Page 46 of Brutal Surrender

Dammit. I knew I should’ve chosen dinner. I reach for my clit. If he isn’t going to do it…

But he grabs my hand and slaps it against the wall.

“I did not say you could touch yourself,” he says.

“You always this bossy to the women you fuck?” I say before thinking.

“Yes,” he answers, sounding amused by my question.

“I hope you get reincarnated as an Omega, then maybe you’d be less of an asshole.”

“I love it when you talk back to me. Gives Daddy a reason to punish his little girl.”

Uh oh.

He replaces the handheld showerhead and looks around. “Now let’s see what we can do here.”

He picks up my blouse and wrings out some of the water. Grabbing my wrists, he ties them together in front of me with one sleeve. He ties the other sleeve to the rainfall showerhead centered above, pulling my arms straight above me. Grabbing my panties, he squeezes some of the water out before stuffing them into my mouth.

“No more talking back to daddy,” he warns with a wicked smile.

He rings out most of the water from his shirt, which he uses as a whip, smacking it against a breast. I jump. He whacks the other breast. Dammit. How can damp shirt hurt so much? He aims the shirt at my buttocks next, striking them half a dozen times. I groan. I knew better. Why did I have to say anything to him?

Tossing the shirt onto the shower bench, he takes the showerhead, which is still running. “Spread ’em.”

I spread my legs as far as I can, which isn’t much without dangling from the showerhead. I don’t know how much weight it can take.

Seeing that, he stands behind me and lifts my right leg with his free hand before aiming the shower between my legs.

Finally!

The warm water sprays against my pussy and clit. It feels great. He brings the showerhead closer to me, increasing the force hitting my body.

Yes, yes!

The nearness of his body to mine—at times I brush against his hardening cock—his forearm cradling my leg beneath the knee, and the steam swirling around us add to my mounting desire.

“I’m going to be nice and give you an out, a choice,” he says, lowering the showerhead, to my disappointment. “Your real name or more spanking. Nod if you want to give me your name. Shake your head if you want the spanking.”

Fucker. He’s always putting me between a rock and a hard place. At least he’s not trying to get me to name Brady.

“Do I get to come either way?” I try to ask.

Setting down my leg, he removes the panties so I can repeat the question.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he answers.

Double fucker.

He stuffs the panties back into my mouth. Putting back the showerhead, he grabs the shirt again. Standing in front of me, he says, “You realize I’m going to figure out who you really are anyway.”

I realize I’m probably not making the smarter choice, but I can handle a spanking.

The subsequent whack makes me think I might eat my words. The shirt hits me everywhere: my legs, my ass, my breasts, my belly, my mound, my arms. His backhands are the worst. That’s when the impact stings in addition to the deeper thudding pain.

“Change your mind?” he asks.

I shake my head. I’ve come this far.

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