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“Well, whilst you're waiting for an opportunity to do that, I got you something.” He handed her something dense and rectangular. She gave it a suspicious glance, then picked it up. It was made of many leaves all bound together. A quick taste revealed that it was not edible.
“What's this?”
“It's a book. Those markings on the pages inside? They represent words. When you know what they mean, you'll hear the author's words in your own mind, in your own voice.”
“More technological trickery.”
“A very basic technology,” he said. “Some wild tribes mark images on rock walls, warning of possible dangers, or places where game thrive. This is the natural extension of that. When you learn what the symbols mean, you'll be able to decode the meanings of not just this book, but all the writing in the city, and to create your own.”
“I have no need of this, because I will not live in this city longer than it takes for me to find a breach in the wall.”
William put his hands on his hips, seeming to grow larger with dark, handsome menace. The scars on his face could make him look quite fearsome, then she remembered that he was only trying to get her to 'read' and she stopped worrying.
“You have need of it because I say you do,” he said firmly. “You will begin your studies this day.”
“I will not.”
He sighed and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Why must everything be a battle with you, Sarah?”
He was a handsome devil, his native pale skin tanned a warm olive by his exposure to the wilds. The wild men did not have a stature like his. He was taller than any of them, broader too, thanks to the high nutrition foods city dwellers were raised on. His strength was undeniable, but that could only be attributed to the work he did. Most of his people were tall and broad, but slim. He was not slim. He was wrapped in muscle and sinew, a composite of two worlds existing inside one man.
“Because you are not my friend, you are my captor.”
“More than that, I'm your owner.” He leaned down until his nose was almost touching hers. “And you, my pet, need to do as you're told or you'll be punished.”
“Don't care.”
“Don't care was made to care,” he said. “And your bottom is going to be spanked red if you don't do as you're told.”
“Threaten me as you like,” she said, full of defiance. The book was of no use to her in terms of hearing people's voices in her head, but it made for a handy missile. She threw it at him. To her great dismay and embarrassment, it actually missed him, skimming past his shoulder to hit a lamp instead. The ceramic shattered with a pleasing sound which made her grin with glee. Breaking things, now that was fun.
“Brat,” he growled, snatching her up. It was always quite surprising how strong he was when he needed to be. He had no trouble lifting or carrying her, and he did both in an effort to transport her to the bed she never slept in, but was often spanked on.
Tossing her on the bed, he slapped his palm against her covered buttocks with gusto. The pain was not what Sarah considered to be true pain, it was more a discomfort, one which could be endured. She grit her teeth as his hand rained down against her bottom, ridiculous swats that would have been ineffectual even if delivered at twice the intensity.
“Your pathetic attempts at punishment will never work!” She shouted into the mattress. “You are weak! Your palm will never best me!”
He was chuckling to himself, apparently amused at her insolence. “If I wanted to hurt you, it would not be difficult to do so,” he pointed out. “You mistake my intent.”
“Your intent is to annoy me?”
“My intent is to give you something to think about, an experience you won't wish to repeat.”
“I don't want to repeat anything I've experienced with you,” she hissed as his hand continued to sear her bottom. The heat was growing, as was the discomfort. It still wasn't pain, but it was very unpleasant and getting more unpleasant by the moment.
“And of course, there's the intent to teach you not to break things,” he said. “I know you didn't actually mean to hit the lamp, but you shouldn't throw things simply because you're angry. Learning to control your temper is a large part of becoming civilized.”
The lecturing was almost more intolerable than the spanking. Every time his hand landed it punctuated a word. He wanted her to be civilized, but she was not and never would be.
“I am wild!” she insisted through a flurry of slaps. “You will never change that.”
“We will see, my hot-bottomed brat,” he said, drawing her pants down to bare her cheeks. She had acquiesced on the clothing front and now wore bright pink pants and a tunic to match. They were made of a material like silk and they felt wonderful against her skin—as much as they were actually against her skin, which was not that often given how often he disrobed her to either spank or mate with her.
