Chapter Six.

It was raining outside. I could hear it. Taking a deep breath, I slowly opened my eyes, forgetting for a moment where I was, but then the sadness set in. I didn't exactly know what day it was. He kept me in the dark, always, with only the nightlights to guide my way around the room. I didn't know why he did things this way. If it was to disorient me, it was working. I never realized how the inability to account for time could wreak havoc on ones grasp of reality. It was easy to get lost in the endless dark and passing hours.

I thought a lot about home, about my mother and what she may or may not be going through. Perhaps she was sorry for all the times she never told me she loved me. Perhaps she regretted never giving me those hugs I had needed so desperately. Now it was too late. I wondered if they had any idea where I might be or if the police had already told my mother hopes of finding me were gone. I counted the days by inspecting my meals. I had eaten six breakfasts so far. I wanted to go home.

The day, hours, whatever length of time had passed after that first beating had created a shift in the relationship between my captor and me. While I slept, he had made himself the master of my fate, and I could do nothing but allow it. I opened my eyes that next day and he was just coming into my room with the jar of cold cream he had used on me after my punishment. His face had been more serious. Devoid of the constant hint of his smile. I had known instantly not to test his patience.

I had slept on my stomach, exactly as he had left me, without the strength or desire to move. My skin, from shoulder to ankle, and across my backside especially, felt painfully tight and itchy. Whenever I moved my head, my shoulders burned and ached. It was a pain that extended all the way down my legs.

He had stood above me next to the bed, breathing deeply and exhaling slowly. I wondered if he felt any shame over what he had done to me. "Can you get up?" he inquired. His voice sounded detached, unconcerned with my answer.

"I don't think so," I'd croaked, eyes stinging with tears. "But I hurt, Master." I'd kept my head down, hoping he understood how difficult it had just been for me to address him as he wished.

His voice had lowered, grown softer, "I bet it does, but look what it's done for your manners." I'd clenched my jaw, saying nothing.

Now, all these days later, I both dreaded and eagerly anticipated his company, if for no other reason than I loathed my solitude and the dark.

I slid out of bed and, for the first time in a few days, didn't feel that horrible stinging pain. I stood up carefully, muscles contracting tightly and resisting. I winced, pain echoing through me.

The days, I don't know exactly how many, perhaps three, following that first horrid encounter, I'd spent lying on my stomach with Caleb at my side. He had helped me get up when I needed to use the restroom, denying me privacy under the guise of helpfulness. He'd bathed me, fed me, and placed each piece of food on my lips for me to take carefully from his hand. I felt like a doll at times. When I resisted or showed hesitation, his bare palm slapping against my raw backside became encouragement enough to obey. Surrendering my will, that was the price I paid.

Cold cream was applied to my skin at least twice a day and it always stirred the strangest emotions in me. He touched me while he rubbed the cream in. Though he tried to make it seem casual, to me it felt specific, calculated. He would start at my ankles, which usually made me bite my lip from the pure ecstasy of it. I'd never had anyone massage me before and I had never known my ankles to need so much attention. When he touched me, he made things feel better that I wasn't aware felt so bad. I lay perfectly still, trying as hard as I could not to give him any indication his ministrations made me heady. Then he would grab hold of my calves and knead his fingers into my flesh until I let out a long, low, sigh into my pillow. He always somehow managed to pry my legs ever so slightly apart, rubbing so close to my nether regions I struggled not to yell, "Stop!" He did, however, speak to me whenever he massaged my buttocks. I think it thrilled him to absolutely no end to make me uncomfortable. One day, it was made all the worse because of his incessant questioning.

"So you've never been with a man." This was more of a statement and less of a question, as if he were speaking of things he already knew. I wondered how I made the fact so obvious.

"No, Master."

"Women?"

I shook my head quickly. "No, Master." But I had lied.

I had been with a woman before, well, a girl anyway. I don't know if I would define it as sex, mostly she let me touch her, kiss her. Nicole and I had never been with a boy before. I guess we were experimenting with things. Her skin was so soft, pink, and she always smelled mildly of vanilla. I loved the feel of her small nipples getting hard on my tongue as I sucked on her gently, occasionally nibbling at her with my teeth. She wasn't fully developed yet. Her breasts were much smaller than mine, but they were no less beautiful. Her mouth was very different than my boyfriend's. It was softer, smoother, and more delicate. It had been strange to be thinking of her while he rubbed me. A little knot of pressure formed between my legs, and for just a moment, while my skin yielded to his hands and my mind delved into fantasies, I wanted him to touch me there.

