Page 50 of Good Girl

Xavier comes with a grunt, my cue to take Derek’s place. I quickly scoop up the first flogger—the red and black one—andtake my place next to Derek. Emmy is all but comatose as Xavier thrusts into her a few more times and Derek slows his swings.

Derek discards his flogger and takes his place behind Emmy. He doesn’t waste any time and uses Emmy’s poor, abused pussy like his own personal sex toy. I start up with the flogger, starting firmer and slowly working my way down, the closer and closer Derek gets to his orgasm.

When he finally comes, Emmy is a hot, sweaty mess, her skin a stunning patchwork of pink and red. I lower my arm and step back. Still inside of her, Derek smooths his hand over her ass cheeks. It probably feels both amazing and painful for Emmy, if she is even registering anything anymore. But I know Derek is checking that her skin isn’t too abused for his final swing of a toy.

Apparently satisfied with what he is seeing, he pulls out and walks to the right-hand side of the Wall of Torment and takes down an embossed paddle from the wall.

During our original texts, Emmy had asked what a bad girl would get, and we’d sent her a picture of our brat paddle. She’d never asked about what a good girl would get.

And she has definitely been a good girl.

Chapter 25

Emery

I tap the screen of my phone, waking it up so that I can see the picture that Xavier took of me two hours ago. Right there, on my screen, is my very red ass with the words “Good Girl” raised up from the rest of the skin, as cum leaks out of my pussy.

The image does something to my insides, making me all squiggly and a little uncomfortable, to be honest.

Good girl.

I don’t really remember the paddle or the blow that gave me this mark, but I know I want it again. As many times as they will give it to me. Daddy assured me it was temporary when I saw it in the bathroom mirror. His words having the opposite effect on me. I think he mistook my shock for worry, and I couldn’t find the words to correct him.

Temporary is not something I want, anymore. But that is what I have signed up for, and putting myself out there and asking for more is not something that I do.

I’d come back to my body on the floor of the shower, lukewarm water flowing over my back as I straddled Daddy's lap. The fire under my skin had dulled some, going from a wild, untamed forest fire to a smoldering campfire. My entire back hummed under the fall of the water, and the wiry hairs on Daddy's legs hadn’t felt amazing against the backs of my abused thighs and ass.

But I’d refused to move. Not for anything in the world.

Even with the discomfort, I had felt safe in his arms. Like the world could go to absolute shit, and he would protect me. Care for me. My Daddy.

Even as I rethink the words now, nearly an hour later, it’s an effort not to snort at myself. This shit isn’t real. It has an expiration date. An expiration time. I’m not sure of the exact minute, but I’m fairly confident the countdown is past the twenty-four-hour mark now.

Daddy is now with Hudson in the kitchen, cooking something that smells amazing, while Darcy and I are lying on some giant-ass pillows on the floor between the TV and the couch. He is wearing jeans and no shirt, while I am buck-ass naked, my back, ass, and thighs with some sort of cooling gel on them. Being so exposed while the rest of them have clothes on is giving me an odd sort of thrill I don’t care to examine too closely.

Well, I have to assume they are all dressed. I have no idea where Xavier is; he was gone when Daddy and I emerged from the bedroom and has yet to return.

I’m not sure if I’m allowed to ask where he is.

I’m not sure if I’m allowed to ask questions, period.

Like, is this one of thosedon’t ask because we aren’t going to telltype of situations? Has Xavier disappeared to his real life? Do they have wives and kids waiting for them when they return from their dirty weekend away? Am I merely a distraction from their mundane lives?

Fuck. I wish I could reverse vibrator interrogate them.

I clench my teeth. It doesn’t fucking matter. It’s over tomorrow. This is all a means to an end. They get their kinky rocks off, I—apparently—enjoy it, then I get my cash and leave.

Why the fuck do I have to keep reminding myself of that?

They are not going to keep me. I need to stop thinking they will.

“Hey, princess, where’d you go?” Darcy asks quietly as he shades a section of his drawing.

After the movie playing on the TV didn’t hold my attention for very long, Darcy helped me to reposition myself so that I could draw with the new art supplies he’d purchased for me.

I still feel guilty about that, even though they technically are a reward. I was fine with the cheaper stuff. Whenever there have been art supplies available for me to use, it’s usually the shit stuff from a dollar store. So, even the cheaper graphite and paper from an actual art supply store are worlds above what I normally use.

It’s why I quickly learned how to use lead pencils. Everyone always has basic lead pencils. Plus, they are easy to take home from school. I may have been short on everything else in my life, but never paper or lead pencils. Even if the quality was crap.

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