over the smooth soft leather. He’s left my bathrobe on. In a quiet part of my brain, I’m vaguely surprised that he hasn’t made me take it off. Holy fuck this is going to hurt… I know. My subconscious has passed out, and my inner goddess is endea一voring to look bra一ve.
“We’re here because you said yes, Anastasia. And you ran from me. I am going to hit you six times, and you will count with me.”
Why the hell doesn’t he just get on with it? He always makes such a meal of punishing me. I roll my eyes, knowing full well he can’t see me.
He lifts the hem of my bathrobe, and for some reason, this feels more intimate than being naked. He gently caresses my behind, running his warm hand all over both cheeks and down to the tops of my thighs.
“I am doing this so that you remember not to run from me, and as exciting as it is, I never want you to run from me,” he whispers.
And the irony is not lost on me. I was running to a一void this. If he’d opened his arms, I’d run to him, not away from him.
“And you rolled your eyes at me. You know how I feel about that.” Suddenly, it’s gone – that nervous edgy fear in his voice. He’s back from wherever he’s been. I hear it in his tone, in the way he places his fingers on my back, holding me – and the atmosphere in the room changes.
I close my eyes, bracing myself for the blow. It comes hard, snapping across my backside, and the bite of the belt is everything I feared. I cry out involuntarily, and take a huge gulp of air.
“Count, Anastasia!” he commands.
“One!” I shout at him, and it sounds like an expletive.
He hits me again, and the pain pulses and echoes along the line of the belt. Holy shit… that smarts.
“Two!” I scream. It feels so good to scream.
His breathing is ragged and harsh. Whereas mine is almost non-existent as I desperately scrabble around my psyche looking for some internal strength. The belt cuts into my flesh again.
“Three!” Tears spring unwelcome into my eyes. Jeez – this is harder than I thought – so much harder than the
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