Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 57296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
“Yes, sir,” I whimpered.
“As you’ve just found out, my compliance wand ensures your obedience to me even when my commands conflict with one another. Your body, and the part of your mind most closely linked with your basic urges, simply obeys my latest command.”
I felt the tiny breeze again. I let out another little whine of fear even before the birch struck, and then a sob of agony. My tears flowed freely onto the sheet beneath me; I could feel their dampness under the cheek I had turned to the mattress.
My trainer. My basic urges. I felt my face go hot.
He brought the rod down and I felt my hips buck over the pillow. My poor bottom, a fiery torment, surged shamefully.
“Just six strokes for now, Heather,” my trainer said. “Put your hands behind you and rub those pretty little cheeks for me.”
I couldn’t figure out how to marshal the welter of sensation and emotion in my head, my chest, my belly, and—worst of all—further down. My hands, thanks to the wand, simply obeyed this latest command despite the mortification it brought. As my fingers took gentle hold of the hot globes of my rear end, though, and I felt for the first time the strange, almost lacy, pattern of the welts left by a birch rod on a girl’s backside, I had a very different impression of my body’s response.
Deep down, I understood to my distress, I had actually started to rub my whipped bottom because I desperately wanted to. I wanted to know what a birched backside felt like. I wanted to soothe away the smart while the man who had punished me for no apparent reason watched me rub my bare hind-cheeks.
That unwelcome realization gave way almost instantly to another one—even more unwelcome in one way but, in another, dismayingly gratifying… and, worse, terribly seductive.
I bit my lip as a whimpering moan emerged from my throat. It felt good. Much, much too good. I wanted to stop gently kneading my smarting, overheated ass, to take away my hands. I believed I would have stopped, without the influence of the wand, but the worst part of this revelatory moment lay in how very unsure I was of that—how strong a suspicion I had that in fact I would have kept cherishing my poor little bottom-cheeks on my fingertips even if my trainer had simply birched me and then told me he would permit me to rub the tender place he had just punished.
“That’s it, Heather,” he said. “Good girl.”
Another whining sound made its way out of my mouth. The words had an effect on me that seemed to shake the foundations of the person I had thought myself. The wand… I told myself the wand had done that, even as I moved my hips to work my bottom in my hands and move myself rhythmically against the pillow in search of release from some dreadfully delicious need that the birching had awakened in me.
Good girl. My forehead creased hard. How could those words have made me thrust my hips this way? To… well, to behave myself like the opposite of a good girl. To move my virgin pussy that shameful way in search of forbidden pleasure, in a manner I had always refused even to try because of the dark thoughts that rose when I did so much as consider it.
Basic urges. Oh, no.
“Take your hands away, now,” said my trainer very sternly.
I gasped, and let out a tiny, sighing cry, all the Quiet command would allow me. My hands released my whipped bottom-cheeks and lay to the sides of the pillow, clenching and unclenching into fists of frustration.
The birch touched my back, but without force. I emitted a questioning whine through my nose, unsure for a moment what he meant to do, and then I understood as I felt the full length of it laid along my bare back.
“A reminder,” my trainer said. “Of your punishment. Spread your knees.”
Oh, no. My body did it, and the feeling that I might have obeyed him even without the influence of the compliance wand grew distressingly strong. I felt the air moving against my pussy, and I bit my lip.
Then my head arched back, and I moaned quietly, though part of me wanted to cry out with the greatest force. The man who had invaded my home had thrust his hand between my thighs and taken hold of me… all of me, it felt like… two fingers on my clit and his thumb up against the tiny ring between the rear cheeks he had birched. The rod, my reminder, rolled back and forth on my back with the tensing of my muscles.
“I’m recruiting you as a concubine to be sold on the black market,” he said, bending over me to place his lips against my ear. “You’re going to be a warlord’s little slut.”