A lash a day...

“Tie him up,” Orrick ordered.  Two of his men grabbed a struggling Johnny O'Marten and shoved him face first into one of the winecellar’s supporting pillars, knocking the wind out of his lungs and wrapping his arms around it and tying his hands together. Frantically, the young tattoo-artist tried to get out of his binds.

“Good job lads, now leave us to it.” The two men left the cellar, quickly and wordlessly. Johnny looked over his shoulder. His darkgreen eyes were wide-open in fear and his mouth was dry. He’d been defiant all the way down here, but the truth was that he was terrified. What was going to happen to him? “Look, you don’t need to do this,” he tried. “I know who you work for, I know what he does when you don’t do as you’re told - trust me I know - but we can help eachother!” Orrick chuckled softly, slowly walking over to his tied up victim. “Is that so? And how would we do that?” Johnny let out a sigh of relief. He was listening! “Me and my friends, we have places you can stay safely! I know people that could help you start anew, somewhere far away from here!” Orrick circled around the pillar. His light grey eyes focussed on Johnny, who swallowed dry and did his best to keep meeting that icy gaze. Orrick stopped right behind him again and brought his lips very close to Johnny’s ear, while at the same time roughly grabbing him by his throat. “You got one thing right, kid, you do know who I work for. But getting to spend some time with you was a reward, not an order.” Johnny froze. W-what? The man’s warm breath on his skin made him wince. “You and those precious friends of yours have obstructed me long enough.” And with those words he stepped back and ripped open the back of Johnny’s shirt, revealing a back covered in tattoos. “Hey! What the fuck are you doing?” Johnny said, sounding a lot braver than he felt. The cool cellar air made him shiver. Orrick walked away from him.  Johnny tried too see what was going on, but couldn’t look over his shoulder far enough to see where Orrick was going. He didn’t need to see, however.  Only a few moments later, Orrick cracked a whip, somewhere behind him, and Johnny flinched, realizing what awaited him.  No. Oh, God, no. Panicked, he tried to get out of his bounds again. Orrick laughed behind him, slowly coming closer. The sound of the whip dragging across the floor was only increased Johnny’s panic. “Relax, Johnnyboy, you’re not going anywhere.” Johnny rested his forehead against the cold concrete of the pillar, taking deep breaths in an attempt to stay calm. There had to be a way out, this couldn’t really be happening.  Could it?  “Are you ready?"  "No- wait-” but his pleas were cut short by his own scream, when the whip suddenly came down on his back. The pain rendered him breathless for a moment and he involuntarily arched his back. “Real shame about all that pretty ink you got,” Orrick commented.  Johnny shot a incredulous look over his shoulder. He was about to retort, but was cut short by the whip coming down again. This time it was multiple lashes. The only sounds Johnny was aware of were the cracking of the whip, his own screams and Orrick’s laughter.  When it stopped, he was barely able to stand on his own two legs. He gritted his teeth, but couldn’t stop pained little sounds from coming out every now and then. He squeezed his eyes shut, taking deep breath while shaking all over his body. The feeling of blood running down his back was almost surreal. Orrick came closer. “Look at that. Not even ten lashes in and you’re a shivering mess. Did you really think you’d get away with your shit, O'Marten?” He tossed the whip onto the ground and lit up a cigarette. He walked up to Johnny and exhaled the smoke in his face. Johnny coughed and turned his face away, wrinkling his nose at the stench of the smoke. “Oohh, that’s right, you don’t like this sort of thing, I remember. Help me out here, you’re- what was it called again?” “Straight edge,” Johnny answered through gritted teeth.  “Ah, yeah.” Orrick blew some more smoke in his prisoner’s face. “Straight edge. The only kind of straight you are.” He chuckled at the piercing glare that earned him. “Pipe the fuck down, kid,” he said dismissively. He looked at the cigarette between his fingers and tilted his head. “Think I’m done with this.” Johnny hissed through clenched teeth when Orrick grabbed him by his hair and put out the cigarette in his neck. “There we go. You make a pretty ashtray, with all them drawings you got on you.” He picked up the whip again. Johnny swore, his breathing speeding up. “No- please-” Orrick, who’d raised the whip already, stopped mid-movement. “What was that, O'Marten, did I hear a please?” “Please… Stop,” Johnny said quietly, his cheeks reddening with shame.  “I don’t think so,” Orrick responded with a soft laugh. “But I much prefer this attitude from you.” And so the whip came down on Johnny’s back again and again. His screams echoed through the winecellar and he sank to his knees, sliding down the pillar, his legs no longer able to carry him. When Orrick finally stopped, Johnny’s back was a mess of thick, bleeding welts. Red streaks that had turned the piece of art that his skin used to be in an agonizing mess.  The pain was overwhelming and the young man had collapsed as far as his position allowed him to. His already slender frame now looked small and broken. “That’s it,” Orrick said, panting, “much, much better.” He knelt down next to Johnny, whose head hung down in pain, submission and shame. He took him by his chin and forced him to look at him.  “The pain reflects really well in your eyes, did you know that?"  Johnny said nothing. "This is just the start, O'Marten. You’re mine now. And I intend on making you pay.”