Page 38 of Punishing Penelope
“Did you have time to think about my proposition?” His voice is deep, and the words come slow, every syllable exaggerated.
“Yeah…” I hug the bedpost, my heart slamming. I can tell myself whatever I want, but I’m still just a girl tied up in a man’s bedroom at his complete mercy. “Fuck you.”
“Hmm, interesting choice of words.” He puts a hand on my butt and pushes me forward until I’m squeezed against the hard pole.
“Don’t even think it, you fucking screw-up.” The memory of his touch still burns, both on my butt and my clit, and I hate my treacherous body. He can’t know spankings and bondage is my thing, can he? I’m afraid, but I’m also shamefully hot and bothered.
He presses against me from behind, all hard planes and rough edges, hot and demanding. Why does it feel so enticing when it shouldn't? His fingers find my reddened wrists, and he tuts, the sound making me flinch.
“Tried to fight the restraints like the little villain you are?”
“Let me go, Peter.”
“Stop writing about cops.”
“No.”
He’s silent a few moments too long, then inhales sharply.
“You never had much self-preservation, Wilder.” He grabs my hips and pulls me back, forcing me to take awkward, clumsy little steps so I don’t lose my balance and faceplant against the pole.
The first hit lands.
I squeal in surprise.
“What did I tell you about the shouting? Do I need to gag you?”
I grit my teeth against the stinging in my butt cheeks.
“Yes or no? If you make noise, I’ll punish you so much harder.”
“Fuck you!”
He slaps again… and again. It burns, then turns to a dull ache that soon becomes searing pain. I try to dodge, but the spreader bar makes movement near impossible.
“I can’t! Stop! God!” I yell at the top of my lungs. Resisting the onslaught of hurt is impossible, and too late, I remember I shouldn’t have done that.
Peter stops, then he fiddles with my ankles, and the spreader bar comes loose. I can’t move my legs and sink to my knees with a sob I can’t contain, hanging with my cuffed wrists as my only support.
“Please.”
“You know the deal.”
“No. Deal,” I grit out between clenched teeth.
“All right,” he says lightly. Stepping around to uncuff me, he then cuffs my arms on my back instead. No resistance left, I’m like a boneless ragdoll in his arms when he pulls me up and throws me over his shoulder.
“You’re a dirty, foul-mouthed little bitch with no manners and no sense whatsoever. How about we clean you up?”
Not sure what he means, but with a horrible suspicion, I squirm to get out of his grip, my useless body uncooperative.
“No!”
Chapter Nine
Peter
Calling me all the ugly names in the world, she struggles so sweetly and tries to spit on me. How cute. I drop her to her feet on the bathroom tiles and hold her tight while I turn on the faucet and twist the knob to cold. Gotta cool this hothead off a bit.