Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 52915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
“Easy, princess. I am taking you to your kingdom.”
“I don’t want to go to any kingdom. I want to go back to my apartment and I want to finish cobbling this paper together. Please let me go. Please.”
He looks at me with some measure of sympathy. “You are terrified,” he observes. “You tremble like a little bird in my arms. Do not be scared of me, princess.”
“My name isn’t princess. It’s Emma.”
“Emma. A simple but lovely name. I confess I am surprised, typically a princess will have a longer, grander moniker.”
“Actually, its Emmaline. But everybody calls me Emma.”
“Everybody will call you Princess Emmaline from the moment of your introduction,” he says. “You will be the highest in the land, my very own queen.”
He believes what he is saying so intensely that there’s a part of me that almost begins to believe him, not because I think what he is saying is true, but because female survival instincts have in large part relied on agreeing with delusional and violent men since the dawn of time.
“Breathe,” he says. “You are pale and yet flushed.”
That makes no sense, and yet I know precisely what he means. I feel like I might faint.
“Please let me go,” I repeat. “I have a very important paper due tomorrow.”
“Once we are married, you will have the last paper you ever need.”
Christ. He’s full crazy. He loosened his grip on me when he was being more gentle, so I make one last desperate break for it, lunging toward the back doors, while kicking and punching and writhing and not giving a single fuck. I am like an animal fighting for its life.
Again I am grabbed, but this time there is no warning. I find myself not pulled against his body, but instead I am thrown over his knee, his foot perched on the internal wheel well to make a fulcrum over which I flail.
SMACK!
His palm lands heavy and cruel on the seat of my pants. I can barely believe it, but he is spanking me. And he is spanking me hard. His hand lands with firm discipline, as if he is truly disappointed with my actions, as if he cannot understand why I would be making such a fuss.
“Disobedient, spoiled little princess,” he lectures sternly. “You will learn to obey me, or you will suffer the consequences, and I can assure you they will be painful.”
His words are unnecessary. His actions are obviously painful, heat and sting going through my leggings as if they’re not even there with every harsh slap. My fear is being converted to something else, maybe several other things. Outrage, for one. How dare he do this to me? How dare he take me and punish me? Abducting and murdering me, that’s one thing. There’s protocol for that. At this point, it’s practically expected if you find yourself dragged into a van to have your life ended. But to be spanked instead? I suppose I am also relieved, for clearly he does not have any true cruelty in mind. Instead he is contenting himself with control and humiliation. I might yet survive this encounter, though not with my dignity intact. That has been taken from me at the outset. When he handles me I can tell that he does not think of me as a person like he is. I’m not the same kind of thing to him. I’m something to be controlled. I’m a pawn in his fantasy. I’m a princess, but only to the extent he imagines me to be. I have no power and I am not being worshipped or obeyed or prostrated to.
“Let me fucking go!” I curse at him. As my pain levels rise and my fear levels decrease, I start to get mouthy. He’s not stopping spanking me, either. His big hand is beating a tattoo against my ass that would make the military proud. Rattatat tat tat ta! Rapid spanks pepper my rear, every single one of them compounding the sensations flooding my entire body. I never knew a spanking could be this intense and mean so much more than a sore butt.
“I will never let you go,” he replies. I notice that his accent is quite strange. At first he sounded like me when he was talking, broadly American. Now I am starting to think he’s not from around here at all. There’s a very exotic lilt to the way he tells me he is taking me captive forever.
It’s becoming apparent that if I don’t give in, he’s just going to keep whipping my ass. I don’t know how much more of it I can take. I’m on the verge of breaking into tears as it is. I just wanted to go home, and now this asshole is derailing my entire future.
“You’ve got to let me go. You can’t keep me. I’m not a princess, I’m just a girl you snatched off the street, and you have to know that’s not going to play well for you. They’re going to look for me. You’re going to be caught.”