Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
How I would continue on with resolution, leading her along the path I had already begun to show her, when I had disciplined her sexually over my knee. How her training as a submissive young woman, ready and willing to obey her suitor’s most lascivious demands, had only just started.
“Should I…” she started to say, when she had joined me in the kitchen, and then her blush came back, rosy in her porcelain cheeks.
I saw in her eyes why she had stopped. I nodded.
“Yes,” I told her. “Keep calling me sir. You’ll need to get used to that with me as well as with your foster daddy.”
Her eyes went wide—I thought I could see surprise at my having guessed her thoughts so effortlessly, along with maybe a note of alarm at how matter-of-factly I had addressed the issue. I knew Grace would thrive as she got used to her submission to a man, but I could see in her expression how conflicted it still made her. She’d only been here in Grasskiln for a day, of course—but I had no doubt that the best way to help her find her feet lay in ensuring she received the message unambiguously. Grace would obey, and learn her place, or she would keep going over my knee or the arm of Jake’s easy chair until she did.
Grace
I felt my brow crease, and I took a deep breath through my nose.
“Sir,” I said, and then I twisted my mouth to the side because of the shiver it had sent through my whole body just to say it to Cal. I tried to continue on as if nothing had happened, but I had the uncomfortable feeling that he could read not just my thoughts but also the tiniest details of my body language. “Should I set the table?”
Somehow calling him sir here in the kitchen, with both of us just… well, standing there looking at each other, felt very different from doing it when he had had me over his knee, holding me down so that he could teach me my mortifying, humiliating, overwhelming lesson. It seemed more real, and therefore more embarrassing and more troubling.
“Sure, darlin’,” he said easily. “Thanks for asking. Flatware is in that drawer and napkins are in the holder on the table.”
He pointed, but instead of shifting my eyes in the direction of the drawer I couldn’t seem to stop looking at his handsome face. When he turned his attention back to me, he looked puzzled for a moment, and then he smiled, lifting the left side of his mouth in evident amusement.
“A picture would last longer,” he said.
Again, I could easily have imagined him mocking me that way, and I suppose it was still a gentle kind of teasing, but I could tell he meant to share the joke rather than make it at my expense. Then I felt a new flash of heat in my cheeks as I realized that he had meant to bring about precisely the same kind of shared moment in the car when he had asked about beef being expensive in the city. And I had decided to be… well, a brat.
A handful.
Now, though, after my ‘lesson,’ part of me resisted the idea with the greatest possible indignation, but I couldn’t keep the thought back: Cal had disciplined me, even if he had done so with embarrassment and pleasure—too much pleasure. He had corrected my misbehavior, and here in the aftermath I could see how intent my suitor was on making his courtship pleasant and agreeable, despite the circumstances.
The circumstances. Yet another little surge of blood came to my face. The need to train me properly, because I’m a handful.
My suitor had started to train me, and I had started to submit to his authority. I had offered to set the table. I had called him sir.
I felt tears well up at the corners of my eyes, and I turned immediately to the drawer and pulled it out, a little more roughly than I meant to. I had no idea why I had started to cry, really. Just… everything, maybe.
“Hey, Grace,” Cal said, and I felt his hands on my shoulders, squeezing very gently and soothingly. I tensed for a moment and I thought I would remain that way, unable to show him any of what had started to unfold inside of me, and then I surprised myself: I relaxed.
Then, to my embarrassment as much as my relief, I relaxed into him. Collapsed might have been a better way to describe it. I took a little step backwards and I pressed myself against his muscular body, suddenly just needing—desperately needing—to feel the firmness, the masculinity there. No, I wasn’t even thinking about his cock at that moment—but I blushed anew a moment later, when I did. I knew I couldn’t feel it, like that, with it imprisoned in his faded jeans, but to my embarrassment I wanted to so badly it made me bite my lip.