Mirror of My Soul by Joey Hill (readict books txt) 📗

appearance. “Marguerite.” His every syllable was carefully pronounced, underscoring the threat. “You won’t do this anymore because I’m telling you that you won’t. You belong to someone now. Me. And I take care of you, even if your greatest danger comes from yourself. Take the goddamned scarf off.”

She raised her chin defiantly, but her cold fingers rose, unknotted it, let it fall away.

Let him see the red mark of the belt, the light bruising.

His eyes coursed over it. His gaze rose, pinning her with a look she’d never seen before. A look that gave her chest wall jagged edges which stabbed her heart with every painful beat.

“I told you who I am, what I am,” she managed. “You can leave. No one’s holding you here.”

Though I’m afraid I won’t survive if you turn your back on me now. Which makes no sense.

I don’t need anyone.

Clenching her fists, she stared at him with as much disdain as she could manage, trying to reclaim her aloofness, her protective isolation in a room where she was almost overcome by his heat, his presence.

“Go away, Tyler. Just go the hell away.”

“Did you get the fucking orgasm you sought from it?” He loosened his belt,

stripped it off him with one quick, deliberate movement. “Take hold of the bedpost.”

“Wh-what?”

“I’m going to spank you with my belt and then I’m going to fuck you hard and

strong with your ass still smarting to remind you not to defy me. Not about this. Not if you know what’s good for you.”

She stood staring at him, their expressions clashing for a solid minute. Her gaze shifted to the door.

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“Don’t try it,” he warned, low. When he closed the last gap between them, it took all she had not to step back for she was afraid of the swirl of emotions roused in her by the implacable resolve in his eyes. He took her arm and turned her, wrapping her fingers around the post. Reaching under her skirt, he caught the elastic of her panties and pulled them down to her feet. He left them at her ankles, the lace draping the straps of her heeled sandals. His hand went to the small of her back, pushing her lower, and the other moved under her waist to cant her ass upward. Folding the skirt into the small of her back, he pulled her back a couple awkward steps with her ankles manacled in her underwear.

“Stand just like that,” he said, his voice thick with arousal and other things she didn’t want to face. “Ten licks. They’re going to hurt.”

She heard the snap of his belt as he doubled it, tightened her fingers on the post.

His hand moved down her waist over the curve of one flank, caressing the whiteness of her skin, making her even more aware of what he was about to do to that delicate flesh.

“You will never, never choke yourself again, Marguerite. Not ever. Do you

understand?” His tone sharpened. “Answer me.”

“I understand.” Her voice shook. Though she tried to infuse it with anger, it was lost in the nerves.

“Tell me you’ll obey. You’re right. You didn’t promise before. But you will now.

Tell me you won’t do it ever again. Once you say it, I know I can trust your word.”

And trust him to take care of her demons. She shut her eyes, thinned her lips, fighting a compulsion she didn’t understand. Tears wanted to swell into her eyes, but not because he was hurting her physically. In a way she couldn’t explain, barely understood, she wanted to say yes to him. To say that she would obey, that she was sorry, as if the apology was to herself as much as to him. But punishment…she wanted, needed the punishment first.

The belt slapped her buttocks with exceptional accuracy and strength, though she’d had no doubt it would. She found for all that Tyler supposedly didn’t flog his submissives much, he knew exactly how to do so. What he was doing wouldn’t break the skin, but he intended to leave welts, a way for her to remember the lesson for several days afterward. Maybe a week, she thought, as the next stripe came. Her breath expelled sharply on the third as real pain sang through her nerve endings. But another reaction was occurring at the same time. Her cunt was dripping her response onto her legs. Between the third and fourth stroke he reached down and fondled her, running his fingers through the slickness. She moaned, raising herself higher for him. At the fifth and sixth, she cried out.

“Tell me you’re not going to do this again. Now. Or I swear to God I’ll give you ten more.”

“I’ll… I won’t do it again.”

“Promise me.”

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She bit down on her own arm to keep from screaming as seventh, eighth and ninth cut into her tender flesh.

“I promise.”

The tenth blow landed. Even as she was gasping for breath from the throbbing pain, he had her arm and pulled her up to hold her against him. The skin of his arms pressed hot and demanding against her back. When he dropped his grip down, caressed her hips with rough, demanding hands, she thought the ache was going to explode in her chest like a wound as he deliberately squeezed her raw buttocks hard. She struggled against him and he turned, pushed her down on her stomach on the bed, holding her there a moment to keep her still, his hand running over her sore ass, quivering under his touch. “Christ, I’m so furious with you.”

When she closed her eyes, the tears burned. He was right. Since she was seven

years old, no one had punished her because they loved her. Because they cared if she lived or died. Because they wanted her to stay safe. Or were scared of losing her. She should hate him, be angry at him for humiliating her, but she didn’t feel humiliated.

She yearned for