Page 21 of Twisted Obsession
“Strip!” he demanded, his voice carrying a tone of authority I knew all too well.
Summoning the remnants of my dignity, I lifted my chin defiantly and locked eyes with him. Slowly, deliberately, I began to shed my clothing, one garment at a time. My dress slipped from my shoulders, cascading in soft folds to the floor, forming a silky puddle around my feet. I stepped out of it with measured grace, meeting Dmitri’s gaze head-on. My hands hung loosely by my sides, defiantly not concealing the outline of my breasts beneath the sheer white fabric of my bra.
“All of it,kukolka,” he chided, his arms crossed over his chest, the command as unyielding as his posture.
With quiet resolve, I hooked my thumbs into the band of my panties and lowered them down my legs, using the pointed toe of my slingback heel to ease them down my calves, kicking them aside without a backward glance. Reaching behind, I unhooked my bra with a practiced flick, letting it slide off my shoulders to join the growing pile of discarded clothing. Only my heels remained, a final touch of elegance, which I deftly nudged away. I stood before Dmitri, utterly bare and exposed, my vulnerability laid bare. Yet, I refused to give him the satisfaction of my tears.
He stepped forward, invading my space, his hand drifting to my cheek before trailing with deliberate slowness down to my neck. His touch was neither rough nor gentle, a neutral pressure that held me in its grip.
“On the bed, face down.” His hand released its hold, granting me the freedom to turn and climb onto the bed.
I moved to the center of the mattress, rolling onto my stomach with a sense of unease. The soft rustle of his footsteps on the wooden floor heightened my awareness of his movements. I turned my head toward my right shoulder, eyes widening as he stood at the bed’s edge. From nowhere, it seemed, he produced a wide leather strap with an attached cuff, a detail I’d somehow overlooked before.How had I missed it?Panic surged through me, and I struggled against him, but his strength easily overpowered mine. He grasped my hand, pulling it away from my body, and secured the cuff around my wrist, the leather cool and unyielding against my skin.
“You can fight me all you want,kukolka, but the more you resist, the more spankings you will receive,” he advised with a chilling calmness. “At this moment, you are up to twenty.”
I was powerless against him. He had killed my father, and he could easily end my life too.
As he moved around the bed to the opposite side, I surrendered my struggle and extended my hand, allowing him to fasten it securely to the leather cuff. Methodically, he bound my ankles just as he had my wrists, leaving me spread-eagled and entirely at his mercy.
“Beautiful,” he taunted, the sound of his belt being unbuckled echoing ominously in the room. “Perhaps I should let you escape more often. It could become our own little game.”
A sharp whoosh sliced through the air, followed by a stinging slap across my bare ass cheeks, causing me to jerk my hips upward involuntarily. The searing pain radiated down myleg, stealing my breath away. Never had I been spanked before. The agony was excruciating, but more than that, it ignited a fiery anger within me.
“Do you know why you are being punished?”
“You son-of-a-bitch, motherfucker,” I spat, straining against the restraints that bound my wrists. My ass cheeks clenched in anticipation of the next strike.
“That just earned you five more,kukolka,” he declared firmly.
The belt descended once more, the impact more intense than the last, when I failed to answer. “Ow, ow, ow!” I cried out, my voice breaking with each strike.
“Would you like five more, Larissa?” he inquired. “Answer the question.”
I couldn’t endure any more at this pace. “Because I ran away,” I admitted through clenched teeth.
“And?”
“Because of my mouth,” I conceded, my voice barely a whisper.
“Good girl,” he commended me. “Now I want you to count.”
Whoosh!
“Three,” I gasped, as the belt struck with precision.
The tears I had fought so hard to suppress spilled over, soaking the comforter beneath my head. The belt struck in rapid succession, each strike a sharp reminder of my helplessness.
“Four, five, six,” I counted, my voice trembling. “I hate you.”
“You can say you hate me all you want,” he mused, running his fingers over my hot skin. “But your body tells a different story.”
Whoosh! Whack!
“Seven, eight, nine.”
Whack! Whack!
“Ten, eleven,” I choked out, the numbers blurring together in my mind.
