She didn’t count the seconds, but it felt like she hung there for hours, shaking with fear, anxiety, trepidation.
She barely breathed.
The first crack of the whip sounded like lightening.
It hadn’t touched her skin, but she cried out anyway; her legs buckled under her and only the belt and the ropes on her wrists kept her from losing her footing.
Still he didn’t speak.
Her stomach rolled with nerves and she hissed in sharp gasps.
They mixed with whimpers as she hung there, helpless and restrained.
The whip sounded again, and her entire body tensed again to brace for the impact.
The sound seemed closer this time, but there was no pain.
He hadn’t hit her.
But he would.
She just didn’t know when.
That frightened her more than knowing it was coming.
She hadn’t even realized she was crying until she felt the heat on her cheeks.
Anxiety tightened in her chest.
She could hear nothing but the sound of her own heart; could think of nothing but the sound of the cracking whip and the memory of what her father’s whip had felt like as it split the skin on her back.
She felt her tears seeping into the blindfold.
When the third crack rang out and still did not touch her skin, she sobbed out loud.
He’d commanded her not to speak, but that was alright because she couldn’t form words.
She lost track of the cracks that didn’t make contact with her flesh, until she could no longer hear them over the roar of her heart in her ears and the sounds of her sobs.
She shook violently, the belt digging into her skin, until she could barely hold herself upright on her feet.
When his whip finally cracked her skin, it was almost a relief.
The pain of reality didn’t compare to the pain she’d been imagining in her mind and she gasped in a shaking, ragged breath.
It may not have been as hard as she was prepared for, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
Fire spread across her back in a razor thin line and she gagged as she remembered what she had felt like at her father’s mercy when she’d felt the first trickle of hot blood running from one of the cuts on her back.
The room she was in should have smelled like soap, lotion, firewood and Cassius.
But her mind refused to let her smell anything but metal and blood and sweat.
By the third crack of the whip on her back, the ropes around her wrists felt like metal cuffs.
By the fifth, she could smell the spicy scent of the perfume her father wore.
By the tenth, she was quiet and sagging against her restraints – numb, out of focus; living in a perfect recreation of what she considered her own personal Tartarus.
It was all in her mind, and she was left there reliving phantom whip strikes long after the room had went silent.
Long after she’d been untied.
Nothing made sense to her, if it registered at all.
The soft thing beneath her body.
The strong, warm things around her waist.
That vaguely familiar voice talking to her from so far away.
The world was still black.
*
CASSIUS
His hands were shaking as he laid his little sister on the bed.
He couldn’t take off her blindfold – not yet.
Because for all the tears in her eyes, there were more in his.
He felt nauseated.
He was sure she had thought he lost control.
He hadn’t.
Every second of what he’d done to her, the sensory deprivation, the fear, the mind-fuck of whipping empty air just because it would terrify her.
.
He’d done it on purpose.
She was in her “dark place” now, something he’d only seen very few times because he’d quickly learned how to avoid it.
And today he’d used that knowledge to take her there intentionally.
But not for the reasons she would think.
He’d been beaten.
Dozens, maybe a hundred times.
He understood it and he understood Callia.
This trip, this.
.
Descent into her own world of personal torment was inevitable.
Tomorrow she would go back to work, and any man who could pay the price could beat her in any fashion they chose.
Maybe it would be tomorrow.
Maybe the day after.
But eventually it would have come to this.
And Callia would be in this helpless state, completely at the mercy of a stranger who didn’t see her as a girl, a person.
Someone who saw her as a toy.
This unresponsive, broken shell would more than likely enrage whoever paid for a willing slut.
There was no telling what would be done to her then.
But if he was the one to take her there.
.
He could control how she was brought out of it.
He could care for her, make her feel safe.
[/]
He kissed her forehead as he untied her blindfold.
She blanched, squinted up at blankly for a second before she averted her eyes.
Her body tensed, and tried to struggle out from under him.
He lifted his arms, watching warily to see what she would do.
His chest ached as she stumbled to the edge of the bed, and he reached out to grab her, but he wasn’t fast enough.
She fell sideways off the side of the mattress and landed hard on the floor.
Her little brain didn’t even seem to register that as she pulled herself up onto her knees.
In a perfect little slaves’ pose.
He crept toward her slowly, so as not to startle her.
He sat next to her and pulled her body into his chest.
She didn’t fight him, but every inch of her body was tensed as he pulled her into his lap.
He rocked slowly back and forth as he held her tight against his chest, pressed kisses against the top of her head.
He whispered softly to her as he stroked her head.
“Where are you right now, Callie?”
The tiny modicum of relaxation she’d gained vanished.
She froze.
“Right here, Dominus.
”
“Look at me,” he sighed, and tilted her face to his.
“Who am I, Callie?”
There was nothing in her eyes, no light.
They were flat, near dead.
Blank but for a small hint of confusion.
“You’re my master.
”
“No.
” He rested his forehead gently against hers as he cradled her body.
“Look at me Callie.
See me.
”
She frowned.
“I don’t understand.
Just tell me what you desire from me, Domi-”
He silenced her with his lips on his and stood up with her in his arms.
He laid her back on his bed and climbed on top of her, resting on his elbows.
“Tell me my name, my love.
”
She shuddered underneath him, and when she spoke he could hear the tears in her voice.
“Cassius.
”
“Good girl.
” He kissed her cheek, the curve of her jaw.
He laid his head in between her shoulder and chin.
“Who am I, Cal?”
“Um.
” She swallowed hard and he felt her turn slightly towards his.
When he felt her body relax against his, just a little, a bit of the tightness in his chest eased.
“My brother.
”
“Yes.
” His fingertips stroked her belly, and her head lulled back.
“Where are you, Callie?”
“I-in your bed.
”
“In [i]our bed,” he corrected.
He moved back on top of her.
She was coming back.
Slowly, but his girl was in there somewhere.
He could see that fire, that curiosity in her eyes.
“Our bed, Callie.
”
The ring, the one he’d bought her at the market, hung from his neck and rested just between her breasts.
“I’m sorry, Cassius.
” She looked away.
“I got scared.
”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.
” He kissed her, and this time she kissed him back.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.
Her kisses weren’t soft, they were hungry.
She whimpered against his mouth as he bit at her bottom lip, and her hips arched up against him.