Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“Answer me.” More lashes, higher now, catching the fleshiest curve of my bottom with a crack that echoed off the studio walls. “When you had your fingers between your legs last night, in the dark, rubbing that disobedient little cunt—did it feel better than having your butt whipped for it?”
“Yes!” I sobbed into the sheets. “Yes, sir… but I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”
“Are you?” Three more strokes. They landed diagonally, crossing the earlier welts at an angle that made me shriek and stamp my feet uselessly against the floor, the jeans around my knees turning the motion into a pathetic, hobbled shuffle. “I don’t believe you, Anne. I think you liked playing with yourself so much that you couldn’t stop. I think you came, didn’t you? I think you lay there in your bed and rubbed your little cunt until you came, and then you did it again. And again.”
I couldn’t breathe. The accuracy of his words—the way he described exactly what I’d done, as if he’d been standing in the corner of my bedroom watching—felt like its own kind of nakedness, an exposure more devastating than the bareness of the bottom he was whipping. My fingers twisted in the sheets so hard I could feel the fabric cutting into my knuckles.
“How many times?” he asked. His voice had dropped into that register I’d heard yesterday, the one Melissa had unlocked: the blade-on-stone growl that scraped along the floor of his chest. “How many times did you come, Anne?”
Three more strokes fell. I wailed.
“How many?”
“F-five,” I choked out, and the word tasted like ashes. “Five times. I came five times, sir.”
Master Paul stopped whipping me. The silence that followed was worse than the belt. I could feel him standing behind me, the heat of his presence against my punished skin, and I could feel the weight of that number settling over both of us. Five times. A girl who had never brought herself to orgasm in her life had come five times in one night, thinking about the man who now stood behind her with a belt in his hand.
“Five,” Master Paul repeated. The word came out quiet, almost contemplative, and that quietness terrified me more than shouting would have. “Five times, you used my property without permission.”
“Yes, sir.” Barely a whisper.
“Then I think five more minutes of the belt is appropriate. Don’t you?”
I sobbed. I pressed my face deeper into the sheets and sobbed, and I nodded, because what else could I do? I had earned this. My body had earned this, with its wanton, insatiable need, and the part of me that had whispered he would punish me at the crest of last night’s climax understood with a terrible, crystalline clarity that this was exactly where that whisper had been leading.
He began to whip me again, and I screamed as the new lashes fell across the tops of my thighs. I sobbed into the mattress. My hips bucked forward, my knees tried to buckle, and the jeans held me in place like shackles.
“I want you to think about something while I finish,” Master Paul said, and his voice had taken on a new quality now—something darker, more possessive, something that made my stomach drop even as the pain blazed across my skin. “I want you to think about what’s going to happen after I shave you. After I take every bit of hair off that cunt and make you smooth and bare and mine.”
Five more lashes. Lower. The crease again. I wailed.
“I’m going to fuck you, Anne.”
The words landed with more force than the belt. My entire body went rigid. The sob caught in my throat and became something else—a strangled, broken sound that contained equal parts terror and a hunger so raw it frightened me.
“I’m going to lay you down on this bed,” he continued, the belt cracking over and over across my bottom while he spoke, as if punctuating his own sentence with leather, “and I’m going to spread your legs apart, and I’m going to push my cock into that tight little cunt, and I am going to enjoy every inch of it. Every single inch. I’m going to feel how wet you are. I’m going to feel how tight you are. And you’re going to lie there and take it and know that this—this—is what your body was made for. Not your fingers in the dark. My cock. Inside you. Filling you up until there’s no room left for disobedience.”
The next lashes were the hardest. They landed squarely across both cheeks with cracks that seemed to split the air, and the pain that followed was so complete, so total, that my vision went white. I collapsed forward onto the mattress, my arms giving out beneath me, my face buried in the sheets, my body shaking with sobs that came from somewhere so deep inside me I wasn’t sure they’d ever stop.