Page 15 of The Seller

The light swats don’t do anything, as I suspected they wouldn’t. In the days and weeks to come, she will react to these. She will lift her hips and she will present her ass and pussy and she will moan prettily because she will know what it means.

For the moment, there is nothing. She stays in position, because she has no choice, but that’s about it. As my slaps grow harder and start to land faster, her cheeks start to redden and her ass starts to move out of discomfort. She’s getting more vocal behind the gag, her hips are dancing. She’s showing me how wet she is, leaving a little trail of dark moisture where her pussy rubs the bench.

“You liked when I came on you,”I purr. “You’ll love it when my cum is inside you.”

She shakes her head, but her hips lift. It’s funny how the body never lies even when a woman wants it to. Her arousal, at this moment, is incidental. This isn’t about her pleasure. This is about pain. I want her to feel the consequences of her arrogance. She has earned this spanking, the kind all girls need and so few get.

This is pleasure for me, the simple act of skin meeting skin. I love the way a girl’s ass responds to discipline. We’re at a nice point now, where the pink is turning back to red and the message is starting to sink in. I’m serious about this, and she can feel it every time my palm meets her bottom.

Soon we pass the point of satisfaction, through discipline and now we’re into darker territory. This is where she’ll start to get desperate. She’ll wonder if I’m going to stop. She’ll start to think that this might never end, that I’ll whip her ass past the point she can take it.

She has no reason to trust me, and right now I don’t intend to give her one. I need to keep my motivations cloudy and unpredictable. Usually, when training a girl, it’s about giving her something to cling to, some repeatable path to redemption. I’d be telling her what to do to get this to stop. I’d tell her to apologize, or say what I want her to say. I’d make her promise to be a good girl for me. But this time, I’m not giving her any out. I’m just making her ass nice and sore and showing her that it’s possible to be sternly punished for any reason I choose.

When my palm starts to get sore, I switch back to the belt. It’s not heavy and won’t leave impact bruises, but it will leave an impression.

THWAP! THWAP! THWAP! The basement is filled with the sound of leather meeting cheek, and the soft grunts which escape the gag. She jolts with every lash, her entire body responding to the hard swats of my belt. I have to be careful not to mark her too much. At a certain point, pain becomes counterproductive, but there is something Zen in this moment in which neither of us speak, but we are both intimately linked via the lash of the belt whipping between us.

I don’t know how long I go on, but I know when I am done, it is when her ass is a bright red with small stripes at intervals where the strokes of my belt have landed across one another, creating a layer of discipline and discomfort. She is soaked now, her pussy lips gleaming with intense desire she would be ashamed to admit to.

Silence is my ally as I stand back, holding the belt between my hands before walking around to where her flushed face blushes her humiliation. The chain is still around her neck, metal links perverse against soft, youthful flesh.

My belt joins it, the leather looping around under her chin, a second point of contact and control. Unlike the chain, which is relatively loose, the belt can be pulled tighter with little concern. I pull gently on the holed length, making the leather wrap around that soft neck. It’s not nearly tight enough to affect her breathing, but it is an attention getter.

“You’ve been fighting me, Siri, but you won’t win,” I say, my tone measured and calm. These are simple facts. “If you want to avoid another belting, you’ll be polite when I take that gag you’ve drooled all over out of your mouth.”

Siri

This twisted fuck. He’s doing this because I messed with him. Well, I’m not done with him yet. I haven’t even gotten started. He thinks he break me with his belt? The pain in my ass is nothing. I can take so much more than this. I have taken more than this. He has no idea what or who I am - though I know I’ve made him suspicious.

He’s trying to intimidate me with all this pageantry. The days alone, the chain, the ropes, the gag, the belt, it’s all very dramatic, but he hasn’t done anything to me, not really. There are far worse things a man can do to a woman than make her ass sore. We both know that. I’m not going to call his bluff, force him to hurt me, but I’m also not going to give in.

“This game can go on forever, and I enjoy it very much, Siri, so don’t think you’re inconveniencing me one little bit with your sweet games of resistance. It will be your flesh that pays, not mine.”

I know I should give in, let him think he’s winning. But I can’t do that too soon, or too obviously, or he won’t find it as rewarding. I have to play him, just like he thinks he’s playing me.

His hands go to the leather holding the gag in my mouth and I feel my anxiety spike. I don’t want him to take it off. It’s easier when I can’t speak. I can’t make things worse for myself when I am made mute.

My jaw aches as he pulls the gag free. It should feel better to have the use of my orifice back, but it doesn’t. I avoid his gaze. There are too many dark things in it, and I am afraid I will see myself reflected in them.

HIs hand slides under my chin, redirecting my gaze to his face. His thumb strokes my cheek slowly, thoughtfully.

“What is it, Siri?” He asks softly.

He doesn’t even know what question he’s asking, but it’s smart. A less cautious woman might just start stammering and talking, trying to avoid more of that damn belt. Not me though, I learned early in life that there is safety and silence, and all secrets should be kept, most especially those which belong to me.

I stay silent, my only response a slight flaring of my nostrils.

Stavros’ gaze swallows me, but all I can think about is how many women must have been held captive in it before. Did they start to think that maybe he cared about them? Did their desperation make them vulnerable to him? How many of them softened toward him about now, preferred his touch to the solitude and the dark? It would be so easy to submit to him, to become his eager little pet, to beg him for little treat sized pieces of freedom.

“Still fighting me, aren’t you?” He says softly.

Oh he’s good. His patience feels like a gift, as if he’s doing me a favor by not losing his shit at my failure to submit.

“I almost feel sorry for you,” Stavros muses. “If you could just give in, you’d be so much better off.”

“If you’d not be a massively evil fuck…OW!” I don’t get to finish my sentence. He whips the belt from around my throat and lashes it down over my back, the tip of the leather kissing the center of my right cheek.

“Fucking goddamn, fucking fuck,” I curse.

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