Page 45 of Good Girl

A lethargic darkness starts to claw itself from my chest and out to my extremities as I fast forward to an hour from now, when the rest of her body will feel just as tender.

As Darcy secures her hair, Hudson gets to work adjusting one of the leg braces. I move to the other leg and bring up the brace until it takes Emery’s weight. She looks down at me as I grip her calf, and her throat bobs as I reach for the leather strap to secure her leg in place.

I cinch it tightly enough that she can move her feet, but her leg isn’t going to slip free, then stand. Darcy drops her braided hair onto her back as Hudson stands, having completed the leg on his side.

Gripping Emery’s chin, I turn her to face me. “Color?”

Her lashes flutter, and she strains her legs in an effort to move, but when she makes eye contact with me again, I can see that she is sure of her answer, thank fuck. “Green.”

“You will use your safe words, do you understand me? Do not play a hero and push through. That goes for the entire weekend. Safe words are there to keep both you and us safe. Use them.”

Emery attempts to nod, but I haven’t removed my grip from her chin. “Yes, Daddy. I promise to use my safe words.”

“Good girl. This isn’t the last time we will ask you for your color, however the check-ins will be less frequent, so as not to ruin the flow of the scene. The only reason we will do that is because we think you are hiding something from us. Hide from us, and the weekend is over. Done. We will pack your shit,and you will be out of here faster than you arrived. Do you understand?” I tighten my grip on her chin for a moment to make sure she is paying attention to me.

She blinks a few times, pupils increasing in size. “Yes, Daddy.”

Ah, she likes the sound of consequences. Something to experiment with next time.

No. Not next time. This is the only time.

“The scene begins now.”

I let go of her chin to grab her shoulders and force her flat onto her stomach. She makes a muffled noise, but I hold her down, anticipating her squirming. Darcy makes quick work of the lower and upper back belts, the straps indenting her skin the smallest amount as her squirming reduces. Hudson secures both arms, neither brace requiring a height adjustment, and then we all step back.

She’s gorgeous, restrained and with a slight tremble in her thighs.

Grabbing my suede flogger, I stride over to Emery’s head and crouch down in front of her, draping the tails over one of my thighs. Her head is positioned just high enough on the bench that it’s hanging off the edge without support. I reach behind her and grab the base of her braid and pull until she is looking at me.

Her mouth is open from the strain, and she groans. Now her pupils really are blown wide, almost completely eclipsing the hazel irises. Because I have apparently lost the grip on my self-control, I lean in and help myself to her mouth. The angle is too odd for her, allowing me to take and explore as I wish.

When I’m done, I release her hair and lower her head. She doesn’t even try to support herself.

The others have all taken up positions around the space, waiting for their cues to join. Normally, we aren’t this orchestrated. It's more of a free-for-all, the four of us moving insync with each other. But with the limited time that we have, we’ve each planned our perfect scenes.

My scene is to light up Emery’s skin a beautiful cherry red, leave her covered in my marks, while my friends enjoy her body.

I step up to Emery’s side and swish my arm from side to side, getting a feel for the flogger and increasing the tension that surrounds my little sub.

It’s finally time to see if Emery loves the bite of my toys as much as I love seeing their marks.

With that final thought, I bring the red and black flogger down, lashing the tails over her skin in a barely there kiss. She gasps, and the sound fuels the darkness inside me and I raise my arm again.

And again.

And again.

Chapter 23

Emery

The first hit of the flogger is similar to the first demonstration Daddy gave me. A thud with barely any weight and a light enough sting that I know it happened. He sets a rhythm, and the impacts become consistent, the skin on my back getting hot.

It doesn’t hurt, exactly. At least, not yet. I have an inkling he is going easy on me right now.

My brain is a little confused about how to feel.

It really likes that I’m tied down, restrained, bound. At their mercy. Which is something that I never fucking thought would be a hot button for me. But then, those lashes will curl around to my ribs and the little bit of zing they leave behind makes me flinch away from the pain.

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