Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“Good girl,” Jake said.
CHAPTER 8
Grace
If I had thought the last time Jake had called me a good girl had roused complicated thoughts and feelings, it didn’t hold a candle to this time. When his hand descended onto my waist, working its way up underneath my t-shirt, my whole body seemed to seethe with an impossible mixture of rebellion and need, fear and arousal and even—because of the good girl—an irresistible glow of… pride? Gratitude?
The question of what the fuck was wrong with me began to seem terribly, terribly important—more important even than the matter of what was wrong with Jake and Shelly. They seemed to know what they were doing, when it came to making me feel like my entire world, my very identity, had to change. I, on the other hand, didn’t have the slightest clue what to do with the part of me that wanted their help—the glow in my chest to have received that tiny bit of praise, good girl, from the man about to whip me with his family strap.
All of it, mixed together, seemed to come out in the way my body responded when I felt his big, strong hand on the bare skin of my back. I started to struggle, writhing over the arm of the chair. Jake increased the pressure on my back, pinioning me in place.
“That’s alright, honey,” he said. “I know you’re scared, just like your foster mama said.”
For a moment, despite the way he had clamped down on my waist, I thought he meant that he had decided not to whip me. Then I heard the strap whistle through the air, and I heard the crack of it across my bottom. A split second later, more quickly than I had felt it through my jeans, I felt a line of fire on my rear end. I felt my body try to rise up, to get up and run away, but Jake kept me precisely where I was, and brought the leather down again.
I screamed, as much out of fear of the pain to come as from the atrocious agony my foster father had already meted out to my poor butt. I kicked out, trying to make it more difficult for him to whip my backside. My jeans, still around my knees, restrained me so that I couldn’t do anything but flail my feet in the air, much too conscious of how the movement of my thighs lewdly exposed my privates to Jake’s eyes.
“No, Grace,” he said, and for the first time I heard what Jake sounded like when he put the full weight of his authority behind it. The no made my tummy flip all by itself, but then he reinforced it by whipping my upper thighs, hard and fast, until I put my feet back on the floor, sobbing.
“Those don’t count, honey,” Shelly commented from her chair.
I had closed my eyes the moment Jake’s hand had come to rest on my back, but I opened them to see, through the film of my tears, that Shelly had her attention on her knitting, a crease in her forehead and her lower lip caught between her teeth. Somehow I had time to wonder, even through the agony in my backside, just how it made Shelly feel to watch me get a whipping: did her expression just mean she was focused on her knitting? Or did she experience the same kind of conflict I’d felt watching Frannie get her spanking from the guard at the gas station?
“There we go,” Jake said in satisfaction, and started to punish me in earnest.
All thoughts about Shelly or Frannie or the trip to Grasskiln or anything at all, except the fiery agony in my ass, flew away. My body bucked with each lash, and suddenly I had only enough control over my limbs to try, as hard as I could, not to struggle; all that mattered was that Jake stop whipping me.
I screamed and screamed. I kept my eyes closed, my fists curled up against my face, my tears flowing onto the leather cushion. My bottom felt like my foster father had applied a sizzling hot iron to it, and each new application of the strap seemed to raise the temperature, its individual pain fading into the terrible inferno.
The screams became pitiful wails, rising with each crescendo of pain, and then I seemed to go limp over the arm of the chair. Each new lash only brought a jerk of my hips and a humiliating squirm of my ass as I tried to ease the agony just a bit.
“That’s it,” I heard Jake say from high above me. “Good girl. You’re learning. Three more, now.”
A storm of sobs burst from my chest. How could he? Didn’t he know that made it so much worse, those final three?