My head swims with the rush of movement, but he isn’t done with me yet. Sands twist around my wrists and forearms, binding them together, before pulling me forward until my face and shoulders lay on the pillow between Augustine’s legs. My legs are draped across his lap and my back bows with the soft touch of his hand. Sands trail down my spine until it coils around my throat.
I am exposed.
Blood rushes to my face, turning my cheeks pink. The whimper that comes out of me is almost as embarrassing as being balanced on Augustine’s lap with my arms pinned beneath me and my pussy spread open, dripping and waiting for what’s to come. He trails a talon across the back of my thigh. His other holds my hip firmly, a sureness, a secure grasp on the world to keep me from falling or floating. I know I won’t fall. I know Augustine will move us if the position becomes too much of a stretch or if my back aches.
But all my focus is centred around the sharp claw dancing across my trembling body. I close my eyes. This is what I need; this time with Augustine will make everything sort itself out. He will straighten out all the chaos in my mind so we can make a list. If I can’t control my mind, he can, and I don’t have to worry about anything outside of the library right now. It’s just us.
“Mon abeille, I can taste your honey a thousand times over and still it would make me hunger with desire. I need your taste on my tongue every morning from the moment you are awake to the moment you go to sleep, and still, I crave you. Seek you out in your dreams to feast on you.”
A blunt finger traces the crease of my ass to my clit, gliding over my slit to smear the mess I am making across my skin. Another whimper escapes me as I try to push myself back into his touch. He tsks, wet finger tapping against my asshole with each sound.
“I have been so patient with you, Joanna, a doting mate who respects their partner’s wishes, but I won’t stand by and let you continue to do this,” Augustine says.
His hand moves, the sharp tips of his fingers scrape across my ass. He inhales sharply as he squeezes and pulls at the heavy flesh. My muscles tighten and relax, my fingers gripping at the sands between them. My skin heats as he prepares me for what’s to come.
We haven’t done this in real life.
In my dreams, Augustine unleashes his true strength. He digs into my darkest desires and makes them a reality. He hunts me, chases me, takes me even when I say no. He punishes me at his whim and showers me with praise and acceptance. There is rarely a time when I don’t feel the echoes of his hand imprinting itself on my skin. It grounds me and makes me want to fight against his hold when he easily thrusts into me.
After this afternoon, I will have a concrete memory of what punishment can be like when I am not taking care of myself like the queen Augustine believes I am. His handprint will stain my skin for hours, maybe even days, if I don’t comply. The very thought that I could carry another mark has me squirming, provoking him before he has even begun.
“I am not sorry,” I tell him. There are no lies when we are like this. Even when I am lying about not being exhausted or feeling spent from work, I will never lie when we are like this.
The first slap is gentle, if that is even possible. It makes my ass tingle and the flesh heat, but I don’t react. I know what he is truly capable of.
“Your attitude will only make your punishment worse, Joanna. Is that what you want?”
“I-” I swallow the words that first come to mind, the ones that will provoke him. That isn’t what I need or want truly. I want to feel. “I want to be worthy, Augustine.”
“So you don’t believe me when I say that you are?” he asks.
“No.” A tear slips down my nose.
The truth makes my stomach hurt. I hate it, yet all the same, I say it. That’s the root of all my problems. I don’t believe that I am worthy of anything. People wouldn’t leave me behind if they thought I was worthy. The more I fight to show people I am, the worse they have treated me. I am forgotten and pushed aside. A Tuesday lunch people won’t remember because I am not worthy of a second thought.
It’s why I am working myself to death. I don’t tell myself that’s the reason, but it is. Patrick showed interest in me, hired me for a job, and kept me. When he’s gone off the rails, he has kept me close. And now he is threatening to get rid of me. Even my toxic boss doesn’t think I am worthy.
“Joanna,” Augustine snaps. The sands around my neck tighten and a shuddering gasp racks through me. “Are you with me,mon abeille?”
“Please,” I beg. “Please, I am here.”
Sand creeps up my jaw and brushes across my cheek as if it were his thumb. Augustine unleashes more sands. They wrap around my thighs, my waist, and my chest until I am bound tightly. The ropes of sand hold me in place and allow my body to fully relax. Both of his hands move to my ass.
“Tell me you are worthy, Joanna.” He commands it with a harsh squeeze of my flesh.
I gulp and sniffle before I say it. “I am worthy.”
The words are sour on my tongue and not at all like the sweet, honeyed words I am used to when we are together. Everything about Augustine is saccharine and divine and golden, but this phrase is tart and makes my chest ache. My mind can’t drown that word in syrupy nothingness. It sits on top of me and keeps me from floating.
“I want you to repeat this affirmation every time I spank you. If I slap you three times in a row, you must say it three times before I continue. I want to hear every word,mon abeille.”
“Yes, Augustine,” I say.
This time, when the palm of his hand lands on my ass, my whole body tries to jerk. The sting radiates through my core and up my spine. Augustine’s hand holds firmly on the flesh while he waits for me to say the words.
“I am worthy.”
The next slap lands on the other cheek, which hasn’t been as warmed up. A wet gasp rushes through my lips. I say it again. The words are still sour in my mouth as I force them out. We continue like this for several more hits. The affirmation comes out of me increasingly sour, the words forced out of my trembling lips.
