Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
I turn to sit on the altar. I have to put my back to it, and then swivel, because this damn dress is hobbling me. It is cool and heavy and again, old. Older than me by many thousands of years. I know that I am not the first to be placed here, and I am far from the last. I am joining a long lineage of sacrifices.
The moment I am securely on the altar, I am flipped face down. Cool stone presses against my belly, cheek, and thighs.
Crack!
I hear something loud. Then I feel pain. It takes a fraction of a second to realize I have been given a stroke of the cane. I look to the side and see Aiden over me, his powerful body arched in preparation to bring down another searing stroke of a punishment tool so notorious it makes grown men shiver.
Crack!
The sound fills the grove, followed by my pained cry. Nothing else is said. Nobody else moves. My wail is the only sound that follows that harsh stroke.
I realize that it doesn’t fucking matter where I am. This stone, this room, these onlookers, they are the least of my worries. It is my own flesh that is going to be used against me. The jaws of the wolf still close around the neck of the lamb whether he slaughters her authentically in the sacrificial chamber, or in the middle of a supermarket aisle.
Aiden holds me face down and continues to cane me seven more times, laying lines one over the other up and down the length of my ass until I am gasping and begging for mercy. Each one of those fiery strokes makes my entire body flood with the chemistry of sacrifice and punishment.
I wanted to call it fake to diminish it, but what I am feeling is more real than anything I have ever felt in my entire existence. This is pure primal public punishment. And it is only just beginning.
He lets me lie there, whimpering to myself as my ass burns on like a fire that burned bright and is stoked to continue to smolder for the rest of the evening.
“She’s feisty,” he finally announces to the assembled men. There is a brief ripple of agreement.
“But we have always broken that which needs to be broken,” he says. “And this woman is no exception.”
Another murmur.
“We lost Theodore. None of you were able to come to his funeral, and for that I must make apologies. At the time, we had no knowledge of the true reason for his demise, how he strayed so far from the path of our protection. We had to imagine the worst. But this is what we found. A woman. A temptress. A creature who speaks with serpents and corrupts the minds of men who otherwise would be good and steadfast.”
Something in my stomach curdles at hearing those words. I don’t think Aiden believes a single fucking one of them. He’s invoking ancient stories, deep mythology, and more in order to rationalize this treatment of me. He is making an example of me. This is a show of strength.
“But,” he says. “The serpent was part of the garden, then, and now. And the woman was also part of it. We cannot and should not destroy what cannot be controlled. It is a call to learn to contain it. It is our weakness. Our failure. Our forgetfulness. Smugness. Pride, that allows these things to cause chaos.”
He’s giving some half-esoteric speech, but I think what he is doing in this moment is making an argument for me to continue to live. He is telling those around us that even though I am at fault for Teddy’s death, I will not be destroyed for it.
I would breathe a sigh of relief, but for the fact that I am well aware Aiden is capable of making life feel worse than death.
I was better off with Leo.
Aiden
She is beautiful. And she is about to be entirely exposed.
I cut the back of her dress all the way up to between her thighs with a sharp blade. The fabric, under tension, splits easily and evenly with a satisfying, smooth sound.
I sheathe the blade, then I take both sides of the fabric in my hands, and I pull. Hard. I rip the dress to the waist, and expose her pretty, punished rear to all with eyes to see.
The lines of the cane are exquisitely red on her skin. She shrieked like she was being killed, but though I made a great show of her punishment, the truth is I was holding back. As tough as my little captive likes to pretend she is with her tattoos and her attitude, she is actually quite sensitive to pain of this nature.
A cane can be an ugly thing. It can leave welts, break the skin, turn flesh into a bloody mess. She has some deep red marks, but nothing more, and I feel a deep pride seeing that my artistry and skill remains intact.