"Have you ever touched yourself?" Face burning I looked away and hid my face in my hands as well as my pillow. He let out that taunting laugh of his, but didn't force me to answer. I was becoming accustomed to his ministrations, believing them more routine than intimate. Other things still made me uncomfortable. The nakedness was definitely something to get used to. I became thankful that no one but Caleb came in and out of my room, but even he made me incredibly shamefaced. Clothes of any sort were far too uncomfortable to wear. Even the comforter, at once so soft against my skin, felt abrasive now that I was healing. I hated sitting on it when I took my meals.

I went into the bathroom, still bare and prison-like, and looked into the mirror. My bruise had faded some, but the shade was indeterminable. I was relived the puffiness had disappeared. My hair was a tragic mess. I stared for a long moment at myself. Who was this girl looking back out? I lifted my hair to stare at the collar around my neck. I had to admit, the effect was arresting. I looked like some exotic creature captured in the rainforests of Brazil. I asked myself for the millionth time what Caleb's motives were for keeping me prisoner. I was naked around him daily, yet he made no move to take full advantage of how vulnerable I was. I was at his complete mercy. There were times when it seemed as though he struggled to restrain himself, but he did, always. I slipped my index finger through the loop in front, tugged on it, very secure.

The wrist-straps were also a part of my permanent attire as they too were secured with locks. I might have tried to cut them off, but there wasn't anything in the room to do it with. The restraints made me feel more naked somehow; they drew attention to the fact I had nothing else on. I turned around, surveying, as I did daily, the wide array of fading belt marks.

The door opened. The "master" came in with breakfast. I stepped into the doorway of the bathroom, staring at him as he shut the door with his foot. I swear the man never slept. I wasn't sure what time it was, but either way it struck me as too early for him to be showered and dressed. He always dressed as though he was at a party or going out for the evening, never casual or comfortable. Except, of course, the day we met. I jumped when he spoke.

"Why are you covering yourself?" I immediately looked down at the ground but did not move my hands away from my breasts.

"I'm naked, Master," I replied in a tremulous voice.

He set the tray down on the bed. "You've been naked in front of me before. Why are you suddenly so modest? Drop your hands and come here." I dropped my hands, clasping them in front of me as I slowly made my way toward him. He sighed when I reached him, brushing my hands away from my sex. "Don't cover yourself in front of me. It's ridiculous." I bit into my lip.

"Yes, Master." I said, just above a whisper. I was in a very strange sort of mood. It's true, I was pretty depressed, and who wouldn't be? Angry, scared, confused, lonely-all had become customary emotions. Yet today, I felt something else in addition to all these, and against all logic I wanted Caleb to understand. I wanted him to say nice things to me, maybe even hold me. Strange did not begin to define my mood. I suddenly wanted to cry but instead stared at the floor, trying not to think.

He sighed deeply, taking my face in his hands, "I don't have a wealth of time to teach you how to behave." I frowned at the cryptic words. What the hell does that mean?

"I'm feeling better," I whispered. Though I was sure my face said otherwise. My heart picked up its pace as his soft, warm hands held me still. His face, those lips, were too close for comfort, or not close enough. "There isn't any reason I can't wear clothes again."

A few seconds passed, his blue eyes searching my brown ones. His mouth quirked, a slight mean-spirited smile tilting up one side of his mouth. It was a smile I had come to know well. I'd forgotten to address him as master. I'd issued what might have sounded like a command. I think I cringed, and I think it was what he had been waiting for.

I pulled away from him, instantly kneeling at his feet, hoping he would take pity on me and grant my request. He reached for his belt buckle and my heart kicked into overdrive. I shook my head furiously as I reached for his hands to hold them firmly in mine. "Please don't hit me," I said in a hoarse whisper. I wiped my face as tears fell. "I'm sorry, Master. Please don't hit me."

