Torture

The whip whistles as it cuts the air, moments before it strikes across my back. Pain consumes me, and I cannot help but cry out. I barely recover before the next lash strikes home.
Whimpering, I beg them to stop.
They smile maliciously and ignore my pleas.
The whip stings my flesh again and again in a steady rhythm of rising torment.
I struggle against my bindings, trying to escape, but it’s no use. My tormentors are professionals.
Wracking my brain I try to think of a way out of my predicament. If only I could remember that safe word!