"Walk."
Camille's grip on the silver collar was unrelenting. She hauled Yanna down the hallway, the polished hardwood floor offering no friction for Yanna's bare, sliding feet.
"Mistress, please," Yanna gasped, her legs buckling with every step. The three-pound tungsten plug swung like a wrecker's ball inside her pelvis, hammering against her bruised cervix. "The hardware is too heavy. I can't find purchase."
"You are dragging," Camille observed, not slowing her pace. "The soy sauce is staining the floorboards. You are creating a secondary mess before the primary mess is addressed."
"I'm sorry! I'm trying to step!"
"You are failing."
Camille stopped abruptly. Yanna crashed into her back, the impact jarring the fresh C.N. brand on her chest.
Camille didn't turn around. She reached behind her, grabbed a fistful of Yanna's rice-matted hair, and yanked downward.
Yanna dropped to her knees, hitting the floor with a heavy, wet thud.
