Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
I forced myself to take another bite, then another. With each mouthful, I became more aware of the other diners around us. A couple at the next table—the woman kept glancing at us, at Mike specifically, with open appreciation. Two men by the pool who nodded respectfully at Mike when he caught their eye. And yes, people looked at me too, but the stares weren’t always condemning. Some seemed curious. Some seemed… interested.
By the time I finished eating, something had loosened in my chest. I wasn’t really comfortable—not by a long shot. My bottom still throbbed with every shift in my seat, and I was acutely aware of how exposed I was in this ridiculous excuse for a swimsuit. But the crushing weight of shame had lifted just slightly.
“Ready for the beach?” Mike asked, standing and offering his hand.
I took it, letting him pull me to my feet. The walk through the resort still made my face burn, but I managed to keep my eyes up this time. We passed the woman from breakfast, and when our eyes met, she gave me a small smile. Not mocking. Not superior. As if she had fought with herself, with her hot, dark places, the way I had, and she wished me well. I nodded back, feeling something warm unfurl in my chest.
The path to the beach wound through lush tropical gardens, and with each step I became more conscious of the ocean breeze against my barely covered skin. Mike’s hand was warm in mine, his thumb tracing small circles on my palm in a way that somehow both soothed and aroused me. When we finally emerged onto the black sand beach, I stopped short.
It was more crowded than I’d expected. Dozens of people lounged on chairs or played in the surf, and my immediate instinct was to turn and run. But Mike’s grip on my hand tightened, holding me in place.
“You’re fine,” he murmured. “Look around. Really look.”
I forced myself to scan the beach. There were other women in revealing swimsuits—bikinis that showed nearly as much as my microkini, though admittedly none quite so minimal. And their bodies weren’t perfect either. Some had stretch marks, some had cellulite, some were older or heavier than me. They seemed comfortable in their skin, though, in a way I’d never felt.
And then I saw her. A woman maybe twenty-five, lying on her stomach on a beach chair. Her bottom was marked—not as extensively as mine, but unmistakably. Faint pink lines that could only be from a cane, I knew from experience. She adjusted her position, and I caught a glimpse of something else: a thin chain around her ankle with what looked like a small lock.
My breath caught. She was like me. Owned. Marked. And she was here, sunbathing as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“See?” Mike said quietly. “You’re not alone, sweetheart.”
He led me to a pair of lounge chairs that had been reserved for us, positioned to face the ocean but also visible to much of the beach. My heart hammered as he gestured for me to lie down.
“On your tummy,” he said, his voice somehow both commanding and gentle, as if he understood my conflict, but had no intention of letting me give into it.
This was it. This was where everyone would see.
I lowered myself onto the chair carefully, the cushion soft against my front, but offering no relief to my vivid sense of my bottom’s visibility. The position put my welted cheeks on full display, the tiny string of the microkini doing absolutely nothing to conceal Mike’s handiwork.
“Good girl,” Mike said, settling into the chair beside me. “Now just relax and enjoy the sun.”
Relax. As if that were possible when I could feel eyes on me, when I knew people were looking at the evidence of my terrible lesson in obedience. I buried my face in my arms and tried to breathe.
But as the minutes passed, something strange happened. The sun was warm on my back and bottom, the ocean breeze was pleasant, and gradually I became aware that the world hadn’t ended. People walked past—I imagined that some glanced and some didn’t—but no one pointed or laughed or called me names. The beach continued its lazy rhythm around us.
After maybe twenty minutes, I heard Mike order drinks from a passing server, and I risked a glance in his direction. He looked utterly relaxed, his sunglasses on, one hand resting casually on the arm of his chair. Like displaying his marked girlfriend was the most natural thing in the world.
And maybe, I thought with a flutter in my chest, for him it is.
I lowered my face back into my arms and tried to let the tension drain from my body. The warmth of the sun felt good on my welted bottom, almost soothing despite the tenderness. I became aware of the sound of waves, of someone laughing somewhere down the beach, of a couple arguing good-naturedly about whether to swim now or later.