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> "Come here." He pulled me against his hard body, wrapping his arms around me in a firm embrace as he continued to rub the base of my scalp in little circular patterns. "It won't be so bad," he cooed. "I'm not angry with you."
"It will be," I insisted, my voice hitching. "Just because it would be worse if you were angry doesn't mean it won't be bad. This place is... It's not right. I don't want to be in here."
I shuddered against him, and his big hand stroked up and down my back in a reassuring motion.
"You'll get used to it," he said, his voice deep and calm. "We are going to spend a lot of time in here. I think you might even enjoy it, in a way." His soothing tone was so at odds with the horrible things he was saying that my mind couldn't quite process it. I felt comforted, even though my heart hammered against my ribcage.
"Take a deep breath," he said, a softly-spoken order. "Good girl. Another."
I hadn't realized I'd complied, but my addled mind couldn't keep up with what was happening to me. My body obeyed, and my roiling emotions began to subside enough that I was no longer shaking and sobbing against my captor.
"Come with me," he commanded, finally releasing my neck to take my hand in his.
It was a sweet gesture, and he held my fingers so gently that he might have been my caring, kind boyfriend.
A caring, kind boyfriend I'd never had. A caring, kind boyfriend with a scary, scarred body and wicked gleam in his eye. A caring, kind boyfriend who was leading me toward...
I dug in my heels. "No."
"You don't get to say no," he told me, his voice still calm and even. "This is your punishment."
"You said you wouldn't hurt me," I said, trying in vain to jerk my hand out of his suddenly vice-like grip.
"I said I wouldn't harm you," he corrected me. "This won't leave any permanent marks. Although I'm interested to see how easily your pretty skin bruises. I do like seeing my marks on my pet."
I shook my head in wild denial. "Stop it! Stop. I'm not your pet. I don't want be marked or bruised."
"How else will you learn?" he asked, as though the question were completely reasonable.
"I don't need to learn anything. I just need you to let me go."
"You don't know what you need. I know what's best for you."
"You don't know shit," I railed at him, fear morphing to anger. "You're fucked up. You're so fucking messed up. Fuck you." I continued cursing at him, even as he pulled me inexorably forward. Mostly, I hurled the f-bomb at him. For once, he didn't rebuke me. He didn't say anything at all.
Which scared the shit out of me.
So I cursed at him some more.
He barely looked at me when he gripped my waist and positioned my body over the spanking bench. I knew what it was from years of indulging my perverted curiosity online.
But knowing what it was didn't prepare me for the full blast of terror that slammed into me when he pressed my torso down against the padded surface, forcing me to bend at the waist over the edge so my bottom was thrust up shamefully.
He handled my body with an almost detached air. There were no lingering touches, no reassuring strokes of his fingertips along my skin. He didn't even touch me with violent hands. Even that would have been preferable to the methodical way he captured my wrists and secured them with black leather cuffs.
I tried to push up off the bench, even knowing that I couldn't free my hands. He didn't make a sound as he buckled a thick strap around my waistline, pinning me down against the padded surface. I almost wished he'd click his tongue at me in disapproval. Now, that seemed like almost an affectionate act. This man who so callously arranged my body for torment made my insides quake.
I couldn't stop cussing. I wasn't sure if I was even insulting him directly anymore. A stream of curse words tumbled from my lips in nonsensical, half-formed sentences.
He grasped my legs and guided them apart, securing them with another set of leather cuffs. I was bent over and spread wide, my sex and asshole fully on display and at his mercy.
But I suspected he didn't have any mercy for me.
"Fu—" My final f-bomb was abruptly smothered when something rubbery pressed deep into my mouth, pushing my tongue down as it settled between my lips. He buckled the ball gag closed at the back of my head. I thrashed, as though I could somehow push it out of my mouth.
He gripped my hair, wrapping it around his fist and pulling back sharply. My shocked cry caught against the rubber ball as pain lit up my scalp, commanding my attention.
My head was bowed back, my neck stretched to the point where breathing was difficult. I focused on sucking in air through my nose, my impotent rage and fear finally muffled by the imperative to obtain enough oxygen.
