His touch upon her was repellent - or should have been, and she felt almost further sickened by the fact that as the tong did it's rhythmic dance deep between her thighs, his other hand and mouth tugging and nipping and suckling at her breath, there was no refusal put forth by her body. Treacherously, it warmed and tightened beneath his touch, the only rejection being in her mouth, blood sticky upon her lips and pain radiating up through the mask of her face into her temples, behind her eyes, filling her head with an ache in stark, throbbing counterpoint to the reluctant hum he was stirring up in her loins.<br/><br/>Atnorsa murmured soft, wordless growls, arms and legs tightening and flexing, pulling even more steadily and urgently now against the chains that held her - in the vain hope that a link might give way, or that wood would prove knotty and insubstantial, and free ONE of her limbs to use against him.