“On your knees.”
“No.”
“On your knees.”
“I’ll take it standing.”
She won’t last, not even on her knees. She’ll be facedown, smothering in the carpet before I’ve had time to take a calming breath. I’m seething. I’m furious. I’m a mess, all because of six years ago. All because of Dalton. All because of their betrayal. All because she fucking said, “I know,” and then gave away what wasn’t hers to give.
She gave away what was mine.
“It’s never been yours.”
Did I say that out loud? My feet seem to move of their own accord to the wall. With every nail I hammered into the fancy wallpaper, I thought about her. With every implement of torture I hanged on the wall, I thought about pain and pleasure. It’s an out-of-body experience, watching my hand reach for the whip. The wooden handle presses into my palm as I tighten my fingers. My logic calls to me, tells me this is the point where I can still turn around. Yet, she’s not a fantasy on a jail cot in a cell. She’s here, and she’s not as crazy as she should be.
I let the leather thong unfurl. It lashes the floor with a thwack. “On your knees.”
“No.”
My hands start shaking with both pent-up and new anger. I fling the whip again, this time closer to her feet. “Kneel.”
Her heart beats like a beast under her bodice, but her voice is steady. “No.”
I know how to swing a whip. The next lash flies past her face, sizzling in the air. She flinches, but she doesn’t move. It’s off. It’s as if she’s done this before, only, I can’t imagine anyone posing her on a Persian rug and swinging a whip around her pretty face. That kind of cruelty is saved for men like me.
“It’ll be easier if you do as you’re told.”
“No.”
“Fine.” I graze her shoulder with the wooden handle. “I was going to go easy on you, but you may as well get the full ugly of who I am.”
“This isn’t you.”
The words are spoken with conviction. Her faith in her analysis makes her bold, but she doesn’t know me. She said so herself. She could’ve known me, and who knows what kind of man I would’ve been for her? But ifs are feeble, and reality is cruel. This is what we are.
I circle her once, twice. Her eyes follow me. When I’m behind her again, I strike. The leather catches the back of her legs. Hampered by the folds of her ridiculously thick skirt, the lash doesn’t do damage to her skin, but it’s forceful enough to make her legs buckle. She falls down on her knees. Before she has time to get up, I cup her neck and push her upper body down until her back hits the floor. She fights me, but it’s hard to struggle when your legs are folded underneath you and you can’t breathe. She knows when to give up. She knows to stop clawing at me and lie still. When she does, I slacken my hold, allowing her air, but I don’t remove my touch.
“Straighten your legs.”
She obeys. I give her enough space until she’s managed the maneuver. I don’t tell her to close her eyes, because that’s not the point. I let her look at me, ignoring the hatred that darkens her irises to galaxy blue.
“Take off your panties.”
Those blues widen, the green and gold dots contracting like satellite debris polluting space.
“Take them off, Lina, or I’ll remove them for you.”
She knows this much about me. I’m not bluffing.
If looks could cut you up, I’d be strips small enough to feed a blender. Her hands dip under her skirt. She lifts her ass and fiddles a bit, getting her panties down to her thighs. I’m still pinning her neck to the ground. That’s as far as she can get those panties without lifting her upper body.
“Now pull up your dress.”
“No.”
She really has to learn to obey. Straightening, I fold the whip double and spank her pussy once through the fabric of her dress. It’s a gentle smack, but she arches off the ground.
“Either you pull up the dress, or I tear it off.”
She must really not want her dress removed or her pussy spanked. She grabs a fistful of fabric on either side of the skirt. There’s a short hesitation, as if she’s hoping I’d change my mind.
“You should’ve just kneeled,” I taunt. “If you obeyed, it would’ve been under your skirt.”
She frowns. She doesn’t catch my drift, but she will soon.
“Up.” I hook the whip handle under the hem and lift it a good few inches to demonstrate what I need.
Her nostrils flare as she lifts her skirt to her thighs.
I tap her stomach with the handle. “All the way to here.”
She shoots me another hateful look but complies. When she’s lying exposed with the lower half of her body naked, except for those black panties constricting her thighs, I smile down at her reddening face before turning my attention to the juncture of her legs. She doesn’t shave, but she trims. Her pussy is covered with a dusting of golden hair. I want to see her slit and arousal. Snaring the elastic of her panties with the whip handle, I pull them slowly down her legs and free from her ankles. She doesn’t break eye contact or ask questions. Good. She’s here to follow instructions.