“Get up here,” he says. “It’s time to mediate.”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
Jason has the absolute fucking nerve to grab me by the back of my cute jungle jumpsuit and pull me up off my stool. This man is clearly a very slow learner.
“You do what we tell you to do, when we tell you to do it, got it?” He snarls the words in my face.
I throw the remnants of my bloody mary into his face. Tomato juice and vodka are not great for the eyes. He drops me, cursing. I drop my rod on the dock, but I keep my glass and drain the last few dregs of it in triumph.
“That’s it,” Jason says, wiping his eyes with his shirt. “Strike one, two, and three all in one go.”
He props his dirty boot up on the stool and throws me over his knee. The relative difference in our sizes means I am now dangling, my toes and the tips of my fingers similarly bereft of support. My hips are pressed over the hard, flexing line of his thigh in a contact that feels very intimate.
He slaps me. Hard. Hard enough to make tears instantly spring to my eyes — sort of like his eyes watered when I threw my drink in them, I guess.
“We have never had anybody who’s made as much trouble as you have as quickly as you have,” Jason lectures, as if that’s not something I’m going to take immediate pride in. Tears in my eyes or not, I’m glad I’m making his life hard.
Every time he spanks me, I make a new vow of vengeance. He’s not going to get away with this. I’m not sorry, and he can’t make me sorry. They have basically kidnapped me at this point, even if I did pay twenty grand to have this experience.
His hand is big, and hard. His fingers curl around the outside of my cheeks, and every now and again, around the inside. I feel the tips of them grazing against the mercifully jumpsuit-clad but nevertheless extremely intimate parts of me. I don’t think he means for me to enjoy this. I know he doesn’t. He’s trying to use pain and shame to make me sorry.
“You’re a brat,” he growls.
I expect him to tell me that I’m too old to behave this way. That’s usually what unimpressed men throw in my face. They expect me to be tamed by now, for life to have shamed me into the submission shared by so many of my friends, a sort of gratitude to just be allowed to be around. I’m not ashamed of myself. I don’t back down, and I’m not sorry. I’ll never be sorry, no matter what he does.
This does fucking hurt, though. Every slap brings with it ache and heat and sting. I’m going to be feeling this long after he stops, which is precisely what he wants. He’s a goddamn sadist. I know sadists like to see that they’re inflicting pain. I’m not giving him the satisfaction. I am, however, giving him my most creative swears and curses.
I lose count of how many times he spanks me. Well over a dozen times. Maybe two dozen. His big, meaty, overgrown palm meets my ass over and over again.
Not all is lost, though. I still have the tiniest drops of my drink in my hand, and Soren has rescued my rod. That was nice of him. Mid-spank, I lick the glass. It has to help.
“Okay, that’s enough of that.” Jason sweeps the glass out of my fingers and hands it off to Soren. “You need to take this more seriously, or it’s going to get a whole lot worse. There’s a lot of bamboo here, girl.”
I have no idea what that threat means. Maybe it’s some kind of military thing. I don’t get a lot of time to process whatever it was, anyway, because he’s spanking me again, and harder this time, to make up for the few teaspoons of alcohol I got into my system.
“Ow! Christ! Okay! I’m sorry!”
That’s what he wanted to hear, I guess, because he tips me up onto my feet and gives me a stern stare. He thinks he’s made some kind of an impression. He has, but not the impression he thinks. My ass is stinging and sort of tingly. I feel excited and hot and sexy. He doesn’t know this about me, but I love a fight. Even if I lose. Maybe even especially if I lose.
“You’re an asshole, and I hate you.”
My words just make him smirk. “Hate me all you like. Do as you’re told.”
“Nope. No. Not going to do that.”
“Then get used to having a sore ass.”
“And you can get used to having your ass sued, buddy.”
“I’m not your buddy, girl.”
“I’m not a girl. I’m a woman. With a lawyer on retainer. So. Just you wait.”