His belt? He’s going to use his belt? Surprise pierces my calm. “I thought you were going to just use your hand. This wasn’t part of the deal.”
The belt appears before my face. I look at the leather gripped in his large hand. “Deal? What made you think there was any deal? I’m in charge and you do as I say. Does the fact that you’re tied up and bent over my desk not make this clear to you?”
“But it will hurt!”
“Yes,” he says with relish, “it will.” And I can hear the cold smile in his voice.
Rope, desk and belt. This is worse in every way from last time. What would he do if I make him angry for a third time? String me up naked by the wrists and flog me? I feel a shudder of horror—followed swiftly by a pang of something far more carnal as my mind presents me with an image of Mr. Kingsolver, shirtless, wielding a black leather flogger.
It’s not fair. How am I supposed to be certain not to make any mistakes in the future when the idea of him disciplining me is so exciting?
“Answer my question, Abby.”
I take a gulping breath, trying to remember what it was. That’s right—why he’s disciplining me. “Because I lied to you.”
“And?”
“For breaking my promise. But I didn’t think that—”
“Do you think lying and breaking a promise are worse than being ten minutes late, or not as bad?”
I screw my eyes shut. “Worse.”
“Got it in one, babygirl.” And the belt cracks across my behind with a stinging thwack. I yelp, tensing against the wood. The belt is about ten times as vicious as his hand and after three strikes I’m crying out, begging for him to stop. I’m as loud as I can possibly be, but he doesn’t try to silence me. Even if there was someone in the theater they wouldn’t be able to hear me from up here. I’m entirely at his mercy, and for a second time, that knowledge, and the pain, causes heat and slipperiness between my legs.
He hits me twice more, and then stops and pinches the stinging flesh of my behind. “Have you had enough?”
“Yes, yes I have, please,” I cry.
“It’s Yes, Mr. Kingsolver. And do you think you can tell me when you’ve had enough?”
I struggle, panicked. “No, of course not, I mean—”
Thwack. He hits me another five times until my ass is burning. My tears are making the sheets of paper on the desk stick to my face. All the worries I’ve had about moving and responsibility are evaporating and I’m slipping into a place where I have only to give myself over to what Mr. Kingsolver wants from me.
“Have you had enough?”
I take a deep breath. “I have if you say so, Mr. Kingsolver.”
“Good girl.” And I hear the satisfaction in his voice. I’ve stayed so still that he hasn’t needed to hold me in place. If he just unties me and lets me adjust my ow
n underwear, I’ll get out of here before he knows what his disciplining has done to me. But then his hand traces over my behind, as if admiring his work, and brushes over the place where my underwear is wedged between my cheeks. It’s soaked. His fingers rub up and down.
“Does it turn you on when I discipline you, babygirl?”
I want to tell him no, but he expects the truth from me, no matter what. “Yes,” I whisper.
I wait for him to tell me off, to say that I’m not taking these punishments seriously enough. He puts the belt down on the desk where I can see it, and to my surprise he continues to stroke me. I blink to clear my eyes, straining to see the expression on his face, but I can’t. His fingers delve down, and he begins to rub circles on my clit through the fabric. I tense and cry out. It feels so good, his fingers against me.
“Want me to take care of you, kitten?”
I don’t understand why there’s no anger in his voice. If anything he sounds pleased, almost indulgent. “Aren’t—aren’t you mad at me for, um...” I can’t finish the sentence. He’s being so gentle now, caressing me as if I were the most delicate thing in the world.
“Mad?” he murmurs, all mildness now. “No, I’m not mad. You took your punishment so well. Would you like your reward now?”
My teeth sink into my lower lip, my eyes closing. There’s a strong throbbing between my thighs, an ache that begs to be touched. As inexperienced as I am, I know that what Mr. Kingsolver is offering will turn that ache into something wonderful.
“Yes,” I gasp. “Please.”