Page 11 of The Seller

“This is a game to you, isn’t it?” He leans in, his face sliding past mine, his lips close to my ear as his stubble brushes my cheek. “It’s a dangerous game.”

He’s not the only one who knows how to whisper menacingly.

“Let’s play,” I whisper right back.

Stavros

Goddamn. I’m hard as hell. I don’t know what the fuck is going on. I don’t know who this girl is. I don’t know why she’s so cocky, or why her fear doesn’t matter to her. What I do know, is that I fucking love the way she makes me feel. I’m alive right now. There’s real resistance to my domination. None of this is going to come easy, to her, or to me.

“You want to play? Okay little girl, we’ll play.”

I pull a stool up out of the shadows. She’s been tied so short she doesn’t know what exists in the darkness all around her. There are so many things she’ll come to enjoy and abhor in equal measure. For now, I sit down and pull her over my thighs, naked and still chained.

I say nothing to her as my palm meets her left cheek in a hard swat designed to get her attention and set the tone of this encounter. The satisfaction of feeling her flesh yield to my hand relieves a lot of tension immediately.

I have not felt as in control with Siri as I like to feel around my girls. I have felt as though I am losing a game I didn’t even know I was playing. My delivery man’s death increased that feeling to intolerable levels.

Now I have her over my lap, under my control. Now I can see every bit of her, she has nothing to hide, except her inner self. I start spanking her hard enough to hurt, hard enough to let her know that there is pain in lies. She doesn’t want to squeal, give me the satisfaction of how it sounds when she surrenders, but she can’t help it. She might be mentally conditioned, but she’s not physically hardened. Her flesh is soft and vulnerable, and it turns pink, then rose, then red beneath my palm.

She can’t ask for mercy - or rather, she won’t, because she knows the condition of that mercy would be honesty, and that’s the one thing she refuses to give me. Instead, she’s left with gasping, wailing, and then cursing as the fire from the slaps grows hotter and she starts to fear that she can’t take my wrath.

“It’s not my fault he’s dead!”

“Isn’t it? You didn’t seem very surprised,” I purr, smoothing my hand over her cheeks, giving her just a little respite from the pain she so deserves. When she doesn’t immediately respond with more information, the spanking resumes. Talking is good. She will be spared if she talks. If she clams up, goes silent, tries to hide the truth from me, then her ass will burn like the sun.

“Of course I’m not surprised when some criminal scumbag who helps sell women ends up dead!” She exclaims. “That’s what happens to men like you, Stavros. Justice catches up to them.”

“So you are a cop.”

“If I am, you’ve really fucked up now,” she replies, her voice coming in halting gasps between the waves of heat I unleashed on her. Just because I stopped spanking, doesn’t mean her ass stopped feeling it.

“You’re too young to be a cop,” I say.

She starts to talk, then shuts up again, and I start spanking. Hard. Fast. I want to get whatever it was she was about to spill then decided not to, out of her before it retreats to the vault of her mind where all her secrets are held.

“What was that, Siri?” I goad her. “You’re not too young to be a cop?”

I am more than twice her age. I should be able to crush her, but she won’t let me. She arches her back and she lifts her cheeks and she silently dares me to keep going, keep punishing. I can tell her ass will wear out before her iron will does.

I could use my belt on her again. I could use my cane instead. I could make her scream and shriek. I could break her. For a moment, as I hold her over my thighs, her squirming red ass somehow managing to seem defiant, I am tempted to do just that.

Before I go further, I get control of myself. This is not how I handle my girls. Any idiot can brute force a woman into submitting to him. There’s no honor in that, and there’s no point either. Siri might still refuse, and then I’ll have nothing but a marked up girl who hates me and who knows I can’t make her talk.

I smooth my hand over her flaming hot bottom, rubbing some of the sting I put there away again, giving her the comfort she doesn’t deserve. I feel her hips relax, the tension flowing out of her. I am used to young, tender things. I am used to many of them coming with pre-existing damage, which usually manifests in resistance. A woman who has known pain in her past will rarely bow to it in the present. I can tell Siri has been hurt. I can tell she’s had to stand up to power, and also that she’s learned it is best to be avoidant when she does.

When I take on a girl, I have to get to know her. As much as she might be molded to what I decide I want from her, her essential personality always comes into play.

I no longer think Siri is a cop. Her confidence and resistance made her seem above it all at first, but now I’m understanding that her initial resistance to me was the manifestation of serious authority issues. She resists out of reflex. She’s proud and she’s independent, and that’s probably why she was on vacation by herself in Athens, ready to be picked up by my erstwhile delivery man.

I let go of her, just to see what she’ll do. Some girls stay laying over my lap, waiting to be released, afraid of the extra punishment they’ll earn if they do something they’re not allowed. Others escape at speed, desperate to avoid more discipline. Siri gets up, but without any apparent urgency. There is a languid nature to her movement, a casual grace. Even naked and with a flaming red ass, she manages to look cool and collected.

I find myself admiring her. I need to know what her secret is, but more than that, I want to actually get to know her, and not just so I can dominate her. It’s the strangest impulse for a man in my line of work, though I suppose it is normal and perhaps even healthy in the world outside my basement. I’m not used to having normal responses to women. When I sit at a cafe and watch people pass by, it’s hard not to mentally assign monetary values to the ladies I see. My inner world is dark, carnal, and thoroughly mercenary.

Standing, I point to the floor. “On your knees.”

She hesitates for a second. That’s too long. I grab her, twist her, and put my shin to the back of her knees hard enough to make her legs go out from under her. She drops down onto the floor, not as hard as she would have done if I’d just let her fall, but hard enough to shock her.

“So this is where you really hurt me,” she says. “No more Mr Nice Guy, huh?”

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