Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
There's a pause here as I, once again, envision myself being spanked by Giovanni. Or this guy, maybe. Which is kinda hot in a way.
"Would you like to know the consequences for ending the day of instruction with demerits?"
"As opposed to what? Surprise, you get a spanking?" I'm still looking at him, so I actually see his mouth turn up at the corners in a smile when this comes out.
Great. He's enjoying this. Nothing creepier than a ski-masked BDSM instructor finding me amusing. What's next, a little giggle while he selects which riding crop matches my skin tone? "The mahogany one really brings out your fear, darling."
"He warned me, you know."
I squint my eyes at him. "Warned you… about what?"
"You."
The snort comes out before I can stop it. "The Mafia Boss warned you, Mr. Spanks-a-Lot, about me? I'm the Word Collector. It's hardly something to be wary of."
Yes, beware my dangerous vocabulary. I might conjugate a verb at you or deploy an Oxford comma. Giovanni probably had to write up a full dossier: "Subject shows alarming tendency to use semicolons correctly; approach with caution."
"How wrong you are."
I wait, expecting more. But nothing more comes forth.
Seriously? That's it? Just "how wrong you are" with no follow-up? What kind of half-assed villain monologue is that? Even cartoon bad guys know you're supposed to elaborate on your cryptic statements. This is like Submission School taught by Mysterious McGee, Master of Unfinished Thoughts.
"Okay. So… what did he say?" God, listen to me. I suddenly feel like every seventh-grade girl ever when someone casually mentions that the popular boy was talking about you. What did he say about me? Does he like-like me or just like me? Next, I'll be passing notes: Check yes if you want to murder me, check no if you're just going to traumatize me psychologically. XOXO, Miss Take.
"You can ask him yourself. Tonight when he comes down to dole out consequences."
Oh perfect. A demerits discussion with Giovanni. I can already picture it: him in his perfectly tailored suit, me in my perfectly nothing, discussing my "consequences."
Which I'm sure are totally boring and proper, like writing lines or standing in the corner. Definitely not him putting me over his knee, his large hand connecting with my bare skin while he counts out each demerit in that controlled voice that somehow gets rougher with each number.
That would be ridiculous to imagine.
Repeatedly. In detail. Which I absolutely haven't done.
I raise my hand. "Question."
"Permission to ask. Also, asking permission, that's a good girl."
Internally, I roll my eyes. That's a good girl? What am I, a Labrador retriever? Should I wag my tail and fetch his slippers next? Maybe I'll get a treat if I manage to sit still for five whole minutes without questioning the patriarchy. Though honestly, if Giovanni's the one giving out the treats... No. Stop it, Emmaleen. Bad girl. See? I'm even scolding myself now. Stockholm syndrome speedrun, world record pace.
"Why are we bantering, Mr. Master? I thought you were here to teach me how to serve."
Even though I can't see it, I know he just raised an eyebrow. "Was that a challenge?"
"An honest question, nothing more."
"I don't believe you."
"Well, you're the one having a normal conversation with me. If you don't want me to have a normal conversation back, maybe you should stick to the script."
"Demerit times ten."
Wow, inflation hits even in BDSM school. What's next, bulk discount demerits? Buy ten get five free? I should ask if he accepts credit cards or if there's a payment plan available. "Sorry, sir, I maxed out my demerit card already this month. Can we reschedule my punishment for after payday?"
Okay. Okay. I see how this works. I don't even care about the demerits. I'm like ninety percent certain these consequences involve sucking Giovanni's dick or letting him bend me over a couch.
Not entirely terrible punishments.
And there I go again, turning this into a fantasy. My non-existent therapist would have a field day with this psychological mess. See? You actually want to be controlled!
No, what I want is to be seen. There's a difference between being dominated and being dominated by someone who actually sees you.
"You think you understand how this works?" The Master circles me again, his voice shifting to something colder, more clinical. "Mr. Bavga doesn't need to rely on something as obvious as sexual punishment. That would be beneath him."
Says the man with the obvious erection. Sure, Jan.
I mean, the entire reason I'm here is to make him admit he…
Do not say love. I wasn't going to say it. It's definitely not love.
Admit that he… enjoys me. Maybe even likes me. The way I enjoy him and like him back.
"Your posture is slipping," he observes, tapping the crop against my shoulder blade. "Back straight. From obedience, power. From loyalty, safety. From silence, survival. You'd do well to remember that motto."