When Ian comes in, I glance at the clock, surprised he’s already here. It’s four o’clock on the dot. I can’t believe I managed to find enough peace to forget about time.
My newfound peace is short-lived, though. Ian rouses the dormant unease as he comes to my side and taps my thigh.
“Spread your legs.”
I instinctively do it, not daring to disobey.
Humiliation washes over me when he leans down and lifts the hem of the T-shirt, exposing my pussy. But it’s not my private parts he’s interested in.
He tuts. “You’ve soiled my piano bench.” Straightening, he crosses his arms over his chest. “Get up.”
I scramble to obey, hoping it will appease him, but he remains all strict authority as he stares me down.
“Hands on the edge.” He taps the piano, just below the music stand. “Stick your ass out.” He kicks the piano bench aside to make room.
“I didn’t want to disturb you to ask for my panties,” I say as I grab the edge, hoping my obedience will win me some points.
Ignoring my words, he pushes at the base of the butt plug, making me release a muffled yelp. “Is this what made you wet? Or was it sitting on my lap, feeling how hard I was?”
I squeeze my eyes shut as I realize I have to answer or this will only get worse. “The plug,” I say in a thin voice. I’m not sure it’sjustthe plug, but that’s the most pressing thing since I’ve been sitting on it for the last half hour, and it’s the easiest one to admit to.
“Such a bad little girl.” He bunches the T-shirt up around my waist and starts kneading my ass with the other hand. “Getting all horny while practicing. Soiling my bench. You’ll get ten smacks.”
I release a relieved breath. The punishment last weekend was hard, but a repeat is much better than what I had feared. Apparently, his warning about something worse was just an empty threat. I adjust my grip on the piano and draw a deep breath.Just ten smacks.I can do this.
When the first one lands, my resolve shrivels as I realize Ian held back the last time. His big hand lands with a force that reverberates through my whole body, making me shuffle and tighten my grip just to remain in place. The sound alone is sharp, echoing off the walls, but it’s the burn that bursts into my skin like fire that steals the air from my lungs.
“Stop, please. I’m sorry,” I beg in a choked voice. But Ian delivers an equally hard smack to my other ass cheek. “I’m sorry,” I keep going. “I’m so, so sorry.”
He rubs my fiery skin, and the burn slowly fades. But the memory lingers, sharp and clear, and I tense up as I wait for him to continue.
“Would you like me to draw it out or get it over with quickly?”
I close my eyes and try to think. But my brain doesn’t work. The daze from earlier seems to linger, and the shock of the pain makes it impossible to consider the implications of my choice. So I blurt, “Fast.” I just want to get it over with.
“Fast it is. Stand very still, or we’re starting over.”
Tightening my grip on the piano, I steel myself for the next blow, but Ian doesn’t just deliver one. He rains his hand down over my right cheek four times in rapid succession.
My mouth drops open to let out a scream, but it lodges in my throat, pain taking my entire body in a stranglehold. I can’t breathe; I can’t move. All I can do is stand here, locking up all my muscles as the force rolls through me like an earthquake.
I have barely recovered when Ian lifts his hand and delivers four equally hard blows to the other side of my ass.
The tension inside me coils tighter as more pain bursts through me. It doesn’t just hurt. It shatters. Every nerve feels like it’s tearing apart, every second dragging on like an eternity inside my skin. My vision blurs. My knees threaten to cave in, but my body won’t even give me that release.
“You may straighten,” Ian says.
I loosen my grip on the piano and try to do so, but my legs won’t hold me. The moment I release the piano, I collapse onto the floor. Ian reaches for me, grabbing my waist just in time to soften my landing. The moment I hit the floor, a desperate sob rips from my throat. More come in its wake, and I curl in on myself, the pain and the shock of everything slashing through me, threatening to tear me apart from the inside.
Ian sinks to the floor behind me and pulls me into his arms.
“Let me go,” I say, trying to pull away, but my protest is weak. When his arms wrap around me, I forget who they belong to. I just need the comfort. I scramble to turn, needing to get closer and cling to him.
“Shh.” He tightens his arms around me and peppers tiny kisses over my head. “It’s over now. I’ve got you.”
The sobs keep racking my body, but it’s not enough to get all the emotional upheaval out. It’s like trying to drain a raging flood through a pinhole. The emotions keep building in my chest, squeezing my lungs and my every muscle until I’m hyperventilating and clawing at Ian’s chest.
“Breathe, Jenna,” he urges, grabbing my face between his hands. “Breathe.”