Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“Still refusing?” he asked.
I pressed my lips together.
The first lash landed across my bottom with a violent sting that made me cry out and arch. I thought of Gowry, and I realized with a gasp that Gowry had none of Porter’s skill in punishing women. My sponsor’s belt felt sharper, thinner, more shocking, the leather folding around the curve of me and burning into the skin of my bottom.
“Answer me,” he said.
I shook my head once, tears springing instantly to my eyes.
The second stroke came lower. I sobbed.
“Tell me what you were imagining.”
“I don’t want to.”
The third strike cut across the backs of my thighs and I broke, gasping. “Oh… oh, God…”
“Sir.”
“Oh, sir…”
The fourth lash made me collapse farther onto my forearms. My hair fell over my face. I could feel my own body betraying me already, the awful hot pulse between my legs answering the punishment instead of learning proper shame from it.
“Talk.”
I tried not to. I really did. But the belt came again, then again, each lash precise and terrible, and before long the pain had braided itself with the image in my mind so tightly that I could no longer tell whether I was being punished for the fantasy or driven deeper into it.
“I thought…” I choked.
He waited.
Another stroke.
“I thought about Gowry,” I cried.
“Go on.”
The humiliation of saying it seemed almost worse than the beating. My scalp prickled so intensely that it became actually painful. “I thought about… about you…” Another breath broke apart in me. “About you caning me in front of him.”
Silence.
I could hear my own ragged breathing, and somewhere beyond it the muted city far below.
Then, very quietly: “And?”
I shook with shame. “And then letting him…” I couldn’t finish.
The belt kissed my skin once more, not as hard, but enough.
“Speak.”
“And then letting him try me,” I sobbed into the bedspread. “Afterward. If he helped with the bill. Or because you wanted him to. I don’t know.” Tears wet the bedding beneath my face. “It was disgusting. I know it was. I know.”
The room stayed still for one suspended second.
When he spoke at last, his voice had gone lower. “Lift yourself up.”
I did, trembling.
He put the belt aside. His hand came to rest on my scorched bottom, not soothing exactly, but assessing. Possessing. I could feel his palm absorb the heat he had made.
“Put that out of your head,” he said. Something in his tone told me that I hadn’t displeased him the way I had feared I would.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered.
But his hand lingered. And when I dared the smallest glance back over my shoulder, what I saw in his face did not really reassure me nearly as much as the words should have. He looked stern, yes. He also looked darkly aroused.
He saw that I had seen it.
“Spread your knees,” he said.
My thighs opened on the bed at once.
“Wider.”
I obeyed.
“Now reach back and offer your anus. You’re going to take it in the ass again, you little slut, just like you need it from your sponsor.”
CHAPTER 26
Alex
The order sent a jolt of shame and need through my whole body. My face flamed so hard it felt like I might actually scorch the sheets.
I lowered myself at once, turning my cheek to the mattress because I couldn’t bear to imagine what my expression looked like, let alone contemplate letting Porter see it. I reached back with both hands. My bottom still burned in narrow, vivid lines from his belt. The skin felt hot and swollen under my grasping fingers. I shuddered at the sting of that first touch, and when I parted my cheeks the tenderness, or the shame, or both, made me whimper.
I have no choice.
The words began again, at once, in my head, like a prayer or an incantation. I have no choice. I have no choice.
If I disobeyed him now, it would only get worse. That was true, wasn’t it? He would spank me more. Whip me more. Cane me, maybe. I dwelt on the thought sent, until it sent the expected, logical fear through me, and the fear ran straight down into a shameful little throb between my legs.
Then, for one instant—one dangerous instant of clarity—I thought: I could say no.
I could tell him I wanted this to end. He had said so. He had said it so often, hadn’t he? He had offered it, without me even asking. Somewhere beneath everything else I knew that of course he would let me go.
But I pushed that thought down with all the force I had.
I have no choice. I have no choice. I have no choice.
The truth of my actual, legal, factual situation felt cold, though, and I wanted, desperately, to be warm. Hot. Hotter.
It felt so much better to imagine—no, to believe—that he would not let me go at all. That if I refused and begged and tried to run away he would simply hold me down on top of the bed, his crushing weight on top of me, my wrists held useless behind my back, my whipped cheeks roughly parted… he would drive into my ass until I screamed… he would come there for the second time…and then punish me afterward, for making him use force to get what he had paid for.