Isabella grabs the riding crop

She reached out for the closest thing on the table next to the chair, finding her fingers wrapping around the handle of the riding crop. With a grunt, she swung it in the air, its tip whistling as it sliced through the space between them.

It drew blood, a thin cut appearing on the cheek of Eduardo Valdes.

And for the first time since she had known the man, an expression blossomed on his face, a human one. She had seen it before, on other men, ever since her body matured; hips widening and breasts straining against her shirts: it was a look of unrestrained lust.

Eduardo Valdés, the emotionless, robotic man was aroused.

"You will answer me, Eduardo," Isabella snarled, the riding crop pointed at his face. "Even if I have to beat it out of you."

Eduardo's tongue flicked across his lips, his gaze locked on the crop. He looked almost entranced, his body swaying towards her.

"Yes, Presidente. I have been a very bad man. You should punish me. Hurt me."

For Isabella, it all clicked into place in an instant. The leather chair in the office, soft and comfortable, hardly necessary for torturing a prisoner. The restraints hanging from it, the whips and crops on the table—these were things that would loosen tight lips, but also bring a masochist pleasure. And the man in front of her was a masochist, the one that sat in the chair as he gets abused, his cock stiff and throbbing, the pain soaring with his lust.

She could use this.

The riding crop came down, lashing out with a stinging blow against the other cheek. Eduardo cried out, his eyes squeezed shut. A line of red appeared on his pale skin, a twin to the first.

"Answer me, Valdes," Isabella hissed, the riding crop swinging through the air. "Tell me the truth."

Another crack, and another, the crop leaving a series of angry welts across Eduardo's face.

"I cannot, Presidente," he moaned, his voice breaking.

Isabella struck him again, the blow landing on his jaw with a sickening thud.

"You will call me Mistress," she hissed

"Y-yes, Mistress," Eduardo gasped, his face burning with pain and desire.

Isabella pressed the tip of the crop against his lips, pushing it into his mouth. He sucked on it eagerly, his tongue swirling around its length.

"Now, get in the chair," Isabella ordered, yanking the crop free from his mouth. "And take off your pants."

Eduardo nodded entusiastically, moving to obey. He unfastened his tie, tossing it aside before shrugging off his jacket. His fingers flew to pants, undoing the button and zip.

As the Minister's pants pooled at his ankles, Isabella was struck by how average it looked. Not that she had expected a monstrous member, but his penis, flaccid and pale, hardly seemed worthy of the reputation its owner carried.

"Sit."

He complied, the leather creaking softly under his weight.

"Now, tell me, who betrayed my father? Who killed him?" Isabella asked, her voice firm and demanding.

"I cannot, Mistress. Please, don't ask me." Eduardo pleaded.

Isabella brought the riding crop down with a vicious swing, landing a punishing blow on his exposed thigh.

"You will tell me," she growled. "Or I'll make sure you suffer."

Eduardo gasped, his body jerking under the impact.

"Please, Mistress, I can't."

She brought the crop down again, lashing his inner thigh, closer to his manhood.

"Then I'll give you ****."

Isabella dropped the riding crop, her fingers wrapping around the leather straps instead.

"Hold still."

Eduardo tensed as Isabella tightened the strap around his wrist, fastening him to the armrest. She did the same for his other wrist, then moved downwards.

"Spread your legs," she commanded, securing his ankles in place.

Eduardo complied, his legs splayed wide, exposing his erect cock.

Isabella picked up the riding crop, tracing the tip along his length. He shuddered, a groan escaping his lips.

"Are you ready to tell me what I want to know?"

Eduardo shook his head, his face contorted in agony.

Isabella tutted, the crop trailing up to the tip of his cock. She flicked it, the impact sending a jolt through his body.

"If you aren't going to talk, then I suppose there's no point in leaving your mouth open."

She reached over to the table, finding the leather gag this time. It was a simple strap, with a wide band of leather to cover the mouth and a buckle to keep it in place.

"Open wide," she instructed, pushing the gag against his lips.

He opened obediently, letting her slide the strap into his mouth. She fastened it behind his head, securing the buckle so tightly that the leather cut into his face.

"There we go. Much better."

Isabella took a step back, admiring her handiwork.