She was not bleeding profusely, but she was bleeding. A thin rivulet of blood had crawled down her back and pooled in her ass-crack. He didn't know if he should take it as symbolism- Her sexuality and pain- or just something sexy to see. Truthfully, he did not lash her too much, less than two dozen times. When he was done, he tossed the whip to the side and approached her. He could hear her sniffling, hear her muffled sobs beneath the leather leather gag.<br/><br/>"Dear Tara," he cooed, sounding nicer than he ever had. "Does that hurt?" he asks, running one hand gently over the curve of her breasts. The look of pain in her eyes was so horribly exquisite... His fingers soon probed her exposed sex, and Alves toyed with her hole for a moment. "Doesn't that feel much better than being whipped? This is what it will feel like for the rest of your life if you're obedient."<br/><br/>He changed his tone then, sounding like the nasty Alves who wielded the whip. "And this is what happens if you act out of line," he said, reaching behind her back to grip at her torn skin, not being too gentle about it. "I know you can't answer me; I don't want your answer yet." She probably hadn't noticed, in her drugged and pain-tortured state, but there were small holes in her mask, to act as breathing holes. He rummaged through his toolbin again, and came back with a bottle of water. Alves twisted the cap off and stuck a long, thin straw into it, and gently probed into her mouth with the straw. "Drink up. I don't want you to get thirsty. Uncle Alves isn't a mean man. He just wants you to act better. Drink up..."