He made a sound not unlike a laugh, but closer to an annoyed grunt and slapped my hands away. "Stand up," he said in a calm voice, but I only clung to his leg and wept. He sighed heavily, just before he jerked his shirt out from his pants roughly, making quick work of the buttons. I don't know what frightened me more, the thought of him beating me again or his undressing. He pulled me up by my hair as a sea of dread washed over me. "Take off my shirt." I opened my eyes slowly, taking in the moment piece by piece. I think I was stunned. His height brought me to eye level with his smooth, sun kissed chest. His breathing, like mine, had picked up. Perhaps it had been a mistake to tell him I felt better. Perhaps it had been the only thing keeping him at bay the last few days. Unable to do anything but comply, I rested my hands on his shoulders, gently pulling the fabric back until it slid off of him. It fell to the floor.

He took my face in his hands, wiping the tears from my face. "You still think having some scrap of fabric between us will protect you from me?" I stared at him, imploring him with my eyes. "Pick up the shirt," he said. I knelt down slowly, still looking up at him as he held my face. I picked up the shirt with my fingertips. "Put it on." He gave me a huge smile as I put on his shirt. It hung down to my knee, the sleeves hung just a little bit above that. "We'll see," he whispered against my ear. I shivered.

While he turned to leave the room-to get another shirt, I assumed-I let relief at not being punished wash over me. I set about buttoning the shirt he'd given me, surprised to acknowledge the way his smell made my stomach flutter. His shirt, his scent, surrounded me. It was the first time since I'd arrived that his presence, pressed against me, brought me comfort. I indulged by raising both cuffs to my nose and inhaling deeply. It wasn't a hug, but it was comfort just the same. I needed to get the hell out of here before I lost my mind.

He returned sooner than I expected and without his shirt. My eyes were unable to look away from all of his lean, well-muscled flesh, his tapered waist, the small trail of hair leading from his belly button to beyond the waistband of his tailored pants. He set the wheeled cart and chair he'd brought with him near the door. My face crumpled, memories of that horrible night setting my entire body on edge. I had no desire to reenact any of the events that transpired that evening.

But I said nothing and silently obeyed as he turned me around, locking my wrists together behind my back. This time he'd made sure I couldn't wrestle food away from him, not that I had any desire to. I wasn't very hungry actually, just sad.

It was difficult to pretend I was hungry while still preoccupied by our earlier conversation. He fed me breakfast as I knelt on the floor in front of him, my wrists locked behind my back. He smiled a lot, but didn't he always? He was very cool, premeditated. I never doubted that everything he did served some darker purpose, right down to that smile. I thought back to when he said he didn't have a lot of time to teach me things. What was I supposed to be learning? When were we going to start? Did he ever plan to let me go? Was I even going to live through this? He was a handsome man, no one could deny that, so why? Why take women when he could obviously have them willingly? This was all very Kiss the Girls. I turned my head when he tried to feed me more eggs.

"Not hungry?"

I shook my head. "No, Master."

"Fine. I'll finish it for you."

I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to ask him important questions I knew he wouldn't answer. Each question crouched on the tip of my tongue, trying to burst out of my mouth. I licked my lips, getting ready to ask, when he spoke.

"Lie down." My eyebrows knit together. "What is so difficult to understand? Lie down." He put his hand on my left shoulder as he lowered me to the ground by the chain he'd attached to my collar.

I was slightly uncomfortable in this position. My bound hands put pressure on my tailbone and the soles of my feet touched my buttocks. I struggled a little, but managed to pull my legs out from under me to close them.

"Do you have any idea how sexy that is?" he said. I gritted my teeth and looked away. "White looks very good on you, I'll have to make a note of it. I'm glad you suggested clothes. Seeing you dressed makes me think of undressing you. However, I think this is a very good opportunity to make you comfortable being naked around me, and it will afford me a pleasant view while I eat."

I pressed my knees tightly together but opened them when he pried. I still remembered my beating quite well and had no desire to upset him. The room was silent with the exception of my heavy breathing. I had never felt so exposed.

"That's lovely," he inhaled sharply and when next he spoke his voice was thick, slightly hoarse, "I bet you're just the right shade of pink. Now...keep your legs open. Don't provoke me."

I shut my eyes against the inevitable flow of tears. Dread and embarrassment flared into anger, slowly churning in my chest. I focused on breathing slowly. I stared at the wall, perfectly still as he ate. It felt strange having my legs open to his gaze. The air touched every part of me. At times, my sex seemed to open on its own, like a hungry little mouth. I wondered if he saw it and prayed he didn't. I tried to imagine what I looked like. Was I beautiful? Was I disgustingly vulgar? Why on earth did I care? I was wondering about all sorts of things when I was jolted into reality by the sudden touch of cold metal between my thighs. He had lowered the chain between my legs, moving it back and forth between my lips.

