I stood in the corner of the small room, tense, ready, waiting. I wore a simple black suit with a white shirt and a black tie. My jacket was a little tight. It made me feel like a caged animal. I was ready to pounce.
Jane was sitting at a small card table with the girl in a chair in front of her. Jane was dressed in a simple black suit as well. Her hair was copper red and tied in a bun, her face was a warm brown, her cheeks splashed with freckles. Her eyes narrowed on the girl, waiting for her to answer the question.
The girl was a mess. Eye makeup running down her face, her short curly hair a mop on her head, her cheeks and neck splotchy blushing red, her body was wracked with little sobs. She was stripped down to nothing but a thin, light blue bra and panties set. She was tied to the chair with thin black rope. Her arms were behind her back, and her legs were spread, ankles tied to the legs of the chair. We had only been in the room for 15 minutes, but she was already broken. Pretty girls never take long.
“So you’re saying you went to the party because your friends convinced you or you wanted to go?” Jane asked again, looking at her notes on the clipboard.
“I-I mean, both, I wanted to go, but-” she started, but an eye roll from Jane silenced her.
“So you like to go to sex parties?”
“I-it’s, I mean, sometimes,” she started, trying to figure out what Jane wanted her to say.
“So you’re a whore?” Jane said simply, marking something down.
“No, it’s just a party my friends go to,” she said, but was cut off.
“But you said you wanted to go,” Jane asked, and the girl fumbled for an answer.
“Jack, hit her again,” she said without looking at me.
I was on her in a second, my hand in her hair, pulling her to attention, and then I slapped her once, firmly across the face. Before she could react, my hand came down hard once on each of her big tits, two loud slaps that left perfect red outlines of my fingers.
She let out yelps each time, and when I was done, my hand balled into a fist and hovered near her face, waiting.
She looked up at me, petrified. I’d never seen someone look so scared of me in my entire life.
The room, the scene, the whole thing was a simple game. Hell, the props were a clipboard, a folding table, and some rope, and yet the girl was a sobbing mess, and I was standing with my fist drawn, feeling like an executioner.
The power was frighteningly delicious.
The girl took two long sobbing gasps of air and then let out the words, “I’m sorry! Please, just let me go,” before breaking down again.
I let go of her hair and looked to Jane.
For a moment, the grim interrogator left, and Jane looked at me with a hunger that was a little shocking. The power was turning her on too, obviously, but the potency was palpable.
“If she doesn’t start making sense, I’m going to have you punch her in her fucking face,” Jane spat.
It felt good to leave all my thoughts and ideas at the door. I was a dom in that room. I was just muscle. I didn’t decide anything. I just followed orders. I waited, and then I hurt the girl. It was simple, and it was easy, and it felt good.
I let the girl go, and she sank down in the chair as much as she could in her bonds.
I stepped back, and Jane stood and leaned near me.
“I wish we could just kill her together,” she whispered in my ear.
From the sobs, I assumed the girl heard. My cock was hard in my tight black pants. Jane smiled at me and sat back down, readying her next question.