FOUR
Layla
I have never been smacked or beaten in my life. By anyone. Ever. And as soon as the heat from his palm leaves my skin I experience a wild second of pure, unadulterated panic. With my heart pounding like a war drum, I squeeze my eyes shut and prepare myself for the blow, but nothing happens.
What seems like an age passes.
Just as I think he has changed his mind after all, and relief starts pouring into my body, I feel him pull away slightly and a subtle disturbance in the air above me as his palm hurtles through it.
Thwack! His hand, heavy and hard, lands on my flesh.
I make no sound at all. First, I am absolutely determined not to give this vile beast of a man the satisfaction of a reaction. Second, the blow does not immediately register as painful. But a moment later I feel the effect. My eyes widen and my mouth opens in a silent O. By God, that really hurt! Tears of mortification well up in my eyes. I have to squeeze my eyes closed to try and prevent them from dropping.
He pauses. ‘I’m waiting for a number,’ he reminds me casually.
A number? What a sadistic bastard. He has no heart, this man. A hot needle of hatred for my tormentor stabs through me. I open my mouth. Shockingly nothing comes out. I try again. A totally unrecognizable shallow gasp exits.
‘One.’
Almost immediately his hand crashes again onto my skin, but this time I feel the searing pain straight away. Bravely, I suck in my breath. Other than calling out in a trembling voice, ‘Two,’ I make no sound to express the fiery agony I am in. I have never suffered such pain in my entire sheltered life.
Another blow slams down and I bite back a scream. Even though each stroke has hit a different place, they all serve to build on the existing burn. My bottom feels like it is on fire. I press my palms so hard into the floor to refrain from wriggling and squirming or covering my bottom that my knuckles show bone white.
‘Three,’ I croak hoarsely. I hate, hate, hate him. I never thought it was possible to hate someone this much. I am getting closer and closer to unstoppable tears.
The pitiless thrashing continues. The pain is now so intense I barely manage to call out, ‘Four.’ My butt screaming, I take shallow breaths. My hate has grown in direct proportion to the shame and pain he is forcing me to endure. Halfway there, I tell myself. And the thought is so disheartening I want to bawl my eyes out.
The fifth falls on the tender, fiery skin of the curve of my bottom and I feel as if I will die of pain. The sting is unbelievable. To my eternal humiliation, a howl slips out.
‘Ooooowww.’ At this point tears are freely running down my face; I am like a baby. I can’t talk. I can’t breathe.
‘Call it out.’
‘Five, you asshole, five,’ I sob, all pretense and pride shattered.
BJ
The last imprint of my hand shows white for a second before it reddens to a deep pink to match the rest of her ass. There are still three strikes to go, but her defenses are already broken. She is sobbing openly, and I know that the next blow will elicit a full scream.
But that’s not what I want.
Not at all.
My pelvis is brushing her beautifully reddened ass and my nose is filled with the smell of her. I am hot. My dick is like a hunk of wood straining against the zipper of my pants. I want to fuck her so bad. My hands itch to grab her by the hair, spread her thighs, and rip into her slippery little cunt so deep she hisses with pain and pleasure as her muscles flutter like crazy around my dick. I want to empty my balls into her while she sees stars. Fuck, yeah.
But, of course, I don’t.
This is Jake Eden’s baby sister.
Instead … I allow my little finger to spread out a little so it almost makes contact with her inner thighs, her sex. I rest my palm for a few seconds on her skin, my pinkie almost touching the glistening, salmon-colored flesh. The next time I raise my hand I will spank her pussy. Slowly, I lift my hand and let it hover in the air. Her tender skin is damp and glowing with sweat. Then I let the next wicked swing loose.
She shudders with shock and white-hot lust.
My little finger comes away wet. I smile with satisfaction. She freezes, her breathing shallow. I want to see her face. Very deliberately, I put both my hands on the bed on either side of me. Coldly, I say, ‘I’m done.’