I looked at him with narrowed eyes, wishing more than anything I could kick his face to wipe that smile off.

"Not to make you arrogant, because you're that already, but you're very pretty."

Pride overwhelmed my fear and I couldn't help taking his bait. "That's funny," I tried to close my legs, "you of all people calling someone arrogant." He could barely contain his laugh.

"Touche, but I'm not the one on the floor with my legs open." I started to cry, frustration and anger bubbling out of me as tears-a show of weakness.

"I hate you."

"You don't hate me," He said it like it was fact, like he knew me. He knelt between my open legs and leaned over me with his hands on the carpet. I turned my head to the side. He kissed me, first behind my ear, then down my neck. "But you wish you did."

"Stop," I whispered.

"Why?" he whispered just as softly. "Is my shirt suddenly too warm?"

A small gasp escaped my lips as his warm hand palmed my breast through soft fabric. I opened my mouth to tell him not to flatter himself when his other hand darted down to touch me between my thighs. I lay frozen in place, paralyzed by my fear. Through the fabric of his shirt, he stroked me with his fingers, all the while keeping his eyes locked onto mine. He didn't enter me, couldn't with his shirt in the way, but still his fingers invaded every fiber of me. I felt him everywhere. Then, against any form of logic, I felt myself flush with warmth. Pleasure, desire, not pain. My entire body suddenly focused in on Caleb's fingers and what they were doing. My heart raced, I held back my urge to moan. Caleb's mouth turned into a knowing smile, and then he took his hands away slowly, leaving me gasping on the floor.

"Now. Tell me you don't hate me."

"No."

His naked chest pressed against me; the heat of it sent shivers through my body. He kissed my neck while running his hand down my thigh. His breath drew in deeply, then out in a whisper across my skin. His erection warmed me through his pants. He pushed it against me, as if he could somehow come into me. I struggled with my wrist-straps, trying to free my hands. He slowed, calmingly caressing me in a gentle, loving way. He rocked back and forth on top of me, kissing me, rubbing me, breathing on my skin.

Something in my body changed, but I didn't want it to. I got hot, very hot. My breathing got faster, and all I could do was smell him, all over me, breathing him in, his scent inside me. He kissed down my chest, holding my knees apart.

"Stop...stop." The first objection was real, the second one...I wasn't sure.

His mouth latched onto my nipple through the fabric of his shirt, somehow more excruciating because he couldn't quite get to me. He sucked harder, making my nipple hard, wet and hot. I half sighed and groaned, unable to resist tilting my head back against the carpet, eyes closed, falling into sensations I'd never felt before.

"You don't hate me at all, I think you like me just fine." I was crying, but it wasn't for the right reasons. "I think I know something else you might like." His hands and his mouth trailed down my body, and though I knew I should, I couldn't bring myself to say anything against it. He was going to do what he wanted whether I protested or not. Would it be so horrible if I did nothing? Could I be held to blame?

My eyes shot open and I sat up as soon as his hot mouth covered my sex. He looked up and grabbed the collar around my neck, kissing me with fury before pushing me back down. Shocked, I twisted from side to side, crying and grunting. I tasted myself on my lips; I was on his lips. He moaned against me as he slid his tongue up and down my secret flesh, drawing moans and screams from my chest. I squeezed my legs as hard as I could, his fingers digging into the inside of my thighs. I felt nothing but his mouth on me. My body became an extension of that small, pink mouth between my legs. No conscience, no shame, it wanted what it wanted and it didn't care who did its bidding. My own body had betrayed me. My muscles tensed, all sensations running through my body concentrated to that one spot Caleb licked. My head swam, and in one blinding moment it seemed that my body exploded. I arched my back, biting into my lip, writhing against his face until the harsh spasm coursed through me and into him. I lay on the floor panting, moaning softly to myself as a gentle tingle spread throughout my body. He rested his body on top of mine. He kissed my neck.

"I told you you'd like it," he whispered.

I had no words for that. I turned my head and looked at him through half-mast lids.

"You shouldn't bite your lip so hard, next time just let it out," he said, wiping my lip with his thumb. His lips were wet, either with sweat or me, please let it be sweat. He smiled and kissed my mouth...it was me. Humiliation.

