by Marlee Wray
“I know. You were Daddy’s princess,” he said with his arms crossed over his chest.
He was wearing one of his exact-specification shirts, and if she was being honest, she would’ve admitted that those shirts were worth the three-week wait and whatever they cost. In a suit, Eric looked like James Bond.
“I’m not Daddy. And you’re not a princess. You’re a girl who should be able to follow a simple set of instructions and, at the very least, should take some care to check the pockets of her clothes for paint tubes before starting a load. That’s laundry one-oh-one.”
“How would you know? You admitted you had a nanny and a maid growing up.”
“I went to college. I did my own laundry then and occasionally still do.”
“But you could get your clothes washed in the city like you did before this arrangement. Instead you’re making me do it like a little slave girl. You had to know I might screw it up. I think you did this on purpose, so I’d get in trouble.”
The corners of his mouth curved up. “If only that had been my dastardly plan. Then I would’ve given you weekend clothes to ruin, and I’d still have something to wear to my office next week. The point of having you do laundry is that I want you to learn to take care of yourself and to take care of a man. I expect you to pay attention to what you’re doing.”
“Well, now you know you can’t trust me. Lesson learned.”
His smile faded. “I’m not here to learn lessons. You are.”
“So another two hours of reading engineering books? Can you just kill me instead?”
“Reading? Hardly. Go into the guest room and get the cane. Bring it to me here.”
She stared at him. She had never been caned. Ever.
She swallowed. “You already spanked me once today. You never punish my backside twice in one day.”
“Today I’m making an exception.”
Her heart raced. The spanking in the morning had been pretty light, more to keep her in the right headspace than to really teach her a lesson. It had been over some spilled syrup that she’d failed to clean up when it happened. Boy, she’d been making a lot of messes lately. The point was, she could take another physical punishment, which Eric obviously knew.
“Eric, listen—”
“You don’t call me Eric when you’re about to be punished. That’s two extra strokes.”
Bastard! She flushed and forced herself to be more respectful, at least outwardly.
“Sir, I don’t want to be caned. You spank me plenty hard when it suits you. I don’t think the cane is really necessary when—”
“Get the cane. Right now.”
She shoved the laundry basket aside, nearly tipping it over, and stalked out. He could be such an unreasonable jerk.
He is very effective though at being in charge, a little voice in her head said as she climbed the steps. She was way more conscientious in a lot of ways since Eric had moved in. And she had never eaten so many vegetables in her damn life.
Of course not everything he did was good for her. Case in point, she thought as she lifted the bamboo cane. It was elegant and scary. Exactly Eric’s style. He probably had his canes custom made too. What if she broke it? Or whoops, tossed it out the window and then drove over it with her car?
She didn’t actually have the nerve. Eric would only find ways to make her eventual punishment harder to take. He might take her to the clubhouse to borrow a cane to use. He might also invite people to watch. Oh, God! She picked up her pace.
When she’d returned to the scene of the crime, she handed him the cane by its ridged handle.
“Where do you want me?” she asked with a slight quiver in her voice.
“Hands on the washing machine, up on your toes.”
She swallowed and turned. She held the edge of the machine in a death grip.
“Nice try. T shirt and yoga pants off.”
“The shirt I get,” she said, pulling it off. “But these pants are barely there! You’ve said so yourself!”
“You have a small, but perfect round ass.”
“Just the kind you’d custom order for a slave girl?” she muttered.
He chuckled. “Actually, yes. So the likelihood that I’ll ever let you leave it covered during punishment is zero.”
“You think it makes you less of a prick when you pay me a compliment, but it doesn’t.”
“For calling me a prick, four more strokes.”
“No!” she wailed.
“Shut that pretty mouth,” he ordered. “Or part of your punishment will be to service me on your knees when I finish caning you.”
She sucked in a breath and stared down at the tile floor, heat rising not only in her cheeks, but in her whole body. Deep, deep down, she wanted him to make her do just that. It still bothered her that she’d never reciprocated for that night he’d brought her off with his mouth. Plus, she was really attracted to him. And if he forced her to do sexual things as part of a punishment that wouldn’t be her fault. Except now that he’d threatened her with it, if she spoke again, he’d think she wanted to do it. Which you do, she thought.
It was against the rules of the agreement for him to use his control over her to make her have sex. Of course, the longer she knew Eric the more she believed that he might break some rules if it suited him. He’d always seemed so buttoned-down, but under the surface he was much more than a finance guy.
She dropped her clothes and turned to the machine. What she really wanted to do was to climb inside it to hide from him and from herself.
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
His big hand cupped the back of her neck and his tone was gentle. “You’ve been bad and I will punish you because that’s what you deserve and what we agreed upon. But I won’t hurt you in a way that will cause any lasting damage. The same rules apply that always apply. You have a safeword, and if you need to, you can use it.”
Her hands were shaking. It was almost worse when he was calm and reasonable. It made her completely confused. Did he care about her? Or did he just want to fix her? Did she hate him? Or did she actually like him a lot?
