A vivid red mark bloomed across Trill's flawless, porcelain-white ass the instant the riding crop lashed against her supple skin. The sound—sharp and crisp—cut through the heavy silence like a whip through silk. The stark contrast between the inflamed strike and her otherwise untouched skin made it look like a painter's brush had graced her flesh in violent passion.
A muffled scream escaped her gagged mouth—strained and trembling with suppressed intensity.
Titania, still strung up on the X-cross like a helpless marionette, flinched at the sound. Though her eyes were veiled by a thick blindfold, rendering her vision useless, her other senses had sharpened dramatically. The softest tremors, the faintest cries—everything reached her ears with terrifying clarity. She didn't know what had happened, couldn't see the cause, but she felt it. Her breath caught. Her heart thudded. Anxiety began bubbling up from the pit of her stomach and climbing toward her chest.
