On the sixth day of containment, Ta'lali discovered that she could press herself against the chair in a way that gave relief from the fishing line. Unfortunately for the succubus, it also meant pushing her hips against the chair, which Charity interpreted very wrongly when she saw it.
Charity backhanded Ta'lali, scowling.
" You will never learn!" She shrieked.
Ta'lali wailed and writhed away from the touch, and the scent of blood filled the air.
Ta'lali's delicate skin- forced to bear the strain of fishing-line binds- had torn open wherever it was pressed against the line.
Charity frowned and shook her head.
" I suppose your wounds should be treated."
Ta'lali whimpered when her modest dress was removed, and the fishing line was plucked from her wounds.
Charity was not gentle, but Ta'lali found herself leaning into the touches.
Charity smiled and patted her prisoner on the cheek she had slapped so harshly just a few minutes before.
" You're learning to trust me." She said happily.
Ta'lali averted her eyes, and braced for another round of pain, but instead she was rewarded by a silky numbness blooming in her mind.
" I suppose I am." She whispered. The demonic purr was no more than a memory for her, and the only thing on her mind was staying in Charity's good graces.