“You’ve been a bad girl,” he added in a smooth, sexy voice. “But we both know you can take a punishment like a good girl.”
“I wish… I almost wish you’d tie me down. I think it would be easier.”
His breathing was uneven. “Easier at first,” he said, moving forward so she could feel the heat and strength of his body, so she could feel his erection against her. “But definitely harder for either of us to walk away. When I tie a girl down, I own her body, and I use it till I’ve had my fill. Tell me again,” he whispered. “Tell me you need me to tie you down.”
She was shaking with a lot more than fear. She wanted him so much, but she knew it was too dangerous. She was afraid he would take her over bit by bit until it was like she’d never belonged to anyone else. She couldn’t let him have her that way, because she was pretty sure if she let him start, he wouldn’t stop until he got everything he wanted.
“I can’t,” she said breathlessly.
“Then take your punishment and go to bed aching for more,” he said.
She lowered her head and rose onto her toes, her heart pounding.
The cane struck her right across the fullest part of her cheeks. She squeaked and then the full impact and sting hit her. Pain blossomed throughout her backside. The cane whistled through the air and struck again. And again. She screamed and held on, knowing there must be red welts rising across her white skin.
Over and over, the blows landed. Sometimes at the top of her buttocks, sometimes at the juicy spot where butt met thighs. The intensity was the same at first, until it built on itself and she was dancing on her toes and clenching her cheeks and wailing.
“Yellow!” she yelled, sliding down to a crouch, leaning her temple against the cold metal of the machine as she panted. “It hurts a lot. So much,” she babbled, tears stinging her eyes.
He stroked her hair and brushed her
wet lashes with his long thumb.
“How many? How many more?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“Five.”
Eric always had a number in mind. She liked getting to that number. It was perverse on her own part, but ever since he’d started punishing her she’d made it to whatever his number was without saying red. She didn’t want to break now. After all, she did kind of deserve this. She’d been careless, and they had been very expensive shirts. It would’ve only taken a second for her to check her pockets. She knew she sometimes put paint tubes into them.
It was ridiculous for her to buy into that thinking, she tried to tell herself, but it mattered to him and so it mattered to her, too. It wasn’t about the shirts really. It was that he wanted her to pay attention to his instructions, and the way she treated his shirts was a reflection of how she felt about him, whether she respected him as her master in the arrangement.
She did respect him in a lot of ways. She wanted him to know that, even if she didn’t want to say it.
She drew in a shuddering breath. “Help me up,” she whispered. “I can do it if you help me.”
He set the cane aside and took each of her arms in a hand. He raised her to her feet, looking down at her with such intensity and hunger that it took her breath away.
“You okay?” she whispered.
“I am if you are,” he said in a husky voice, the kind of voice he would use if she ever let him touch her however he wanted.
She nodded. “Five. We can get through five,” she murmured and turned around.
A large palm rested against her backside. “Did he ever tell you how it makes us feel to lay down marks like this? To have a beautiful girl submit to a punishment just because we say so? And to inhale the scent of her skin and the cream coating her lower lips? To taste her tears and lick between her legs and swallow the proof that she’s aroused? To know she wants nothing more in the world than to bend to the will of someone strong enough to make pain into pleasure?”
She couldn’t think, couldn’t move. If he did anything, even touched her with his fingertip, she might just fall apart and right into his arms.
“If you’re still wondering if you belong here, Lace, the answer is yes. Be a good girl and get back on your toes.”
He backed up, and she clung to the washing machine. The last five strokes of the cane brought searing pain, but it registered in a very different way. Right into the core of her sex and through her clit.
At the last blow, instead of dropping to her knees and crying, she rushed from the room on shaky legs. She hurried up to her bedroom and inside, then closed the door and locked it. She launched herself onto the bed, yanking some pillows to her chest and collapsing onto them. Lying face down, she shoved a hand between her spread legs.
“Oh, God,” she groaned, her palm against her clit, her fingers shoved into her slick pussy. She rubbed and rubbed, feeling the heat radiating from her aching ass and hearing Eric’s voice in her head, seducing her.
She came and came until her whole body sang with a thousand bee stings of tingling. It was so fucking good.
Chapter Eleven
The first weeks were rough on Eric and getting rougher. In the beginning, it had been easier to be patient because he’d known it would take time for her to get used to his intrusion into Colin’s house, which is how she still saw it.
But by three and a half weeks, he was restless. She’d quickly figured out which things would put her in danger of physical contract that would turn them both on, and she kept herself out of that trouble pretty neatly.
The spankings left them both aching for sex, but once when he’d dipped a finger into her, she’d spilled off his lap and used her safeword instantly.
He’d licked the moisture from his finger with a hunger that had his whole body rigid. He knew she masturbated to get off after every spanking. He did, too. He took so many warm soapy showers he had to be the cleanest guy in the whole goddamned state.
