Three years ago, I stood naked in his basement dungeon with my hands restrained above my head. My bare breasts, palms, and cheek pressed hard against the cold concrete wall as he flogged me.
"Will you miss me after you’ve gone?" he asked.
"Yes," I responded simply.
"Scream, then. Let the neighbors hear." So I screamed as much as I wanted, and let all of the frustration, fear, and regret pour out of my mouth as he increased the tempo and intensity of the leather beating my flesh. I didn’t want to move yet. I was careful to hide the tears streaming down my face.