Immediately she scrambles to the floor and, crawling away, crouches like a cornered animal. She looks up at me with big, wet eyes full of hatred. Tears sparkle on her eyelashes. Her mouth quivers with temper. The princess exterior has been stripped away. Only the raw and helplessly sexual animal inside every human remains. Just as I know her buttocks must be humming, I know she will never admit that she is more turned on than she has even been.
‘Are you satisfied now, you sick bastard?’ she spits. She is so furious her voice shakes.
‘Fix your clothes and return to the party,’ I tell her callously.
Using her palms to lever herself up, she springs to her feet and pulls her multi-layered skirts down over her stinging skin so roughly it makes her wince. She glares at me.
‘I hate you,’ she whispers.
‘Join the queue.’
‘I know now why they call you the bat. You’re a fucking vampire, living in this ridiculous black dungeon.’
I shrug and look at her without expression. Sticks and stones maybe. Words? Forget it.
‘I hope I never lay eyes on you again,’ she hurls bitterly at me.
I watch her snatch her purse from the floor, and start walking towards the door.
‘Layla.’ My voice is a like whip. Even in her state she didn’t dare disobey it.
She turns around and stares defiantly at me.
‘My tiepin.’
She is so furious she very nearly breaks the clasp of her purse as she wrenches it open. She digs around, finds my tiepin, and violently flings it at my face.
I catch it easily in one hand. ‘Enjoy the party,’ I advise calmly.
‘Pervert,’ she snarls and slams the door shut on my mocking laughter. Sure, I get it: hers is the tale of the Princess and the Pea in reverse. She didn’t enjoy being confronted with the animal inside her. Me, I am irredeemably base and animalistic, making me beyond excited to be acquainted with a newly created creature in my bedroom.
FIVE
Layla
The sounds of the party float up to me as I stand shocked and frozen in the hallway. Then it hits me: any moment now he could open the door and come out. With a panicked sob, I turn left and run for the bathroom. I lock the door with shaking fingers, and lean back against it, panting hard.
Why, oh why, did I ever go into his bedroom? Now everything is messed up. I look in the mirror. A red-faced stranger with smeared make-up, a gaping mouth, and crazy eyes stares back. Anger and hate sparkle in my eyes, but there is something else too. Something more primal.
I drop my gaze hurriedly and turn on the tap, splashing cold water on my face. I feel hot, confused, angry, and ashamed. My bum is stinging like mad, but … God, I feel alive, in a way I have never felt. And … I am wet. So wet.
/> The primal look in my eyes is pure arousal.
Sexual excitement.
Jesus! Oh sweet Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with me? I cannot understand why I am aroused. I hate that son of a bitch. I’ve always hated him. He is a callous, uncouth man-whore. A sleazy, bag of shit who regularly sleeps with strippers and makes his money running sex clubs. He’s practically a criminal. I abhor men like him. Even through the tears that had filled my eyes, I had seen the satisfaction and gloating triumph on his face.
I should be livid.
I am livid. The memory of his large palm, full of calluses landing on my bare buttocks fills my head. With that last strike he had deliberately slapped my, my unmentionables. He had allowed his dirty fingers to touch my sex! How dare he? Bastard!
I turn around, lift my skirt, and look back at my throbbing bottom in the mirror. It is lobster red. I feel the fury bubbling in my veins, but another sensation more powerful than anger intrudes. I don’t want to examine or address it. Taking deep, calming breaths, I repair my make-up with trembling hands, then open the door and stick my head outside.
The hallway is deserted.
I start walking down it, but as I pass his bedroom door I start running. At the top of the stairs I stop and walk down the steps slowly. No one has missed me or seen anything. Everything is exactly as I left it and yet I’m entirely different. My hands won’t stop trembling and there is a tight knot of tension in my stomach. All I want to do is run away. I will die if I have to see him again in the state I am in. I walk quickly towards the main room, my eyes darting around fearfully. Fortunately I spot my brother, Jake, standing head and shoulders above the crowd. The sight of him makes me want to start bawling. Squaring my shoulders I push through the crowd and go to him. He is looking down at Lily with a lovesick expression on his face.