Not enough to break her.
Just enough tension on the chain to keep her suspended. Unable to snap or fall or breathe. Over and over, along the edge, until the sound of her hair grazing on the carpet becomes a reminder. She told herself she would not beg, but each slow pull pushes the words further up her throat.
Soon the sound of rhythmic strokes will be audible, curving down her neck and spine until they take form and run down the back of her legs. The more she resists her body’s betrayal, the harder she paints him. Waiting for the thrust that arches her back, snapping her reason and leaving her screaming silently.
When he uses her hair to draw her completely taut, the pleas will pour. Guttural and raw. She will feel him swell further on each of them, pushing her against a wall of her own creation. The pleas become prayers and she waits for deliverance.