Page 18 of UnTrained: Volume One
He crosses the small room and pulls open the door, and I obediently follow him as he walks down a corridor. There are doors at regular intervals, none of them marked, but he stops at one.
“Go on in, baby,” he says, turning the handle and pushing the door open.
I step into the room. The lights are low, but even so, I can make out the few things in the room.
A bench, low to the ground.
A cabinet on one wall.
Aiden steps in behind me, securing the door with a key he slips into a pocket. “Tell me your name, baby.”
I blink at him. “One twenty-seven, Sir.”
He blows out a breath. “No. That’s not your name. That’s a number, baby. Tell me your name. Please.”
His voice is soft, and that’s the clue. I can’t trust this.
Somewhere, in the back of my mind, there’s a name. I’ve learned to fear the memory, to ignore it in favor of my given number.
I shake my head. “One twenty-seven.”
“Fuck.” This time his curse is loud enough for me to hear. He doesn’t seem to mind. “Fuck, baby, I don’t want to do it this way.”
I don’t know what to do. He hasn’t given me instructions.
At a loss, I sink to my knees, tucking my arms behind my back and directing my gaze to the floor.
In my peripheral vision, I can see Aiden as he paces back and forth, then finally stops in front of me.
This time, when he speaks, his voice is different. Hard.
“Stand.”
I scramble to my feet, my gaze still on the ground as I wait for his instructions.
“Go to the bench.” He waits for me to take the few steps to place me right next to the equipment. “Bend over it.”
My stomach flips, knowing what comes next, but I follow his instructions. I lower my body until my hips meet the edge of the padded leather, then rest my torso on the bench.
Aiden stands next to me and rests his hand on my back. “Good girl.” He runs his hand down my spine, over my exposed bottom.
When I tense, he chuckles.
“Don’t worry, baby,” he says, his hand caressing my ass. “This isn’t a punishment. As soon as you tell me your name, we’ll be all done. Okay?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, gripping the bench tight.
My body knows what's coming before my mind can fully process it. The familiar weight of dread settles in my stomach as Aiden moves away from the bench. I hear him cross to the cabinet, the soft creak of hinges as he opens it.
"Tell me your name, baby," he says, his voice still gentle but with an edge of steel beneath it.
I press my forehead against the leather padding. The bench smells like cleaning solution and something else. Fear, maybe. How many others have been bent over this same surface?
"One twenty-seven," I whisper into the leather.
A soft whistling sound cuts through the air, followed by a sharp crack across my exposed bottom. Pain blooms across my skin, hot and immediate. I bite down on my lip to keep from crying out.
"That's not your name," Aiden says, his voice maddeningly calm. "Try again."
