Eyes latch immediately on the blade, going wide. In an instant she's backed against the wall, her palms and the curve of her back flat against the stone. She manages a ghost of a smirk after a moment to take in a long breath, but her eyes remain locked on the tip of the blade, shaking. "Bullshit. Stop trying to bluff. You aren't allowed to kill me." Don't be so sure of that. "You'll do whatever the fuck you want to me while they're cleaning out my stash upstairs, because we both know you Universal Studio rejects couldn't survive a fair hunt. But when you're done, you've got to dump me back home." It all comes out a little too quick, hurried, breathed out in one quick breath as she tries to squirm through the wall behind her.

A dark laugh fills the chamber at Elise's hurried words. "How wise and foolish! The wonders of the mind. You're half right, girl. I have to put you back upstairs when we're finished, all in one piece. That doesn't mean I can't take you apart in the meantime, so long as I put you back together." Orange light flashes and writhes along the blade as the tip slowly works its way towards the raven-haired woman's throat. "Last chance to choose one of the other options. I do so hate having to stitch a throat closed, but opening one is ever so lovely." The paddle spins once in her other hand with an audible rush of air.

Her neck arches elegantly away from the blade, cheek turned, nowhere left to retreat as the tip of steel presses against her throat. Eyes squeezed tight at the idea of being carved to pieces. She gulps and a tiny rose of red trickles from her throat.

When eyes open, they're pissed. Pissed but defeated. She murmurs, blabbered, "Cuh-cuh-cross...." partly because she's never heard of a St. Andrew's Cross, partly because her panic has overwhelmed her sense of rationality.

The blade flashes back smoothly and, with a small flourish, vanishes back into the vest. Two of the imprisoning bands grab hard for Elise's wrists, haul her to her feet, and shove her towards the x-shaped frame at her left. Without releasing her, they separate from the greater limbs and wrap themselves smoothly to the metallic cross to bind the student facing it. Another pair grab at her ankles to spread them wide and restrain them as well before the gray woman pulls her extra appendages back into herself.

"Good choice. Now, since you started with the paddle, I'll continue," says the gray woman as the heavy oak twirls loosely in her hand. The studded wood comes down sharply across both cheeks of the woman's exposed rear in a heavy thwack.

She doesn't even see that coming, and the metal tentacles are lashed around her wrists before she knows it, the thick metal bands bruising flesh, jerking her to her toes and forcing her into a high-assed struggling walk across the room, until the bands latch into place and lock her onto the cross. Her legs are pulled apart, tilted forward to raise her towards Steel. She growls as she's mounted on the device, visibly shaken, unable to see anything but the stone walls, with her whole body strapped forward. She readies to shout some sort of insult, some sort of plea, and....

WHACK! The heavy paddle cracks squarely across her ass, driven with practiced and powerful swing. She yelps in pain, a sound muffled by the sound of wood contacting flesh, a clean, thick pink mark flat across her cheeks, tattooed against fair flesh, stinging hot fire where the fierce iron studs hit.

"Lords, I forget how meek you things are sometimes. A yelp for that? Surely you hit me so much harder. Here I thought you'd be stronger than the other little weaklings," taunts the gray woman as she resettles the paddle slightly in her grasp. Before Elise gets a chance to respond, the studded wood crashes once more against her sore ass in a slightly heavier thwack. The heavy thud of the wood lands angled relative to the first blow, and the studs dig once more at smooth skin.

Now the paddle stops. Steel grins and looks over her handiwork decorating the bound woman's rump and the scuffs and faint bruises at her wrists. She'd sensed the impending protest on her prey's lips, and curiosity now stills her hand.

Sweat-slick body squirms on the cross, wrists and ankles chaffing in the restraints, whole body rocked against the X-frame as the paddle smacks her ass again, globes bouncing ripely at the spank, radiating heat like a stove top, prickling hot pain, welts rising up from the studs. But she stays stubbornly quiet now, squeezing back a whimper by biting into her lower lip, eyes set stubbornly on the stone in front of her. After two whacks, the paddle seems to stop, and after a pause, she growls a response to the wall. "Yeah. Well, pain isn't really pain if you can just stitch yourself right back up, right?"

