry creature scurry across her foot. She screamed, the fear rising from within her, the helplessness of her situation suddenly hitting her. The tears flowed freely, absorbed by the blindfold material. Never before had she felt so alone, so scared and dejected. She sat on the cold stone floor and wondered how long he would keep her captive, the tears rolling freely now, cascading, saturating the blindfold that hid her sadness from the empty room.

Then a sound. Her heart leapt. Had he relented? Had he returned to free her from this prison that he had created? She listened as the steps neared, the soft sound of footsteps against the hard floor. She sat in silence trying to work out where the person whose feet the steps belonged to was. The distinctive clink of chains now met her ears. She tried in vain to make herself invisible, scared as to what would befall her next, trying to blend into the walls that surrounded her, pressing her back into the smooth stone.

Then horror beyond all before gripped her, forcing her to realize what was happening to her even as she tried to reject the reality of it all. Wrenched by her arms, pulled to her feet, the clink of chains, her arms held secure. Her entire body trembling. Standing waiting, for what?. Suspended almost in mid-air, pulled by some unknown, unseen device. The first slap hitting her buttocks, biting sharply into her bare skin. The laughter of her captor low and menacing. Not the Master's work, not his voice. But whose? Another slap, short but sharp, the blow contacting with her flesh, burning into it, again and again the blows raining down until she could not distinguish each individual blow. The pain cutting into her very being, absorbed by her body as the cruel