The petite Arabic girl was beaten by her master with a riding crop and a whip, leaving deep welts on her delicate skin. Despite her tears and pleas for mercy, he continued to beat her until she was reduced to a sobbing mess beneath him

The petite Arabic girl lay on the leather-clad floor, her wrists and ankles shackled to the cold metal rings. Her eyes were wide with fear as she looked up at her master, a cruel grin spreading across his face. He held a riding crop in one hand and a whip in the other, his sadistic grin growing wider as he raised them above his head. With a flick of his wrist, he brought down the crop on her exposed flesh, leaving behind angry welts that quickly turned red and raw. She cried out in pain and humiliation as he continued to beat her with the crop, each blow leaving its mark on her delicate skin. Despite her tears and pleas for mercy, he continued to beat her until she was reduced to a sobbing mess beneath him. As she lay there broken and defeated, he leaned down close to her ear and whispered darkly into it: "You're mine now."