Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I can train her. I can break her. The one thing I can’t do is predict her behavior. It’s too erratic, too impetuous. The only way to respond is by meeting her with an unexpected response.
She’s a challenge.
I’m so intent on her act of defiance I haven’t fully processed how beautiful she is naked before me. As she yanks her clothing back on, I take in every detail. The way her plain cotton panties glide over the curve of her backside. The clasp of her ugly bra encasing her full, exquisite breasts. The rough fabric of her skirt pulled up over her creamy thighs. The hideous top stretched over beautiful, unblemished skin. It’s like hiding a masterpiece in a burlap bag. Sinful.
But I’m well acquainted with sin.
And she’ll do penance for this.
When she’s fully dressed, I give a nod of approval.
“Now finish stripping.”
Hands on hips, her eyes flash at me, light pools of anger. “Again?”
I nod slowly, not breaking eye contact. “Again. This time, fold every piece of clothing you remove and hand it to me and if you have another tantrum while you undress, we’ll do this all over again.”
Though she removes her clothing with tugs and tears as she did before, she’s growing fatigued, and her movements are less jerky. The top comes off first. She folds it like a toddler, and hands it to me rumpled. I eye it and silently disapprove. With a huff of anger, she folds it again until it’s presentable, then hands it to me. I take it and place it upon my knee, then nod to her skirt. That comes off next, but this time as she shimmies out of it, I watch her breasts bounce and swing, and I swallow hard, my dick tightening in my pants. My mouth waters. I want to devour her.
Folding the skirt neatly, she places it on the top, then removes her underwear, socks and shoes, until a neat little pile lays on my lap. Training doesn’t always involve pain and tears.
“Good girl,” I approve. I wave a finger in the direction of the corner of the room. “Now go stand in that corner while I get rid of these.” I want her well occupied before I give her the tour, and I’ll take every opportunity I can to train her.
“The corner?” she repeats. For the first time, the anger dwindles and her eyes widen. I’m surprised by this turn of events. Is she afraid of the corner? What a silly thing to be afraid of.
“Yes,” I say, impatience imbuing my tone. “The corner. Are you hesitating, young lady?”
She looks once more to the corner of the room. Her chin trembles, and she looks as if she’s about to cry. I don’t like that she hasn’t obeyed me. Tucking her clothing under my arm, I grasp her elbow, spin her around, and give her a sharp spank.
“Corner,” I repeat.
Tears welling in her eyes, she obeys. I’m so confused by her response, I stalk away from her, angry at my lack of understanding and her failure to obey. That instruction should have been the easy one. I eye the fireplace and consider burning her clothes, but cheap, synthetic clothing will melt and smell. It’s a shame to merely dispose of them. These terrible things need to be destroyed. I toss her clothes in a garbage bag and leave it by the barrel for the cleaners to fetch.
I expected her to watch me, but when I turn to her, I’m surprised to see she hasn’t even moved. Her forehead is flush against the wall, her shoulders slumped and shuddering.
Is she crying?
I thought I’d hardened my heart against tears. They don’t garner sympathy. Hell, I like them sometimes. But now… there’s something about the way she cries that threatens to break my resolve.
Standing a few feet behind her with my feet planted apart, my arms crossed on my chest, I call her name.
“Sadie, come here.”
She jumps at the sound of my deep voice resonating in the quiet room.
When she turns around, her tearstained cheeks pull at me. Wordlessly, I crook a finger at her, and she approaches me. She’s so beautiful. So perfect, like a virginal Eve in the Garden of Eden. Not a freckle graces her body, and I reason she hasn’t bathed in the sun or played with other children outdoors. Her full breasts swing free, her nipples slightly hardened.
The slope of her hips. Curve of her ass. Full, creamy skin at her thighs. I observe every beautiful detail to distract me from those tear-filled eyes. I could handle her tears of pain, and her tears of anger. But these… these tears are from something that breaks me a little. I mask my concern with my rough tone.
“Why are you crying? I haven’t even whipped you. Save your tears for when you earn my lash, woman.”