Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
“Bobby,” Angelo says. “Get my cane.”
“A thick one or a thin one?”
“Medium,” Angelo says.
There is a brief wait in which nothing happens. I lie naked and prone under Angelo’s gaze and I ruminate on how absolutely fucked I am now. The cane will only be the beginning, I can be sure of that.
“Got the cane, boss,” Bobby declares as he returns, swinging the cane around all fancy and smug. Oddly, I am starting to feel much less afraid for my life and much more small and very naughty, which is a strange feeling, given that I just stabbed someone. I expected more vicious violence.
“Thank you, boy,” Angelo says. “As for you, Riley, let this be the beginning of a lesson to you. Pain is inevitable in the House of Vitali, but your behavior and decisions can always make what is bad, worse.”
Swish CRACK!
A blazing line of fire flashes through my body. Angelo has caned me hard. I gasp and grip the sheets out of survival instinct, needing to grab something solid.
I want to scream, but the sound is caught in my throat. I gasp in raw horror as the cane lands twice more, both strokes sending the same impact force through my body. There is no part of me that does not feel these strokes. The pain courses to the very tips of my fingers and fizzes to my toes, finds each and every root of my hair, and sparks across them in a chain reaction of shameful sensation.
“She looks good with marks on her ass,” Bobby observes with cruel pleasure.
“She will be marked all over by the time we are finished. There will be no part of her, not a hair, not a glance, not a word that is not marked by us.”
Another shiver runs through me, but this time it emanates from my soul. This is just the beginning, and it is a relatively gentle one. The cane lands six more times, each and every one of the strokes more infernally painful than the last. He is using full force this time, not the relatively restrained approach he took the very first time he bent me over his couch and disciplined me.
“I am not punishing you for attempting to kill Bobby. I am punishing you for failing.”
Angelo’s words float to me through a haze of barely tolerable pain. I don’t believe him. He loves Bobby more than anything in the world. Does he hate ineptitude more? Possibly. The House of Vitali does not play by the same rules as the outside world. Love in here does not mean what love means out there.
Survival is not guaranteed.
But passion is.
Another three strokes bite into my ass, one landing right at the crevice between butt and thigh. I squeal and buck, arching up into yet another stroke of the cane. Some people might know how many times I’ve been hit. I have no idea. All I know is that I hurt.
Just as I am sinking into the agony of the caning, Bobby’s hand slides up my scalp and curls into my hair. He pulls my head back and up, exposing my throat. I feel the sharp blade of a knife run lightly over my skin in an obvious threat. He tugs my head until I meet his pitch-black gaze. There’s nothing there. Not a soul. Not a personality. Just an energy of intense vengeance, and a fascination with death and pain. Most people hate you when you try to kill them. I don’t see hatred there. I see dark fascination.
“You’re lucky, little sister,” he purrs. “Lucky I can think of better things to do with this throat of yours than slit it.”
That’s not luck. At least, not good luck.
The knife bites lightly. I feel a little flush of blood on my skin, nothing like the gush that would emit if he pressed that knife just a little deeper. There is a moment of frisson where I do not know what he intends to do. I do not think Angelo knows either. We are not controlled. We are out on a limb where laws do not apply. Bobby is capable of absolutely anything. I have drawn his blood, and now he is drawing mine.
Bobby frees his cock, and it springs out in front of my face, a thick and imposing member. I expect it to smell like sweat and man, but there is a cologne about it that Bobby isn’t wearing. I am smelling Angelo.
He keeps the knife at my throat as he nudges the thick head of his cock against my lips.
“Open.”
I hesitate, and he presses the knife more firmly against my skin, bleeding me slightly more.
“Bite me and you bleed,” he warns.
My lips part and I feel the head of his cock penetrate my mouth in a punishing and satisfied surge. He keeps my head up and back, throat exposed and used, eyes on mine. I feel him throb and swell at the hot wetness of my tongue, but I can’t help but wonder if a large part of his arousal simply comes from the domination and pain that is being inflicted on me.