Forgive me
She stood glistening under the neon lights, beads of sweat trickling from her matted hair, the criss cross wheals across her back bearing testimony to my accuracy with the whip. She turned towards me pivoting on the spot directly below the hook from which she was partially suspended by her bound wrists and tried to speak, her brown eyes almost pleading. I laid the whip down, and loosened her gag. "I'm truly sorry, John, you must believe that, please." "Is that it, you don't want food or a...