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Was it someone from my old escort days? I’d had customers who overstepped, Price being the worst, but there had been others who’d developed an inappropriate fascination with me. Had someone seen me in my new role as a jewelry designer to the rich and famous? Recognized me, and decided to “reconnect” in this incredibly illegal fashion?
I heard the door unlock, the small sound seeming to resound in the silence. A quiet rasp as hinges swung open. Footsteps…one person’s footsteps…made their way across the space to the bed where I lay, mostly naked and definitely exposed. Whoever it was stood by the bed, not speaking. Staring at me? Making godawful plans?
I grimaced behind the tape, glared behind the blindfold, twisted and struggled, but then I stopped. If this was the person who’d had me kidnapped, then he—it was certainly a he—would enjoy watching me struggle. Fuck him.
I lay still, my chest rising and falling. Fuck you, asshole. I wore this fancy pink lace bra and matching panties for Price, not you.
As if he’d heard my thoughts, I felt the bed give, felt his hands at my waist, roughly tearing off the panties. I pressed my legs together, rebellion giving way to terror. My bra unsnapped in the front, but he mostly tore it open, not bothering with the plastic snap. My breasts popped free, exposed to my rapist’s gaze.
Because that’s what he was. I knew it was coming. I started to whimper through the tape, to tremble and cry, wishing I could be braver, but in the end, I’d been reduced to a blind, cornered animal begging a looming predator not to hurt it.
A rough hand grasped my hair, twisting it, pulling it until there was nothing but pain. My soft whimpers exploded in a cry as I tugged helplessly at the wrist cuffs. Through my panicked mewling, I heard a low sound, a grunt or growl. A hand at my cheek, then down to my neck, pressing…
And I knew that sound.
I knew the feel of that hand at my neck like I knew my face in the mirror.
Price.
You asshole. You cruel, sadistic asshole!
I cried harder because I was so fucking angry, so fucking furious. I whipped my head from side to side, trying to escape his touch. How dare you. You monster. I thought I was about to get raped, murdered. You’re having a blast, torturing your plaything…
I tried to scream behind the tape, to let him know how much I absolutely hated him. He chuckled, confirming it was him, because that sadistic chuckle was burned in my memory too.
Let my hands go, I thought. Watch what I do to you.
But he wasn’t going to let my hands go, not Price. Not for a long time. He pinched my nipples instead, tugging them until the pain made me stop whining and start gasping. I sucked air through my nose as he slapped my breasts, then my pussy, forcing my legs apart for his assault.
“Look at you,” he said, low and rough. “Remember the night of Andrew’s bachelor party? You didn’t believe it could happen, but look at you now.”
He chuckled again, but I didn’t find it funny. I tried in vain to kick him. I might have come close.
“Those idiots tied you down the wrong way.” His voice echoed threateningly in the still room. “I wanted you with your ass up, but we’ll make do.”
My kicking ankles were corralled into the crook of his arm and lifted in the air, over my head. I heard the whisper-whir of an implement being swung just before it impacted my exposed ass. I shrieked behind the tape as another blow fell. I kicked hard, trying to escape his grasp, but he was stronger. It was so painful to be spanked this way, with my legs raised. The skin of your ass was stretched tight that little bit, to make the sting worse.
He smacked me again, then again. It was a thick, whippy strap, from the horrendous feel of it. I couldn’t see, but the sound and sensation were too familiar. My muffled shrieks turned to pleading moans.
“Let’s talk about why,” he said, as I struggled against him. “Number one…”
Whack!
“You mocked me when I suggested you needed to care more about your personal safety. Kidnapping? ‘Oh no, that’ll never happen to me.’”
Whack!
“But it can happen, just like this. And believe me, it could be way, way worse.”
I didn’t know how it could be worse than what I was enduring right now. He was strapping my ass without mercy, hard strokes that felt like fire, and were probably raising welts. My limbs trembled; my arms strained at my bonds.
“Let’s talk about basic respect, too,” he went on as I flailed against his grip.
Whack!
“The longer we’re married, the more liberties you’ve been trying to take. A little sassiness here…”
Whack!
