Comfort Food by Kitty Thomas

her on a daily basis and cut strips of flesh from her body with a razor blade. He must know how completely he’d broken her.
    “I was afraid I had done something wrong and you were taking me back to the bad cell,” she said quietly.
    His eyes hardened, and once again she was looking into the emptiness she’d seen on her first day with him, all softness erased. He hadn’t been about to take her back there, and she’d opened her stupid mouth and perhaps given him reason to put her there now. All she could think was: three weeks.
    She’d nearly lost her mind after one week, and thought she would die after two. She couldn’t do three. She’d find some way to end her life if he took her back there.
    “No, Master, please. I’m sorry. If I’ve upset you . . . please please don’t take me back there.” She stroked his cock . . . placating. She bent to replace her hand with her mouth, but he pushed her off him and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
    He returned several minutes later and threw the notebook down on the ground in front of her, his finger jabbing at the page. In furious pen scribblings he’d circled a passage and underlined the words within it. It was a page about punishment:
    You will be punished only when you willfully disobey me. As long as you try to submit to my wishes, you’ll be safe.
    The words willfully disobey , and try had been heavily underlined. She swiped at the tears on her face and looked up to see his outstretched hand. She took it and followed him to the bed. He placed her on her knees away from him, pushing her down so her forearms rested on the dark velvet, her ass raised in the air.
    She tensed when she saw the lubricant. The last time he’d been gentle and made it exquisitely pleasurable. This time, however, he didn’t seem intent on starting small. He lubed his cock and then, as if there could be any doubt, he washed his hands in a little sink beside the row of whipping implements.
    He nudged her opening, and she fought to relax. Slowly, inch by painful inch, he filled her, and she cried out. He waited and allowed her to adjust to him before moving in and out of her.
    He pulled her body up so she was arched impossibly back and cupped a breast with one hand while the other dipped between her legs, pumping in and out of her in rhythm with his thrusts inside her ass.
    When his fingers were slick with her juices, he removed them and pressed them into her mouth. In a wild frenzy, she sucked, and lapped up what he offered her before his fingers returned to pumping inside her, and then to her mouth again. Over and over he repeated the action, feeding her as she moaned around his fingers.
    He slammed into her as he came and then let her fall back down onto the bed, her legs quivering jelly. She lay there, shaking and waiting, knowing he wasn’t finished with her.
    His fingers thrusting into her, combined with his cock in her ass had taken her to the very edge of release. But she didn’t come.
    He pulled out of her, grabbed her ankles and flipped her onto her back. When she looked at him, he pointed behind her. The chains on the wall. She bit her lip and nodded. She’d never liked being restrained, but he wasn’t asking her permission. He was asking if she’d learned her place, if she would accept it and let him chain her with no fuss or if he’d have to put her back in her cell for awhile longer so she could think about it.
    The metal locked against her wrists, then around her ankles. She hadn’t noticed the ankle chains before. They were bolted into the floor and had been under the bed out of sight until now. The chains spread her legs wide.
    He pushed a long, thick vibrator up inside her and set the vibrations to the lowest setting, enough to make her throb and whimper but not enough to bring her release. He crossed the room and rummaged through a small closet until he found what he was looking for, a professional-grade camera.
    He circled the bed, taking photographs of