She kneels in the corner. Nose to the wall. The bell at her throat catches each shallow breath with a soft tink. Water from her shower cools on her skin, trickling in thin lines down her spine, pooling in the crease of her ass. The welts from yesterday's belt are a dull, distant throb. Her cunt still aches from the boot, the toes, the stretching. Slick keeps leaking from her, slow and shameful, sliding down her inner thigh to soak into the carpet fibers beneath her knees.

Minutes crawl. The house settles. The tick-tick-tick of the living room clock carries down the hall.