Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
What?
“Aw, you’re not going to tell me what they mean?”
He walks my way, and I don’t realize I’m backing up until my knees brush the corner of the bed.
“Small talk, Calina? No.” He reaches for the bedside table and opens a drawer, removing a slim wooden stick thing. “I’ll tell you what this means, though.”
He swings the stick through the air and smacks his palm with it, and though he doesn’t flinch, a red line colors his skin. “This is a cane, which I’ll apply to your disobedient little ass before you sleep tonight, if you don’t do as you’re told.”
Turning to face me, he crosses his arms across his chest, the ominous-looking thing sticking out from his fist.
I laugh, at first softly. I’m not amused, and the effort to act irrational makes me uneasy. But I do enjoy the surprise that flickers through his gaze while I undress. As I remove my clothes, my laughter increases in volume until I hit a maniacal pitch.
Maybe it’s the liquor. Maybe it’s the insanity of this situation. But somehow, I find pretending to be mentally unstable is a little easier than I initially thought.
I take off my clothes as if they don’t matter, and let them fall into a rumpled heap on the floor. I’m vividly aware that I stand before him naked and he’s holding that thing—the cane, he called it?—in his hand. I have no doubt he won’t hesitate to apply it.
“In the hamper,” he orders, pointing to the pile of clothes with the cane. With a twisted smile on my face, I singsong to myself.
“To the hamper,” in a little voice, singing as if it’s a nursery rhyme. I feel both silly and scared. How will he react to my crazed reactions? “In we go, little dirty clothes.” I gather them up like this is a game, then trot to the bathroom and toss them in.
“Get some sleep,” he says, still watching me warily. So it appears my first “shift” won’t be tonight after all.
“Yes, sir,” I parrot, then I flop on the bed like a little kid. “Oh, this is comfortable. It looks like a prison bed, which I imagine to be quite stiff, but…” I let my voice trail off. “Wait. Is it dark in here, though? If it’s dark, I’ll need a night light.”
I don’t, but pretending to have a phobia of the dark might work. I sit up, feigning panic, all humor gone. “It isn’t dark, is it? Oh, God. Sir. Tell me it isn’t dark, please!”
At first he doesn’t respond. His narrow eyes on me make my heart skip erratically in my chest. He’s thinking about how to react, and it unnerves me. And when he walks toward me, cane still held in hand, it’s slow and methodical, and I move back on the bed until my back hits the headboard.
“Does this seem like child’s play to you, Calina? Do you think this is a game?”
My heart races when he reaches for my hair and grasps it in his hand, tangling it through his fingers and yanking my head back. I shake my head erratically, whimpering.
“No,” I tell him. “You’re hurting me.”
“Hurting you?” he repeats, as if surprised. With one quick tug, he flips his hand to my shoulder and spins my body so that I’m belly down on the bed on all fours. There’s a swishing sound before a line of fire lights up my naked ass. “Oh, isn’t that a shame.”
“Ow!” I pant. “Stop!”
But he doesn’t stop. With one hand on my back, he presses me down and swings the cane with a soft swish and thud. It hurts so much I squirm, trying to get away, but he grabs my hair and pushes me face down on the bed. I can’t even think past the blinding line of pain. Holding me down with a hand on my lower back, he brings it down firmly on my ass. I can’t speak or protest, frozen to the spot and breathless. Bright lines of pain paint my upper thighs and backside.
“Enough of this foolish chatter,” he snaps in his thick accent. “Unless you want to spend the night in handcuffs, which I assure you would not be a difficult thing for me to do, you will close your mouth and obey. I want you in bed and silent.” Another line of fire across my backside leaves me whimpering and squirming, involuntarily trying to get out of the way.
“Do I need to cane you further?” he asks, like a disapproving school teacher scolding an errant child.
“No,” I gasp.
With his powerful grip on my hips, he flips me over so I’m flat on my back. The very tip of the cane glides between my legs before he taps my pussy. I’m still mired in pain, I hold my breath when he whips my most vulnerable, sensitive parts.