"What? That's the silliest thing I've ever heard. If anything, it hurts worse focusing on the things and making them close." A disgusted sound escapes gray lips as the paddle taps once against the wall to Elise's side. The oak whirls through the air and lands hard once more across the woman's reddened rump. Without pausing, it snatches back and crashes forward again, lower, to grab and bite at the bound woman's upper thighs. Another blow taps out sharply directly over the second to press tighter into the slick, shiny skin. Again, the weapon pulls back and pauses as the gray woman smiles at her prey to savor the taste of her pain and await her reaction.

Hair hangs down in her first, clinging sweatily, body slick and warm. She wants to howl with each hit but manages to hold back, as the stinging crawls over her rear, migrates south to smooth, open thighs. There's no sound in the silence but her rapid breaths, the slick squirm of flesh in the restraints. Eyes are squeezed shut, salt-tears stinging the pink pique of her cheeks.

"So that's about a 'three' then?" asks the gray woman. Without explaining further or waiting for a response, she brings the paddle back harder across the slight crevice where buttocks meet thighs. The wood and studs bounce from the flesh with a sharp snap and come back down to span across the girl's thighs directly at their center. With less flesh to absorb the stronger smack, the stinging digs sharper into Elise's skin.
That's when Steel notices the tears marring her captive's face. Sadistic hunger flares in her eyes as she says, "let's see if we can get you to a 'seven'."

A criss-cross of thick red marks colors her rump, slick body sliding against the metal frame with each crack. Toes and fingers are squeezed into tight fists. But she won't give this bitch the satisfaction. She keeps her mouth shut, a slight trickle of blood where teeth press into lip, breathing through her nose. But that last hit elicits a whimper, small and slight and forced, as the metal bumps rake deep into the spare flesh of her thighs, her entire body jiggling in the rebound of the swinging paddle.

At the whimper, Steel releases a single, sharp bark of a laugh turned triumphant. "Sounds like we're making progress." She steps quickly back to the table and returns with a short sort of whip in her left hand. Her right resettles the paddle so the smooth, rounded side is facing Elise, then brings the heavy oak across the woman's thighs again. Before the writhing girl can even draw a full gasp, the sharp tip of the other device snaps hard at her back beneath her left shoulder to draw a brief red line in her skin.

She growls. Pitched forward, she can't see what the woman's doing or where she's going. There's just her absence and the resonating, stinging pang of the paddle trace her lower body. Then she can feel the woman behind her. She takes in another hissing breath, muscles tensing as she braces herself for the inevitable hit. She bucks forward on the cross as the flat, hard paddle smacks skin, bounces off. She even manages to keep her mouth shut... until the follow-through with the sharp-tipped whip. She instinctively bucks forward, back arching, neck lifted, muscle tensing, arms and legs jerking in the restraints as she makes a gentle curve over the surface of the cross.

"Son of a BITCH! What the fuck is wrong with you!?"

"Cursing! That's got to be a seven," says the gray woman with unhindered glee. With a shake of her head, she brings herself back under control. "Young lady, I do not like your tone. Did I cut you? No. If I had, you'd most certainly know it." The paddle clatters to the floor as the hand that had been holding it presses hard over the wound on Elise's back. "Now you don't get the paddle any more, just the whip." Steel shoves the girl back towards the frame restraining her motions and steps back. The thin tip of the weapon begins swirling back in forth before her and snapping thin, crossing lines over the smooth, sweat-coated skin of the woman's back to draw fast red marks on her.

She flinches away as Steel touches her flesh, but there's nowhere to squirm to as she traces the faint trail of red down the girl's shoulder. She wriggles to turn her face, to spit something back at the woman, but there's little range of movement, and then she's flung back forward into the cross, followed by the quick snap of the whip. Trickle red cobwebs criss-cross her back as Steel lashes her again and again with the small whip. Furious, deep breaths through her nose, mouth clamped shut to keep from squealing or screaming.