When Mary came to, she was lying on the floor of the cell, in the company of the tyrant who had knocked her out cold. Confused and scared, she touched her throbbing jaw as she scurried backwards and away from the man hovering over her.

"My name is Hassan and I am your mentor. You are Number Fourteen and your purpose in life is to serve as the whore that you are," he said.

With effort, Mary managed to tell him to go fuck himself, only to find herself lifted up by her throat and pulled close to the terrifying man, her face inches away from his.

"Repeat after me, I am Number Fourteen and I am a whore," he hissed at her, his eyes glowing with excitement.

Kicking in vain at her assailant and struggling to break free, she managed to utter a weak 'No!' as she was slowly being choked. Her reward for her defiance was a punch to the stomach, that had her doubled over as he roughly threw her back, finally releasing the iron grip on her throat. Hitting the floor hard, Mary fought to catch her breath, again finding herself descending into unconsciousness, when one his boots kicked the side of her head.

Mary opened her eyes, her head pounding and she felt like vomiting on the spot; Hassan was standing over her, his presence instantly filling her with fear.

"Repeat after me," he said again. "I am Number Fourteen and I am a whore!"

Silence followed. Mary wanted to reply 'Fuck you!' but found herself too afraid to say the words. Her silence, however, was reason enough for her mentor to land his fist on her right eye. Her scream echoed from the dungeon walls. What nightmare have I ended up in? she thought in shock. Did Jake know this was going to happen? Was that why he had looked sick with worry during their flight? Was that why he had looked away with shame - she was certain it was shame not embarrassment now - when they had seen the redhead on her knees and sucking cock like a cheap whore in full view of anyone passing by? All of those thoughts crossed her mind between being hit and falling back and her head hitting the stone wall behind her.

"Why are you doing this to me?!" she screamed, hating the despair that resonated through in her voice.

"Say the words, Number Fourteen!" Hassan screamed as he towered over her, his fist raised high.

Instead of obeying, Mary fell silent; she wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but was unable to say the words. Her hesitation to obey was again rewarded with another blow to the head, and again she felt herself descend into unconsciousness.

Coming to, she vomited and she felt like passing out again. Certain now that she had a concussion, she knew that whatever she felt, she had to play along to prevent more punishment.

"Say the words, Number Fourteen," Hassan repeated.

Quickly, dreading another blow to the head, tasting the blood and vomit in her mouth, Mary said the words. She didn't even have to force herself to say them, as her fear made her spit them out at rapid fire.

"I am Number Fourteen and I am a whore!" she heard herself declare with dread.

Hassan took a step back and gave a smile that send shivers down her spine; a smile of contempt.

"Very good. Now take off your clothes, Number Fourteen."

Spitting a mixture of vomit and blood, Mary stood up, her head dizzy and hurting. She had trouble seeing through her right eye. She felt like vomiting again, but was too afraid to waste time. Unable to think clearly, her survival instinct took over, an instinct that told her that begging was useless. Still, as she stood up, her long shapely legs trembling beneath her, she suddenly found herself crying and wailing like a small child. Begging for mercy. Begging to be let go. She was rewarded once again with a hard blow to the head, not hard enough to make her pass out again, but with enough force to make her shut up. Trembling from shock, her fingers struggled to take off her clothes under Hassan's watchful eyes. First she shed the shirt and then went and then the bra, revealing a pair of beautiful breasts, large yet firm. Next were her shoes and socks. Only a split second of hesitation was wasted before she unbuttoned her pants, tears starting to flow as she let them slide down her toned and bronzed legs, quickly followed by her panties, her eyes tightly shut. Swallowing hard, she stood up straight in all her nakedness, and opened her eyes, only to see the dreadful fist come at her again.

The warmth of the blood that ran from her nose was the first thing she felt as she regained consciousness. Her head was pounding an incessant rhythm and she heaved; her stomach was empty but the need to throw up present again. Instinctively wiping away her hair, wet with the blood and filthy from the vomit that had gotten into it, she cried, her chest heaving and her breasts waving as her pain and fear consumed her whole.

"That last one was for wasting my time, Number Fourteen," Hassan said with glee. "Stand up and look at me!"

Panic striking her heart as she feared she might not obey the command fast enough to avoid more punishment, Mary quickly got up, feeling faint, her head hurting and dizzy from the concussion.

"Tell me who you are," Hassan hissed as she stood, trembling, in from of him, her face soiled with blood and tears.

"I am Number Fourteen, and I am a whore!" Mary loudly declared. Her right eye was starting to become useless; the flesh around it had swollen to the extent that it forced her eye shut.

"Tell me what it means to be a whore," Hassan barked at her.

Mary had no answer to that and dread filled her heart as she already knew what was coming her way. Her expectation was realized as the tip of the tyrants' boot hit her in the stomach. Doubling over, letting out a loud cry, she was back on the floor again.

"Please," she stammered crying. "Why are you doing this to me?!"

The only answer she received was yet another blow to the head. Hassan knew that this initial meeting would set the tone and determine how a number would perceive him in the future; it was vital that all they felt was respect and that, he had learned, came best from fear. He pulled Mary up by her hair, her scream reverberating in the cold dungeon.

"I asked you a question, Number Fourteen!" he hissed as his spit hit her face. "What does it mean to be a whore?"

"To fuck and be fucked," were the only words Mary's mind managed to come up with.

"Very well," Hassan said as he dropped her to the floor. "Seems you are not totally stupid."

Hitting the floor hard, Mary was not expecting the man's feet in her ribcage. Letting out a loud cry, she rolled over from the force of the kick. The screaming pain in her side told her that he had broken several of her ribs.

"Get up, Number Fourteen!"

Terrified and going against all of her instincts that told her to crawl away into the corner of the cell, the little sobriety she still had told her to follow the command. Getting up made her head toll and her ribs sent out strong pangs of pain, but her fear of more beatings motivated Mary enough to bite her way through it.

"Kiss me in the exaggerated way of a whore, Number Fourteen."