Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“No, you know what? You’re right. Half right. I am afraid of what you can do to me. I mean, I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours, and I already wear the marks to show me exactly how the next three years will go.”
“Do as I say, and you’ll survive.”
“By survive, you mean walk away after my time is up? What about after? Do you know the suicide rate of Willow Girls these days?” I feel my voice rising, wavering with emotion. “Do you?”
“Helena—”
“Why do you do it? Why take the girl? Now, I mean, in this day and age.”
“I told you, tradition.”
I shake my head, because that’s not it. He’s too modern for this. “There’s something else. There has to be.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Does it matter? I did take you. You’re mine now. That’s all you need to worry about.”
We stand quietly, me watching him, him watching me.
He’s right. It doesn’t matter, not for me. Not anymore.
“Come with me.”
He almost has to drag me up the path to the post, my legs growing heavier and heavier as we get nearer. When we finally stop in the clearing, I stare at my feet in the grass.
“Look up.”
“I don’t want to.”
He moves behind me, holds me to him, and forces my head up by my chin. “Look up.”
I do. And it looms over me, this stone post buried in the ground with shackles hanging from the top. I don’t want to look too close because I see marks on it, areas that are worn smooth, and dark, human stains.
He walks me closer to it, and I’m powerless when he trails his fingers softly, like feathers, down my arms and captures my wrists. My heart races as he drags them upward, and the metal of the cuffs is cold when he closes them around my wrists.
“I didn’t do anything,” I say weakly.
“I have a question for you,” he says, ignoring my comment, sliding the tips of his fingers back down my arms, to my sides, into the opening at the sides of the dress to cup my breasts. He kneads my nipples into points, and I swear I can feel his touch at my core.
I try to protest but my head drops back into the crook of his neck as he slips his right hand out and slides it lower, down to the front of the skirt of my dress, underneath it to my thigh, and up to my sex.
“Does it turn you on as much as it does me?” he asks, grinding his erection against my back while his fingers work my pussy.
I turn my face a little, so I can see him.
“It turns you on to have a woman bound to a whipping post?”
I suck in a breath when he pinches my clit.
“Not any woman. You.”
“Me. A Willow Girl. A Willow Whipping girl.”
He grips my hair and brings his mouth to my ear. “My Willow Whipping Girl.”
I shudder.
“Now don’t bite.” He kisses me, and I don’t bite, not this time. He slips his tongue inside my mouth. I’m so wet when he turns me, and the chains easily accommodate him.
Sebastian draws back and reaches behind my neck to untie the halter top.
I wonder if he planned this. If this is what he intended all along, giving me this particular dress. And I think the answer is yes when it falls to my feet and I’m naked and bound.
He pulls back to look at me, His fingers are working my pussy, and I’m so wet, I can hear myself.
“Come, Helena.”
“No.”
“Come.”
“I don’t want to.”
I close my eyes, and he cups my ass with his other hand and squeezes. The pain makes me flinch, but then he kneads my clit, rubs it, smearing my own moisture all over it, and I suck in a loud breath and I know it’s useless to fight him. I’m close, I’m so close. I open my eyes and see his smile and draw back or try to.
“I hate you,” I say, the words forced as my knees buckle and I come. I come so hard it’s running down my legs and I can hardly breathe because it feels so fucking good.
He leans in close to my ear, still working my clit, still squeezing my ass. “Come on the post where your ancestors have been whipped raw. Where I’ll whip you when your time comes.”
I’m listening to him, my body shuddering with this forced pleasure. He doesn’t let go of my pussy when it’s finished, when the orgasm passes. Not yet. Instead, fingers smeared with his juices, he slides them backward, to my ass, and rubs and watches my face as he does.
“It’s not all bad, is it, the whipping post. I’ll teach you to come even when it hurts.”
And as if to prove his point, he crouches down and cups my ass and squeezes hard, hurting the bruised flesh as he closes his mouth over my too sensitive clit and sucks. I come again, come on his tongue until I’m almost limp, my legs no longer able to hold me up.