The trouble was that they were in an endless loop that he couldn’t seem to reset. She let him get close to her, except when she noticed that she was letting him get close to her. They watched movies and talked and ate together, but every time they had too good of a time, every time they laughed too much and shared too much, she retreated. She spent hours in her studio or reading. He’d suggested she should get more exercise because it was a good habit to get into for her overall health. He’d wanted her to jog with him or to let him train her, something that would get them hot and sweating together, but she ended up strolling around the lake path and walking the various neighbors’ dogs for fun. The message was clear: I am still Colin’s, and I’ll never let you have me the way you want.
He was lying alone in his bed in the guest room with one fist tight around his throbbing dick. He kept seeing the red marks from the cane on Laci’s gorgeous little ass. He’d wanted to touch those marks and to look at them all night. He’d wanted to rub lotion on her flaming cheeks and to push fingers into her asshole.
His balls ached, and he stroked faster. He wanted to be inside her anywhere and everywhere. He wanted her eyes wide and nervous as he shoved his cock against the back of her throat. He wanted her chained to the bed while he fucked her pussy until it was swollen and sore and she had to beg him to turn her over and use her ass instead.
He moaned softly. He wanted to fuck her deep in the ass with heat rising from her punished globes. He wanted her moans and cries. And then after he made her come and after he came himself, he wanted her lips against his and her tongue in his mouth. He wanted her to kiss him with her sore body pressed along his. He wanted her to burrow against him, needing his strength to comfort her after he’d used her roughly.
His chest burned. Fuck, he thought.
His semen painted his chest and spilled over his hand, but the release wasn’t enough.
This arrangement with Laci had morphed into something bigger than he’d intended. It was about more than getting to punish and fuck a pretty little girl who turned him on and challenged him with her smart mouth. He didn’t just want to dominate her and to use her body to get off, though he definitely wanted that. Now he also wanted her in his bed and in his life, which had never happened before. Ever. Not with anyone.
Chapter Twelve
Laci had been to several community events since Eric had begun to stay at the house, and she’d enjoyed them all, especially the sex-themed ones. She wasn’t sure if it was the artist in her that loved to watch people at various moments of vulnerability or if she was just a kinky little freak.
She’d gotten some new outfits. Eric had taken her shopping at a couple of exclusive boutiques in the city. She’d been hesitant to try things on, until she started. And he was right. She wasn’t going to wear the outfits she’d worn for Colin out to community parties, so she needed to update her wardrobe.
It was fun to shop with Eric because he had strong opinions and took it all seriously, which made teasing him irresistible. In public, surrounded by vanilla salespeople and shoppers, he couldn’t flip up her skirt and spank her bottom, so she could be as sarcastic as she liked.
Of course they had to come home eventually, as they just had from their latest trip to the city.
“I know we have dinner out tonight, but we missed lunch. Want me to make us some egg and avocado sandwiches?” she asked sweetly.
“No. Go upstairs and hang up your new clothes, then meet me in my room.”
“Why, Sir?” she asked lightly. Eric did not normally punish her in either of the bedrooms. It was by unspoken agreement since they didn’t let the punishments turn sexual.
He cocked a brow. “Now it’s Sir? For you to use that word without prompting means you know why.”
“I was just teasing. You smiled and joked with me. You can’t pretend you’re mad.”
“I never fake emotions.”
“So, are you mad?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
“Then why do I need to meet you in your room
?”
“Because you argued with me in public and put back the red dress after I told you to get it.”
“For the last time, that wasn’t a dress! I’m five-three. If something barely covers my butt, it’s not a dress. It’s a tall girl’s shirt.”
“When it comes to attire, the master’s opinion always trumps the submissive’s. I wouldn’t be taking my responsibility to take you in hand seriously if I let you get away with ignoring my commands in public.”
“But you’re only supposed to be in charge of me here in this house.”
“No. Anywhere I take you, I’m in charge.”
“Is that in the agreement?” she challenged.
“It’s implied.”
“Well, I didn’t know that. I teased you when we were at Saks and you didn’t punish me when we got home.”
“At Saks, you did everything I told you to do.”
She tapped her foot absently, nervously. “I don’t know that I’m actually going to stay a submissive when this agreement is over.”
The corner of Eric’s mouth curved up. “I’d love to see you after a month in a vanilla relationship.”
She pursed her lips. “Why? I can take charge of my own life. I don’t have to have someone telling me what to do and wear. Especially not someone who doesn’t know the difference between a dress and a shirt!”
He smirked.
“Admit it. I’m barely a submissive now.”
“Laci,” Eric said, shaking his head.
“What?” she snapped.
“Half the time the only reason you fight and misbehave is because you want me to force you into submission.”
Her cheeks heated. “That’s not true,” she said, but she thought it might be.
“Go hang up your clothes before I change your punishment to include the cane. You know if I use that, you won’t be able to sit down through dinner and people will guess why.”
