Page 60 of Kept

There it is again. My name, and all those other things. Then I blink, and suddenly the soft, worn brown leather work belt is in my hand, and I’m walking back to the bedroom.

Vincent is standing at the foot of the bed. He’s shirtless now, the macabre black and white tattoos and scars combining over his sculpted frame in a single, beautiful, dangerous package. He looks up at me, and I feel my naked body flush under his gaze.

“Good girl. Fold it in half.”

So I do.

“Now put it in your mouth.”

I watch him for a minute. He’s calm, controlled. I put the belt in my mouth.

“Good girl. Get on your hands and knees.”

I sink to the plush carpet, my eyes and brain having decided to focus on the neat little vacuum lines on the floor.

“Now bring me the belt to punish you with.”

My eyes snap back up to meet his.

Oh. My. God.

I feel the hot burn of humiliation in the back of my throat as I start to crawl. I can feel him watching me. By the time I reach him, tears are running silently down my cheeks. He takes the belt from between my teeth and then tilts my head back so he is looking at my face.

“Get on the bed, hands and knees,” he tells me.

I do as I’m told.

“Now, ask for your punishment.”

I can feel Vincent’s presence behind me, silent, waiting. Patient and calm.

I can barely hear my own voice. “Please.”

“Please what, kitten?”

“Please… punish me.”

I can feel my heart pound, my body tremble. I swear I can hear the blood flowing through the arteries in my own fucking head.

I don’t know what warning I expected, but the sudden, blinding pain spread across my exposed ass steals the air from my lungs. The next one feels like a stripe of fire. I scream and try to scramble up the bed.

Vincent grabs my ankle and pulls me back. “Don’t try to run away. Take your punishment like a good girl.”

Another strike. I reach back and try to cover my ass with my hands.

“Stop. Hands on the bed.”

“It hurts!” I scream.

“It’s supposed to hurt. Hands on the bed.”

I don’t move. He lays a wicked strike across my upper thigh. “Your cute ass isn’t the only thing I can belt. Move the hands.”

Crying, I pull my hands up and wrap my arms over my head, burrowing my face into the soft mattress.

He starts to weave back and forth over my ass with the belt. I can feel the heat radiating off my skin. Then he lays into it, each strike making me scream into the bed, my hands drawn into fists. It’s like fire, burning from my skin into my soul. I’m sobbing, and screaming, and begging.

The belt makes a soft clink when it hits the floor. Despite the throbbing of my skin, something feels… off. Incomplete, tension hanging in the balance.

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