Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I watch in horror as the tip of the vine moves closer to my unguarded center. It touches me, at the bottom of my opening, and I clench, not just from fear, but another, more wretched instinct. I am exposed. Vulnerable. Terrified. And wet. Throbbing. His words have touched off a hunger in me that whispers perhaps it would not be so bad, if only my cunt could be filled. If only the emptiness that has plagued me since the moment Sarta withdrew her tongue from my aching channel could be banished.
Luthian grins cruelly down at me. “Do you feel it? Your body crying out for something you don’t want? Something that will cause you untold agony?”
“Yes, Guardian.” But I don’t know if my answer will condemn me to that unimaginable pain. A tear rolls down my cheek and I tremble.
He leans over me, places a gentle kiss at the corner of my mouth. “Good girl.”
The vine falls.
“Various implements can be used to cause pain. Not all of them magical.” Luthian turns away, leaving me suspended in my cradle of thorns.
“You’re acquainted with the cane.” He moves from my limited vision, and I hear him shifting objects in the darkness. “But there are tools for bruising. Lashing. Inflicting pain in pinpoints and cuts or deep, bloodless injuries. A universe of exquisite agonies, with nary a potion or wand in sight. It’s important that you know you aren’t limited due to your lack of magic.”
“Yes, Guardian.” Cold sweat trickles down my spine. Or perhaps it’s blood from the thorns.
“This will be your final lesson of the day.” He strides onto the dais again, but I still cannot see him. He stands behind me and the vines shift, tilting me to stare at the floor, my knees wide, ass upturned. Where he stands, he can see all of me, every intimate part of me, on full display. And though I know he’s seen every inch of me before, it feels more dangerous now. More vulnerable.
He says nothing, but I feel his presence, unmoving, behind me. I hear my own ragged breath, cast my gaze about for something other than the floor, to no avail. I wait. And I wait.
A resounding crack splits the air, startling me enough to cry out before I even feel the pain.
Chapter Ten
He’s struck me with something hard, across my buttocks, and with enough force that the vines rock. I squeeze my eyes shut, grit my teeth, but a pained gasp escapes, nevertheless.
“You’ll count each one,” he orders. “And you’ll thank me for them. Try it now.”
“Yes, Guardian.” I sniff back tears. “One. Thank you, Guardian.”
I’m barely finished when the object hits me again, igniting a fire in my already inflamed skin. I cry out and say, “Two. Thank you, Guardian.”
“Can you guess what I’m using on you?” he asks, and scrapes a broad, rough edge over my screaming flesh, digging in as he drags it down.
It’s wide, flat, and totally unyielding. “Is it a book, Guardian?”
He strikes me again, harder, and this time, he doesn’t pause between blows.
“Three, thank you, Guardian! Four, thank you, Guardian!” I yelp as the fifth lands. “Five! Thank you, Guardian!”
My chest heaves. My stomach roils.
“Guess again.”
It seems the punishment for a wrong answer will be more smacks. I should wish to avoid that, shouldn’t I? But all I can think of is the shock of the pain and the way my body is responding to it. I’m growing slick between my thighs, and heavy there with growing need.
“Answer,” he barks, and slaps me with the object again.
“Six! Thank you, Guardian!” But still, I have no clue, only guesses. “Is it a wooden plank, Guardian?”
The time, I receive five, all in a frenzy, alternating between cheeks. I can barely keep up with the counting, shrieking, “Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten! Thank you, Guardian! Eleven! Thank you! Thank you, Guardian!”
Tears stream freely from my eyes now, and drool from my slack mouth.
“Guess again, my honey flower,” he whispers in my ear.
If I guess again, there will be more pain. If I don’t guess, the pain will be much worse.
“A breadboard?” I try, and again, he strikes me with the implement. The vines tighten, driving their thorns deeper. There’s a broken scream from somewhere. From me? I must be the source, but I have no control over my body. I’m alight with pain, yet I somehow crave more. The anticipation is delicious.
“Ah ah, you didn’t count that one,” he says.
I tremble all over. “I’m so sorry, Guardian! I won’t disappoint you again, Guardian! Please, just—”
“Hmm? Are you making a request of me, now?” This time, when he strikes me, it’s not with such force. He comes to stand before me and shows me the object of my torture. “A paddle. This one, you see, is studded with iron. That’s something to keep in mind for faeries who wish to be dominated by you. Iron is deeply uncomfortable.”