She panted, struggling to pull oxygen into her lungs, her body clenching involuntarily, bracing for the next blow. Every muscle in her core tensed as though it could protect her, but she knew how this game was played. They were trying to break her, not physically, but mentally. In situations like this, if she didn’t give them what they wanted, fear, pain, submission, they would only escalate, push harder, to make her scream. The only way to survive was to give him what he wanted and she had to play her part perfectly. And when the second punch came, straight into her stomach again, she couldn’t stop the cry of pain from tearing out of her throat. When the next hit came—this time aimed at her stomach again—she let out a cry of pain. Not too loud, but just enough to satisfy the man’s sick need for control. It wasn’t that hard really, especially when it actually hurt. Her body recoiled, and she felt a warm, wet trickle down her stomach. The skin had split from the blow. Her breath ca
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