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I take a stout wooden rod from the bag and strike my palm.
And that quickly—in one split second—I'm back in the room. Bound. Broken. Writhing on the cold cement floor, while the men beat me with the truncheon. The rod clatters to the floor as sweat breaks out across my brow. Helplessness tightens in my chest, and my lungs can't get enough air. I blink, staggering forward, when I suddenly realize where I am.
I will not let this deter me. I will not.
I am master of my emotions, my past, my future.
I'm fucking master of the girl who lies helpless, awaiting the punishment she's earned. With stern purpose, I retrieve a slim bamboo cane before I return to her.
Standing beside her, I place a hand on her lower back. "Apologize for speaking rudely, Olena."
"Fuck you," she spits out.
Swish.
She howls when the cane swishes across her naked skin.
"Apologize," I repeat.
She grits her teeth but doesn't obey. I cane her again and wait. No response.
By the fourth stroke of the cane, she's whimpering, and her eyes brim with unshed tears. Her lips caught between her teeth; she's holding on but on the very cusp of submitting.
I tug the chain, pulling on the clamps, and give her plugged ass a pat. I relish the sound of her torture whimper, my dick hardens at the sight of bright red stripes across her naked skin.
Placing my hand on her lower back, I instruct her once more. "Apologize, or you'll get six more stripes of the cane before I give you another chance."
No response.
She will learn to submit. She will learn to obey. She will learn that defiance earns firm, unyielding punishment. I will train Olena Baranov to obey me.
I lift the cane and bring it swishing down once. Twice. Three times. By the fourth stroke she's crying openly. By the fifth, she's blubbering and pleading.
"Maksym, please," she begs.
I continue, giving her the fifth, then sixth stroke of the cane.
"I'm sorry," she chokes out on a hoarse whisper. "Please, stop."
The cane poised to strike again, I ask, "You're sorry for what?"
"For disobeying you. For talking back. For calling you a son of a bitch." The apology comes out in a rush of words as she cries.
"That will do." I tell her. I place the cane on the bedside table, right near her line of sight. She can look at what she will face if she speaks to me so rudely again.
I leave her in the punishment position to mull on what's just happened. When I return, her training will commence.Chapter 6Olena
”Close your eyes."
I don't know how much time has passed since the caning he gave me. I'm still restrained on the bed, cool air bringing little relief to my reddened, swollen skin.
I should be terrified of what he'll do to me, but somehow, I can't bring myself to believe he's capable of what he threatens. He's spanked me, but he could have taken things further. He's taken me, but he's kept me fed and moderately comfortable.
I do need to keep my damn mouth shut. I want to curse him out to kingdom come, but the idea of doing so at the moment makes me a little scared. I don't know what else he has in that bag.
Something clattered to the floor when he removed it. In my position, I couldn't see much, but I jumped when he dropped the wooden object.
This man has done all kinds of wrong things to me... but there's a chink in his armor, and I suspect I know what it is.
When he bends and whispers in my ear, heat pulses low in my belly while my secret parts burn with the need to feel pressure and friction. My breasts swell and my heartbeat rises. He may be a monster... He may be tortured and angry. But I'm not immune to how attractive he is. Raw, masculine aggression and appeal. Seductive. Sensual.
He unfastens my cuffs and removes the bar, just long enough to tether me back to the bed on my back. I shiver in anticipation. In this position, he can see every vulnerable, sexual part of my body.
I close my eyes as he instructs. He wants fear from me. If I choose to enjoy this, if I welcome whatever pleasure he'll wring from me, he loses his hold on me.
I'm naked and restrained on his bed, his masculine scent invading my senses. Rugged. Manly. Virile. I gasp when I feel something warm and wet on my nipple. My eyes fly open, but a punitive smack of his hand on my breast makes me quickly close my eyes in obedience once more. When he removes the clamps, one at a time, the blood rushes to the punished flesh rapidly. He laps at my nipple before taking the tender bud between his teeth. I'm so sensitized I'm both aroused and terrified. My hands move to stop him, but I'm held tight and can't resist. Another touch of his tongue belies the threat to hurt me. I try to clench my thighs together, overwhelmed with sensation.
