“I know, babygirl. And I’m afraid it’s going to suck even more here in a minute. Are you ready for the soap?”
“Is anyone ever ready for soap in their mouth?”
“I suppose not,” he said with a quiet laugh. “But if you need a few more minutes, you can have them.”
“No.” Blowing out a shaky breath, she forced herself to sit up. “Waiting just makes it worse.”
“Up you go, then.”
Despite her knees feeling like jelly, she managed to stand and cross the short distance to the sink with him. The seconds ticked by, each one seeming to drag on interminably as Owen carefully removed the brown paper wrapping. And when he turned on the tap to wet the bar, the sound of the water running might as well have been the rush of a waterfall.
A froth formed on the soap as he ran it under the water. The sharp, pungent smell of it filled the room, a scent she knew she would forever associate with this humiliating moment for the rest of her life.
She’d agreed to a weekend as Owen’s little girl. And in that instant, standing beside the bathroom sink with her bare bottom burning and aching beneath her short, fluffy skirt, she finally felt like it. Good submissives didn’t get their mouths washed out for talking back and swearing at their Doms. No, this was a punishment reserved for naughty little brats, and she deserved every awful second of what was coming.
“Open.”
She didn’t bother to beg for mercy or leniency. Even as the sharp scent of the soap burned her throat just from inhaling a little too quickly, she parted her lips.
The taste was worse than she’d expected. Bitter, acrid, and unrelenting since he’d wedged the bar firmly between her teeth. Each breath pulled the burn of it further down her throat until she gagged.
Now she begged, letting the silent plea fill her eyes when she looked up at him. But despite the understanding he’d shown her moments before, his gaze was hard and unforgiving.
“There’s an empty corner in the bedroom. Go plant your nose in it with your skirt up around your waist so I can see that naughty little bottom while you think about why you’re there. Go,” he added, the command clear in his voice when she didn’t move.
More tears streamed down her cheeks, mingling with the bubbles from the soap as she hurried to her corner. She’d thought she couldn’t feel any smaller, any more like Daddy’s naughty little girl, but it only took about two seconds in the corner for her to realize how wrong she’d been.
“Words are powerful, Julia.”
She jumped at the sound of his voice so close to her ear. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed he’d somehow walked up right behind her without her noticing. Since her mouth was otherwise engaged, she nodded her understanding.
“Words can be used to build someone up or to tear them down. You use them as a weapon. You fashion them into a whip, lashing out at everyone around you. I imagine some of that is natural to your job, if what I’ve seen on television is any judge.”
There was some truth to that. Chefs had to be forceful, demanding, or nothing would ever get done in a kitchen. But....
“But,” Owen continued, echoing her thoughts, “you don’t just use your words to get the job done, do you, little girl? No, you use them to hurt people, especially if you believe those people have hurt you. And that is why you’re here.”
Thank you, Captain Obvious. It was probably a good thing her mouth was full of soap so she couldn’t get herself into any more trouble than she was already in.
“You taste how bitter that soap is, little one? I want you to remember it. I want you to remember how it burns in your throat and your sinuses. I want you to remember how humiliating it is to stand here like a naughty little girl, with your freshly spanked bottom on display. The next time you’re tempted to use your words to hurt someone, I want you to remember every single second of this punishment. I want those hurtful words to taste as bitter on your tongue as that soap does. I want them to burn your throat so that you remember exactly how harmful words can be.”
Pain blossomed in her chest as if someone had stabbed her just below her heart. She inhaled sharply, too sharply, and the bubbles seemed to fill her throat, cutting off her air.
A second later she was scooped up and carried to the bathroom where she was gently sat on the countertop. The cool granite soothed the ache in her bottom, but it was difficult to appreciate the reprieve when she was gagging on her own soap-flavored spit.
“Open, babygirl.”
She obeyed, forcing her jaw wider so Owen could pull the bar of soap from between her teeth.
“I’m s-sorry,” she managed to gasp out when the disgusting bar was finally free.
“I know, little one. Here. Rinse.” A cup was pressed to her lips, and she let the cool water fill her mouth. She swished it around like mouthwash before twisting to spit it back into the sink.
Again and again she sipped and spat until the cup was empty and she felt like every ounce of energy had been drained from her body.
“Such a good girl,” Owen murmured, brushing the hair back from her face.
“I’m not.” Her lower lip trembled as tears blurred her vision again. “I’m not good. I’m a horrible, mean witch.”