Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 65189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
The unexpected gentleness in his words caught me off guard. I looked up at him, searching his face. Behind the stern expression, I caught a glimpse of something else—a warmth in his eyes that belied his harsh words.
“I…” I started, unsure of what to say. Lucas’ sudden shift from domineering to almost tender left me reeling. “I don’t understand.”
Lucas’ lips curved into a small smile. “You will, in time,” he murmured. His hand moved from my chin to cup my cheek gently. “This is all new to you, isn’t it? The submission, the discipline?”
I nodded mutely, unable to find my voice.
“Don’t worry,” Lucas said softly. “I’ll guide you through it all. But first…” His expression hardened slightly. “I need to assert my authority as fully as I can.”
My eyes widened. My lips parted but no words found their way from my whirling mind to my vocal cords.
Lucas nodded slightly at my silence, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “It would be unjust for me to punish you for touching yourself last night, before we had met, Alice, much as I want to and as lovely as I found the sight of you masturbating. On the other hand, I also want to make sure you understand what I mean by discipline. I’m going to whip you tonight just to teach you how thoroughly you belong to me.”
A shiver ran through me at his words. Part of me wanted to protest, to argue that he had no right to… to just… take possession of my body that way. But the unwelcome voice of a deeper, more primal part of me thrilled at the idea of submitting to his discipline.
“What… what do you mean?” I whispered, as if the word whip—fouet—didn’t have a perfectly good, well-established meaning. I felt my forehead crease as I remembered the way I’d felt when I’d first learned that word, as a sophomore. How I’d tried to pretend an insane, wayward thrill hadn’t gone through my body as I’d read it, softly, on the vocabulary list for the forgettable novel we’d been reading.
Lucas’ eyes gleamed with a mix of sternness and arousal. “I’m going to use the martinet on you, ma chère. And then, once you’ve learned your lesson, I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.”
I gasped, heat flooding my core at his crude words. Lucas’ hand moved to grip my wrist, tugging me gently but firmly away from the wall. “Come,” he commanded. “Let me show you some of the features of your new living arrangement.”
He led me toward the front door, the simple sensation of his touch sending tingles up my arm. When we reached the entryway, he pulled out his phone and tapped the screen a few times. To my astonishment, I heard the lock click open and then closed again, without Lucas touching it.
“As you can see,” he explained, his voice low and intimate, “I have full control over the locks in your apartment. I can come and go as I please, whenever I want.”
A shiver ran through me at the implications. My apartment was no longer truly my own private space. It had never been, I suddenly understood; these high-tech features designed for the convenience of my sponsor had lain hidden all the time.
Lucas guided me further into the living room, his hand never leaving my wrist. He gestured toward the corners of the room, where I noticed the glint of small, discreet camera lenses I had never seen before.
“These allow me to keep an eye on you at all times,” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. “Whether you’re studying, sleeping, or…” his voice dropped even lower, “pleasuring yourself, I’ll be able to watch.”
My cheeks burned with embarrassment as I remembered the footage he had shown me earlier. Even my most private moments would not be hidden from the man who kept me.
We moved into the bedroom, where Lucas approached a locked cabinet I had thought must hide a wiring panel that could hurt me if I touched it the wrong way. With another tap on his phone, it unlocked with a soft click. He opened it and withdrew something that made my eyes widen and my heart thud in my chest.
He held it out to me, as if presenting it. I shrank back from the polished handle and the supple leather lashes that cascaded down from it, curling elegantly around his fingers. Each strand seemed like an echo of the history clearly imbued within the cruel, primitive instrument.
“This,” Lucas said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver racing through me, “is a martinet.” He ran his thumb over the handle, as if caressing an old friend. “Traditionally used in France for both family and school discipline, it has served generations of disciplinarians well. The very essence of its purpose is rooted in teaching not just obedience but also humility and shame.”