Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
I go back to Sasha, my mind on the email that sits like a red-hot poker in my inbox, the thought of the beautiful Giada tied to this cross flashing in my mind’s eye like a beacon. I shove the image away. No fucking way. I’d lose my job, and how would I ever live that down?
I walk over to Sasha and run the flogger over the tattoos on her neck. She shivers. I know it tickles, and building anticipation heightens our scene.
“Tell me what you’ve done to deserve punishment,” I say, trailing the flogger down her bare neck to her back, covered in a thin, black cropped top. “Have you been a bad girl?” Sasha has bad girl fantasies and I love playing into that. Hell, it’s my fantasy, punishing naughty little girls. She can’t move much tied to the cross but turns her head to look at me.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she says in a seductive whisper.
I snap the flogger against her ass. She hisses and comes up on her tiptoes, a flush of pleasure coloring her cheeks.
“Yes,” she says. “I did wicked things deserving of punishment, sir.”
Something comes over me then. I don’t know if it’s the memory of what I had with Philippa, or the thoughts of Giada, but I let myself indulge. I lean in close and put my hand on her arm.
“I want you to say, ‘Punish me, daddy.’”
She hesitates, so I give her another lash of the flogger. Her body tenses.
“Say it.”
“Red!”
I blink, startled. I’ve seen Sasha take a whipping before, the few smacks from the flogger child’s play compared to what she can take. What the fuck is she safewording for? I let her go like she’s a hot poker, scalding to touch, and step back.
I haven’t had a sub safeword with me in years. I prefer reading their signs, knowing that I can test limits without taking them out of the pleasure of a scene. I read cues and body language and know how to meet needs. Hearing her safeword feels like some kind of failure. Does she have a bad memory associated with the flogger?
“Red?”
Her jaw tightens, her eyes narrowed. “I will not call you daddy. That’s a hard limit. No way.”
Oh.
An uncomfortable flush of unease washes over me. She won’t call me daddy. Jesus, I hadn’t even thought about it before I said it. The daddy dom aspect of my personality is such a part of who I am, I forgot some subs hate that.
“Fair enough,” I say tersely, taking my position from behind her. “Sir will do.”
“Yes, sir,” she says, though her voice is still tight.
I flog her harder than I intended, somehow needing to punish her for not giving me what I need tonight. The lash meets its target with careful precision, the bundle of leather marking her. I’m careful not to hurt her, but it feels good to wield this power. She doesn’t know why I’m punishing her, and when I’m done, she’s in a state of near-bliss, grinning, her eyes half-lidded as she slurs out a “Thank you, sir.”
I’m not satisfied, though. I follow through with her aftercare in a state of semi-automation. I need to get out of here.
Chapter Three
Giada
The next day, I sit in my car staring at the clock on my dash. I sent my essay to Professor Slade last night, and never received a reply. Has he read it yet? If he did, what did he think? Does he think I’m a silly girl he can’t take seriously? Does he think I’m playing him?
Or have I affected him in another way?
Class begins in one minute, and I’m sitting here watching the clock run down on purpose. I want to push him, to see what he’ll do if I’m late. I look down at the outfit I chose for today and smirk. I’m wearing a red and white checkered schoolgirl skirt, a fitted, button-down blouse unbuttoned to reveal cleavage, and my hair is in two demure braids. It’s a style that’s trending, and to the untrained eye I look totally fine, though provocative.
I wonder what Professor Slade will think.
When it’s five minutes past the start of class, I leave my car. My phone buzzes, and I look quickly at the screen.
How’s it going, baby sis?
I roll my eyes. Baby sis is so condescending. Emilio, one of the four older brothers who love to smother me, is the sappiest of the bunch. I text back quickly.
I’m good. On my way to class.
Good job. I’m proud of you. Study hard, kiddo.
I purse my lips. He’s proud of me? I just sent a provocative essay to my teacher with every intention of seducing him. Would that make him proud?
I smile to myself. Probably.
I’m a full ten minutes late when I get to the entrance of my class. I bite my lip, suddenly a bit nervous about what will happen now that I’m here. What was I thinking? I take a deep breath, and with my hand shaking, I test the doorknob. Of course it’s locked. I give a quick, sharp knock, my breath frozen in my lungs. This is why I do what I do. I love the feeling of adrenaline coursing through me, the fear of what will happen exciting and raw. God, I live for this.