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“Wow, big brother. That sounded all professional,” remarked Garrett. “Did you read a historical psychology book on domestic discipline or something?”
Chapter Fourteen
As Bo ignored Garrett and padded the skin on my ass and thighs with his palm, I coached myself to endure this with strength, poise, and dignity. Despite what Bo said, I wouldn’t fall into tears if I could help it. I repeated “do not cry” to myself like a mantra. Not only did I cry enough the past three days to last a lifetime, but I also did not like the lack of control that came with these extreme emotions.
When my beautiful brush came down on my ass cheeks for the first time, I knew I was in for a world of hurt. Holy fuck, it stung. I tried to be brave. I tried to be stoic. But he was able to break me away from all my plans of dignity.
I abandoned dignity in favor of self-preservation. Unable to stop my instinctual reflexes, I kicked my legs and tried to cover my ass with my hands.
Bo stopped swinging only long enough to easily grasp both of my dainty wrists with one of his meaty hands and trapped them at the small of my back. The punishment then resumed. Swack. Swack. Swack. And again. And again. And again.
“You’re hurting me,” I wailed, struggling to get free. How did he get to be so fucking strong?
“Every time you sit down this week” he grumbled, “you will remember this punishment, Acedia, and why it’s so important to do what we tell you.”
I lost count of how many times the brush contacted my sore bottom. He didn’t rush. Every hit was consistent in speed and power as well as evenly dispersed across the plumper portions of my ass cheeks and seat. There would be no place left unbruised.
“Please,” I begged through a tight throat. “Have mercy.”
“Mercy will only come when you stop fighting me.”
I immediately stopped struggling.
*swack* *swack* *swack*
I grunted a little on each hit, and pitiful shudders wracked my body as I fought to keep my tears in, but otherwise, I was as still as the dead.
The hits lightened and then stopped. My eyes leaked water, and I panted in pain, but I was not crying. I had managed to win—as much as one could under these circumstances. He did not break me.
A minute went by.
I exhaled in relief.
And relaxed.
I was okay.
But then I realized he wasn’t done.
*swop* *swop* *swop*
The fucking belt.
This was nothing like the brush. This was a sharp pain that radiated at the surface level, raising the skin rather than bruising the deep muscle. And it fucking hurt.
Knowing he would prolong my agony if I fought it, I did modify my behavior as he’d wanted. I took the stripes without a struggle, biting my lip so hard, I could taste blood.
He was lecturing me, but I could not hear him over the words he’d said to me in the village as they replayed in my brain.
You are so innocent. I love and hate that. I love that the world is still a good place in your eyes, even after all that has happened to you. And I hate it because I fear you don’t realize how dangerous this world really is. That is why I am so hard on you. I fear failing you.
“I can’t do it, Cedi. I just can’t. My heart cannot take another loss like that. Do you hear me?”
I realized he was talking about losing his wife Melanie and their unborn child, and how he could not lose me too.
Well, that did break me.
Tears and snot ran steadily down my face and made a puddle on the floor. I was a weepy mess, but it seemed to be a cathartic release as I gave into the experience in a way I had not done since I was a baby. Rather than trying to hold in my tears for pride’s sake, I let Bo have them. I shamelessly sobbed with the same intensity of releasing an orgasm, loudly while fluid poured out. It was that type of hyperventilating crying that shuddered the body so hard, it hurt.
