Now I have become one of his things.
“What are you smirking about?” He gives me a dark stare. I know I should keep my mouth shut. But I can’t help myself. I just have to give him shit.
“Given it took me about two minutes to steal your hammer, I’m not worried about being kidnapped by you. You're kind of careless.”
He growls.
I laugh.
Another stupid decision, but it is very funny to me, even in my naked and traumatized state. Pointing out his flaws is much more enjoyable than confronting mine, that’s for sure.
“You brat,” he growls again. His big hands stop caressing me with warmth and care and instead take a firm grasp of my limbs.
Thor
I fish her out of the bath and bend her, wet and naked, over the curved rim. She braces herself against the floor with both hands. Good instincts. That leaves her ass for me to handle, two cheeks to punish. I start spanking her, the way I wanted to from the beginning. The way I wanted to the moment I saw her running down the street with my fucking hammer.
I don’t like how good it looked in her hands. I like even less the fact that the heavens opened up as she took life. Events have now been set in motion that are impossible to undo. She’s killed, and she’s done it with a sacred object. She has bonded with it, and in bonding with my hammer, she has bonded with me.
She doesn’t know it yet, but she cannot leave me. Not ever. We are connected now, bound by blood. Her victim has made her my thing. Forever.
Her squeals soon rise as my slaps fall. Her toes, still inside the bath, make the water splash all over the floor. The sloshing of water and the wails of the deserving woman, and the steady slaps of my flesh against hers are satisfying, but they are also sad. She doesn’t know all she’s given up. She has no comprehension of what she will now become. I am spanking her over the welts of my warning, a warning she did not heed.
She was already pleasantly pink from the warm water. Now her rear is bright red and getting redder with every single stroke.
“Mine. You are MINE.” I snarl down at her, as if I can spank this simple and irrefutable truth into her rebellious mind.
“OW!” she shouts back. It is very hard to be coherent when one is in pain. I know that all too well. I am going to ensure that this hurts. I want her to remember this thrashing even better than the one I gave her before, the one that apparently did very little to tame her.
I spank harder. Longer. With little to nothing in the way of mercy. There is nobody to intervene now. Her cries can echo from here until…
"What the Hell!”
The door flies open and nearly off its hinges. Bryn bursts into the bathroom, unsheathed sword in one hand. He stops and he stares. We do much the same. For an extended and frankly awkward period of time, we all just look at one another.
“Can we help you?” It’s Anita who breaks the silence with a sassy comment that she really shouldn't be capable of if she was in any way properly chastised. I don't know if I am actually capable of spanking this girl enough to teach her a lesson. I don’t know if anybody is. She should be in floods of tears and begging for mercy, and instead she is talking to Bryn as if he’s the one being inappropriate.
“I heard a woman screaming,” he explains.
“Oh my god, get the fuck out!” Anita shouts at him.
He looks at her, narrow eyed, before probably realizing there is no way his bride would be happy with him looking at a naked wench. He backs out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Thor! I'd like to speak with you as soon as is convenient," he announces through the wood.
“Certainly,” I reply. “I just need to finish up with this one.”
“I’m sore,” she says as we listen to Bryn’s footsteps receding. “Could you possibly finish beating me later, maybe after I have had something to eat?”
She's part punk princess, part Dickensian waif. I don’t think she’s had an easy life. Her talent for opportunism and her particular lack of moral fiber represent the character traits gained through hardship.
Bryn’s interruption has given me a moment to consider what I am doing, and who I am doing it to. I want to teach her an immediate lesson once and for all, but realistically, that is not how this sort of thing works. If she learns at all, it is most likely going to be a slow and painful process for us both.
Picking her up, I stop spanking her and instead turn my attention to patting her dry. She has the sense to hold her tongue long enough for that to happen. I am sure that she is not used to being washed and dried, but I take care of what is mine. I like how she feels close to me. I like how warm she is. I like her natural scent, which still hangs about the roots of her hair and behind her earlobes.