I ran it lightly over full flesh. Her cheeks, despite the cold, flushed bright red, her lips parting in shock when I gently circled the hard red nipple.
She watched me in fear. My eyes stayed locked on hers as I moved from that breast and traced along her tan skin, over her wet hair, to the other breast. The female’s white mists of breath increased in speed as I gave her right breast the same attention as the left. Her skin erupted with millions of tiny bumps. Yet she still didn’t break. Her body didn’t move even though I could shock her at any moment. And her strong gaze never swayed from mine.
Alight with challenge, I moved the prod to her sternum again. But this time, I began steering it south. I ran the prod down her torso, over her stomach, and stopped just above her pussy. Her hands flexed at her sides. Once more I cocked my head to the side in interest.
It was the first time she’d moved since I’d begun my exploration. Her steely dark eyes didn’t drop from mine, but they began to fill with water. Glancing down to where the picana had stopped, I forced myself to ignore the ache in my stomach as I looked at the short black hair on her pussy. Meeting her gaze again, I lowered the prod until the tip of metal ran through the top of her short hair. Her lips trembled. Then I knew. I read her perfectly: she had never been touched by a male.
Excitement surged through me—her weakness had been found.
Dipping the prod lower, I ran the metal over the apex of her thighs, and the bitch’s breathing changed. It was shaky, and her hands were fisted at her sides. I stopped moving the prod and demanded, “Your name. What is your name?”
She swallowed. She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but nothing came out. I moved the prod’s tip toward her folds and she cried out. She didn’t like it; that I could tell. Now she was scared. Fear was spreading all over her pretty Georgian face.
But then she shocked me again. “Elene Melua!” she managed to call out through a thick throat. Her voice was weak, yet determined not to give in.
But with that final lie, I broke.
Ripping the picana back, I pointed it to the left corner of the cage. “Stand against the bars.”
The female sucked in a breath and flicked her gaze behind her, then back on me. I tilted my head just daring her to defy me. Her self-preservation won out, and she scurried to the corner as ordered. I slammed the picana against the bars. The loud clang of metal on metal rung through the bars. I watched as the female braced for the expected electric shock. Her body froze, her muscles tensed, but the shock never came. When the sound calmed, I coldly smiled into her terrified eyes.
Pressing the button to ignite the picana’s current, I moved to send it through the bars but then last minute pulled it back. And I did it over and over and over again, over hours, toying with her mind. The female panted harshly as she braced each time for the pain. But it didn’t come; instead her exhaustion from the anticipation finally brought her to her knees.
“Get up!” I ordered. The female was panting on the floor, her skin paling, but she pushed herself to her feet. Her body was swaying from side to side with tiredness, but her sunken large eyes defiantly met mine.
The challenge was set.
Snapping the lock on the cage, I wrenched open the door. Fisting the picana at my side, I ordered, “Get out!”
The female dropped her head. Her shoulders sagged slightly, but she put one shaky foot in front of the other and stopped beside me. This close, I towered over her. She was smaller than Mistress, at least half her size. Her skin was dark against my pale form. It was soft against my ink and rough scars.
My jaw clenched as I fought the need to touch her. Fought against the urge to stop her pain. But I couldn’t; 152’s face in my mind forced me to keep going.
Pointing the picana to the upright metal slab in the center of the room, I growled, “Stand against it.” She glanced up at me, anxiety racking her now-pale face. I stepped closer, so close that my hard chest brushed up against the cold skin of her arm.