"I do hate you," I said softly, looking up at the ceiling, detached, satiated and emptied of something. He pushed the hair off of my face and kissed me again.

His fingers pressed against my wet flesh and I couldn't help but whimper as my body pulsed harshly. "But your pussy doesn't...and that's the important thing." He smiled, and I closed my eyes, turning away. "As a matter of fact, that's what I'll call you...Kitten."

My heart suddenly hurt. I have a name. Olivia. Livvie. It occurred to me he'd never asked for my name, not even that day on the street, and it struck me also that it meant he had never seen me as a person-not once. My throat was thick with pain. Was there anyone on the planet who cared about who I was? I thought about Nicole, my best friend. She cared. She'd never give up hope of finding me.

When my eyes finally refocused, Caleb was staring at me with the strangest expression on his face. He was smiling still, not brightly, just curiously, as if he somehow knew I had just been a hundred miles away. We stared at each other for a few seconds, though I couldn't say what either of us was thinking just then. We just couldn't look away. My chest shook with a sob I wouldn't let loose.

Spell broken, he slowly untangled himself from me and then gripped my arm to haul me up. My head swam and my legs shook. I was about to jerk my arm from his steadying hand when I suddenly felt a rush of wet heat run onto my thighs. Instinctively I pressed my legs together and looked down, at once mortified to discover a bead of my wetness trying to run down my thigh. Caleb looked too and I couldn't keep the burn of embarrassment or fresh tears from my face.

Caleb let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan before he reached down to trace his fingertips along the source. He held up his fingers, rubbing the obvious moisture along the pads of his fingers with his thumb. To my absolute horror, he licked two of his fingers, closing his eyes, fucking savoring my humiliation. I sobbed. Out loud this time.

"What's wrong, Kitten?" he pressed toward me, "Is there something wrong with enjoying the pleasure I give you?" He watched me with obvious satisfaction, even as my tears rolled down my cheeks before falling to the floor. "Answer me." he insisted, some of the headiness leaving his voice. I couldn't give him a response.

Purposefully, he took hold of both my bound arms and led me over to the bed. He sat first, frightening me by pulling me onto his lap. I let out a surprised yelp, but quickly went silent. What fresh hell did he have planned?

"Why are you crying, Kitten?" he pried, "Have I hurt you today?" he gently kissed my shoulder.

"Yes," I answered in a sob. Today the pain was emotional, the worst kind. He drew back from my shoulder with a surprised expression, but quickly donned his mask of indifference. His lips once again found their way to my shoulder, this time trailing up toward the nape of my neck. I tensed, seeking some way to get away from his caresses but knowing there was none.

"Answer me properly please," he murmured, "Have I fucked you?" I gasped, frozen with overwhelming fear.

"No, Master," I said in a voice scarcely above a whisper. He wrapped his left arm around me tightly, pulling me closer to his chest, forcing my head onto his shoulder. Excluding my fear, humiliation and our semi-nudity, this had been exactly what I had wanted not an hour before. I had wanted him to hold me. Careful what you wish for....

"Did you come?" he whispered in the same soft voice. I shut my eyes and struggled not to shudder in my silent sobbing. "It's okay, Kitten; you can tell me the truth. Go on; say 'thank you, Master, for letting me come.'" With his right hand he forced my legs open over his thighs, fighting me as I vainly tried to close them. I struggled with tears as my mind reeled. "You're making me angry, Kitten; answer the question."

I snapped. "My name isn't Kitten!" I yelled, finally succumbing to hysteria.

Almost immediately, Caleb bent me over his left knee, holding my legs down with his right and delivered a swift torrent of blows that had me screaming. As my mind scattered in every direction, searching for my wits, the blows continued to fall on my naked bottom.

"Please stop," I begged. "Please stop, I'm so sorry. I swear to God, I'm sorry." Mercy seemed to be the last thing Caleb had on his mind. He buckled down on my squirming body and placed his weight on my shoulders so that he could spank me in earnest while I struggled in frantic terror. "Please...please, Master," I cried endlessly in long guttural moans. I wanted so badly to rub my backside, but he held my straps.

