He could leave her just as she was and she would be filled with enough torment to bring tears to her eyes. He needn’t lay a hand on her or a switch or flogger or paddle or cane or crop and yet she would feel pain. A deep psychological ache and all because of her imagination.
The not knowing is far worse than the physical experience itself. The mind conjures nightmares nearly impossible to bring to life and yet they feel real, they feel possible. All the what if’s racing, pulsating throughout her hold her tighter than any restraint.
Of course the cold air helps. It pushes her just that extra little bit into discomfort and the city sounds ensure she does not know who could be approaching. For all she knew the abandoned warehouse was filled with men and women all watching and waiting to have a turn with her. She knew nothing except the stories raping her mind.
What a delightful toy. Easily fooled because of her complete trust. Innocent and yet wicked. No, he would not lay a hand on her today. He would leave her to her own demise, watching the panic come in waves, hour after hour until she had exhausted herself, until her limbs were sore and her mind nestled with confusion. Only then would he touch her, wrap her in a blanket and take her home. Demerits paid in full. He knew she would not understand, she did not need to. All that would be expected of her would be to thank him, accept her place and move forward with the intention of not disappointing him again.