A Lesson in Respect

She’s been strung up all night in Jonny’s dungeon, wrists lashed high, shoulders aching, knees barely touching the cold floor. When dawn creeps under the door she finally speaks, voice hoarse, but the words come out right this time. “Thank you, Master.” He didn’t expect it; the surprise shows in the lift of one dark brow. Progress, maybe, but not proof. Time to drive the lesson deeper. He unhooks the chain, lets her sag, then re-binds her—arms stretched tighter, chest thrust forward, spine forced into a cruel arch meant to teach posture. The crop slaps once across the small of her back. She straightens with a gasp and a shudder. Another strike, lower, harder, until every muscle remembers how to hold. She’s still got a long way to go before the lesson sticks, but the dungeon’s quiet now except for the flick of leather and the sharp, obedient sound of her breathing.