"Is it the pain that makes it easier for you Kitten? Does your pride require you be beaten into obedience?" His voice was low, raw-aroused. Beneath my belly his erection throbbed. Or was it only my heart? He spanked me once more, demanding an answer I refused to give. He spanked me again and I suddenly realized that after each spank, he rubbed away the sting. I wondered why, even as more slaps landed.

My thoughts were beginning to fracture as I searched for a way to escape what was happening to me. Just give him what he wants. He'll stop. What had I done to deserve this? "Act like a whore and get treated like one..." Always those words, always haunting me and punishing me. It was suddenly a comfort to know that once Caleb was done punishing me he would forgive me, too. He wouldn't hold on to imaginary transgressions. He would forgive me. I wanted to be forgiven.

Something interesting happened then. A shiver ran down my body and my mind was suddenly blank. I thought of nothing. Literally nothing. No pain, or shame, or longing, or sadness. There was only the sound of Caleb's palm landing across my bottom, my cries, his controlled breathing. His blows were no longer painful; my backside was numb, warm. I slowly went limp in his lap. It was strange, but I felt...at peace.

Caleb let up on me then, still bracing me firmly though I could feel his body relax against me. The moment was quiet, only our breathing. Mine harsh and fast, his deep and slow. He stroked my back silently, rubbing me as one would a horse, but I didn't mind. I needed it, craved it. I relaxed further. After several minutes, he gently broke the silence, "What is your name?"

"Kitten," I replied from some place outside myself. Gently, he rubbed my sore and swollen buttocks. My breathing slowed, my body hummed.

"It's so much easier when you give in Kitten," he said softly, "so much easier." He was answered only by a shallow whimper. Taking advantage of my lassitude, he slowly hoisted me upright into his lap. Tangled hair stuck to my face, neck and back. Caleb pushed it back.

Normal, rational thought still hadn't returned. I was grateful. Normal, rational thought dictated I be frightened, angry or some variation thereof. It was nice to be devoid of such things. Caleb's eyes wandered to my lips, then back up to meet my far off stare. He took a small key out of his pocket and undid the lock that held my arms behind my back. I gently placed them in my lap, awareness beginning to creep back in. I didn't like it.

"Kiss me," he said. "And before you say no..." I cut him off by touching my salty lips to his soft, supple mouth. He pulled back slightly at my impulsive boldness. But then I heard him sigh and he leaned back in. I inhaled deeply, ignoring the press of all manner of emotion trying to infiltrate my numbness.

I struggled to make the kiss seem natural, fighting the impulse to turn my face away. His demeanor gentled. He was never gentle when he kissed me. It seemed awkward, but I felt something within him changing. He moaned ever so slightly, a sound I hadn't really heard from him before. He reached for my breast, but then withdrew his fingers. Again, restraining himself. Without warning, I felt the tiniest surge of something similar to control. I'd been powerless in every encounter with him, but in this moment I knew what he wanted. He wanted me. Not just my body, but me. And although, he ruled me for the moment, while he dictated my future, in this one kiss...I owned him. Abruptly, he pushed me away.

"Good girl," he said softly, but the waver in his voice betrayed a hint of confusion. He stood up, looking down to find me staring directly at him. He smiled and grabbed a handful of my hair. "You shouldn't look at me unless I tell you to, Kitten. You'll only do yourself harm."

The moment was over. He was in control again, but angry. At having lost himself, even for a fraction of a second? I couldn't help but smile and didn't hide it fast enough. With a sneer, he led me by my hair into the bathroom and bathed me quickly in silence.

After he toweled me down and brushed my hair, he again joined my wrists together, this time in front. "Raise your arms," he said sternly. The sudden power in his voice made me jump. He placed his hands around my waist and hoisted my bound wrists over the bedpost. I was slightly distressed in this position, my body stretched tightly on tiptoe. I shivered in my nervousness, waiting for another savage beating to commence. My anxiety rose to a pinnacle as he placed a thick leather blindfold over my eyes.

"Please no, Master, please. It hurts too much." He ran his hands over my breasts, squeezing my nipples until they became hard little stones between his fingers. I winced and shifted my weight trying to get free.

"I like to hurt you, Kitten...it's what gets me off."

I froze, said nothing, waiting for the worst. "I'm not going to gag you, but if you don't keep quiet, I'll put a gag in your mouth so big, you'll forget any pain before it." I bit my bottom lip. I was still standing there, mind blank, long after he'd left the room.