“I don’t want to edge anymore. Don’t make me.”

“Do as you’re told.”


I imagine he slaps my face and the sound echoes through the room. Tears well up, but I look back at him, angry, defiant.

Another slap to disorient me further. It nearly knocks me off my feet, and slightly breaks my resolve.

And then, before I can decide to obey, a hand in my hair, dragging me to a chair, dragging me over his lap, pushing my face into the floor. Hard, furious slaps.

The attack on my bottom makes me squirm, but I don’t scream until he shifts his focus to my thighs. The back of my legs, in between my legs, and his hand hurts more than I remember. It’s too much.

I blurt out an apology.

A plead.

He ignores it. If anything, he spanks harder still.

My screams turn into sobs. I give in. I give up.

And then, it’s over, and he is helping me up.

He hugs me tightly. I cry into his chest. His arms around me are safe. I no longer want to fight him.

His hand between my legs. “Look how wet you are, little slut. And you still don’t want to touch?”

His fingers on my clit feel good. I sink further into his touch. My fury melts away. “It’s only day six, little girl. You’ve got a long way to go.”

Don’t be scared of all the different emotions, denial tends to bring a lot of things out of us, as long as you feel safe, explore how you feel, and maybe why. It’s all more powerful than you think.

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