The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales(5)
“Get back over the table,” he said.
“No.” She folded her arms over her chest, marveling at her own audacity but realizing at the same time that she had been speaking the truth—she really did have nothing to lose.
“I’ll tell Mother.”
“Tell her.” Ella’s backside throbbed and she was aware that she must look ridiculous with her pants and panties around her knees, standing up to a man who was only a year her senior, but at that moment, she didn’t care. I’ve snapped, she thought suddenly. I’ve finally reached the end of my rope. It was curiously liberating.
“I’ll ask you one more time. Get back down, take the remaining swats, and we’ll pretend you never had that little outburst.”
She had to hand it to him, he was still trying to maintain the fa?ade of having the upper hand, even if he had lost. And, judging by the look in his eyes, he knew it.
“How many more?” she asked, lifting her chin. For some reason, the realization that she had won this little argument was enough for her to back off. For now. Truth be told, Ella was exhausted, and the sooner they got this little scenario over with, the sooner she could finish the remainder of her daily tasks and escape to bed. She had some serious thinking to do.
Nathan hesitated. “Seven.”
“Three,” she countered.
“Five. Final offer.”
She almost smiled. “Fine. Five more.” Feigning indifference, she turned once more, bending over the desk. “And hurry up.”
The renewed burning, searing pain was an indication that Nathan was trying to make the most of his remaining swats, trying to punish her further for her outburst, but Ella’s mind was on other things and she took each and every one without making a sound.
She wasn’t sure why it had taken her so long to reach this point, but now she had. And she was going to make some changes in her life.
Nathan tossed the paddle aside without another word, and Ella was equally silent as she pulled up her panties and pants and left the study. Anastasia was hovering near the door, eavesdropping as usual, Ella thought bitterly, but she resolutely ignored her stepsister and marched purposefully up to her little attic bedroom. Once there, she flopped down on the bed, ignoring the dull ache in her buttocks, and looked up at the one thing that gave her life meaning.
Oh, Zainon, why can’t you come in on a white charger and rescue me from all this? she thought ruefully, gazing up at the handsome, square jaw, the deep, intense eyes and the shaggy black hair of the man on the poster. Ella had tacked it to the sloping wall in such a way that she was able to see it comfortably when she was lying down.
Zainon Matthews was a musician—no, a rock god. His singles consistently hit the top of the indie charts and he regularly performed to sold out stadiums, with legions of screaming fans all scrambling to get a better look at their idol. He enjoyed the sort of adulation normally reserved for teen popstars; but this was no baby-faced industry puppet. He had real talent, could play several instruments (although no-one could beat him on the guitar) and had a raw, smoky voice which sent shivers down Ella’s spine whenever she heard him sing.
In her view, his God-given good looks were just the icing on the cake.
Anastasia and Nathan, both also big fans, had every album he’d ever recorded, and Anastasia had so many posters of him that she’d once, in a rare moment of sisterly sympathy, given one to Ella. Of her two step-siblings, Anastasia was by far the kinder. Unfortunately, she was also timid, and rarely dared to speak out against Nathan or their mother’s harsh treatment of Ella.
With a deep sigh, Ella closed her eyes, feeling the familiar ache in her chest at the thought that Zainon Matthews was scheduled to give a concert a mere hour’s drive away in just a few days’ time. Nathan and Anastasia both had tickets, of course. Ella had tried everything, she had even fallen to her knees and begged her stepmother to be allowed to go, but the bitch had simply given that infuriating smirk of hers.
“If you finish your chores on time,” she’d said, looking down her nose at Ella.
“Then I can go?” Ella had been so full of hope she’d been unable to breathe.
“That’s what I said.”
What she hadn’t said was that she would hand Ella a list of tasks so ridiculously long that there was no way she would ever be able to get them done in a month, let alone three days. But Ella was no fool, she’d had a feeling there would be some kind of catch. If not an unmanageable list of things to do, then it would have been something else impossible. There was no way she would ever be allowed to do something as wonderful as attend a concert. She never had before, why should things change?
You could go anyway, a small voice in the back of her head told her. After all, what have you got to lose? What would they do to you afterwards? Beat you? Keep you in the house and force you to work your fingers to the bone from morning till night, seven days a week?
Ella allowed herself a small smile at the irony of it all. But she didn’t have any money, no means of transport, nothing to wear and, most important of all, no ticket.
It was all so unfair. Ignoring the dull ache in her bottom, she crossed one long leg over the other, folded her arms behind her head, and stared deeply into Zainon’s light gray eyes, willing him to show her a way. One night. One night was all she was asking for. A few measly hours in exchange for a lifetime of servitude and drudgery, one magical experience about which she could dream and fantasize for the rest of her life. Something amazing to cling to while she scrubbed floors, polished windows, pruned plants, washed dishes, mended clothing, and did the thousand and one other things that toiling in her stepmother’s house involved.