*Netzach (PART 2, has 776 words)

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I wake up in the recovery position - prone, feet elevated, head turned to the side - and decide, based on the taste in my mouth, that I managed to escape vomiting. As soon as I regain consciousness, however, he pulls me up and, after taking a few experimental steps to see if I can walk, leads me across the room by my collar and stretches me over the couch. My nipples, already throbbing in pain from the clamps he hasn't yet taken off, become fire when they brush against the upholstery.

He's done something with cords to keep me in place. They're tight and uncomfortable.

Something lands hard on my back, a heavy spray of braided leather cords. And does not stop.

I whimper against the cushions.


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He's flipped me over on the couch, rearranging me so that I'm facing up. The cords are back on, only now they're not just holding me in place, they're holding me taut. My arms feel like they want to wrench out of their sockets, but he has a pillow placed under my hips, supporting my weight. Somewhat. My body still wants to slide down, and my arms are on fire. I'm still fighting to breathe under the hood, too, which only makes it worse. Somehow, impossibly, he has managed to crucify me in a legs-splayed position on the couch. I gasp for breath that never quite seems to give me any actual air.

His hand reaches between my legs and seizes me, making me cry out. "This, too, belongs to me," he says flatly, as he releases me, and soon the blows rain down on me again.

When I start to sob, he puts a wadded scarf in my mouth.

Help me. Somebody, please help me.


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He's untied the cords and removed the hood and collar and the clamps - I screamed at that, but my mouth was still gagged and not much noise escaped - and I'm on the floor, and I can breathe again, just, and he's driving into me with all his might. He's splitting me into pieces. My spine is on fire. Everything below my waist hurts, everywhere. From somewhere outside of myself, I can hear myself weeping.

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