Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 55551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“You can’t blame a prisoner for trying to escape, jackass.”
The chip in my head might be gone, but righteous indignation goes a long way toward keeping fear at bay. As long as I remind myself that I’ve done nothing wrong, then anything he does to me is an injustice I just have to suffer through. It’s something that makes me stronger rather than weaker.
He gives me a look that does not bode well for me.
Thorn
To have seen her yesterday, curled up in absolute terror, practically promising never to do anything bad ever again, one would have thought she was cured of her criminal ways. I had allowed myself to think that the beast had been tamed, at least to the extent that she no longer had the confidence to embark on any great displays of disobedience.
I was wrong.
Apparently, even the most timid of humans can sometimes act through fear, overcoming their baser impulses and allowing themselves to contravene laws and social conventions alike.
The moment I discovered her missing, I was struck with a very unpleasant sensation of loss. I have mated this human. I should have been aware of the potential that act had to bond us. Well, to bond me. In the act of taking her, I gave something of myself. I wonder if she feels it too, or if she is just so consumed by her need to escape and rebel that there is no fondness in her whatsoever.
“You are not a prisoner,” I tell her. “You are my owned mate. You are a possession.”
She blushes, her skin brightening and turning a pinkish-red, while her eyes gleam with what I might very well consider to be pleasure.
“A possession, huh?” She smirks at me. “Well, you’re going to have to get a lot better at keeping me for your own.”
I grab her and I start to strip her of the clothing she has no doubt stolen. It tears beneath my hands, made of inferior materials and poorly made seams — though in this mood I doubt there is a garment that could withstand my ire.
“You don’t deserve to be clothed,” I growl down at her. “You haven’t earned the privilege of modesty. After all the mercy I have shown you, you not only have the temerity to continue to break the law, but to flaunt it in my face.”
With the soft, generous curve of her ass exposed, I start the punishment. It is not as public as she deserves it to be. Most of the passengers are confined to their cabins — but it is still happening in an exposed location and that will have to do. I want her to know there is nowhere she can go that I will not reach her.
I did not come unprepared. In fact, I have the little leather lash that is perfectly sized to catch both of her cheeks in one stroke. It is textured like the hide of the beast it came from, and when it lands, it leaves a set of pink scale markings across her deserving flesh.
“I warned you,” I lecture her. “I told you I would be merciful as long as you were good and obedient, and you have been neither. You have forced me to mobilize my men city-wide, to distract surveillance from other targets, and focus it all squarely on you. Once again, you have caused disruption in my territory, and once again you will be soundly, sorely punished for doing so.”
The lecturing is satisfying, as is landing the lash across her cheeks and upper thighs as she squirms and dances in front of me, held by the fabric at the scruff of her neck — but this is not an entirely proper position for punishing her.
I sit down on what is a counter height for these creatures, and I swing her over my left thigh, leaving her dangling with her head toward the deck, and putting the curve of her cheeks on ultimate display. Now I can properly punish this deserving ass of hers. Now I can mark it with my very own brand of discipline.
She is wailing and writhing as I begin the necessary task of properly whipping her. I want her to remember this next time she spots an opportunity for so-called escape. I want her to see a chance to run away and instantly know what it is to feel her bare flesh exposed and on fire.
“Don’t you ever run away from me again,” I lecture, aware that on some level I sound like a disappointed father chastising a bad little whelpling. “Don’t you ever make me worry about you in this way. I have claimed you for my own, and I intend to keep you whether you like it or not. So if you want the privilege of being able to sit comfortably, you had better start understanding your place.”