The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales(58)
“Then why do you do this?” she panted, once Nathan had planted the fifth paddle swat lower, catching the tops of her thighs. “You could always just tell Mother that you carried out the punishment without actually having done it.”
Nathan remained silent.
“You’re just too much of a coward to lie,” she went on taunting him. “And even though you won’t admit it, you’re some kind of sick sadist who enjoys paddling his stepsister.”
“I swear to fucking God, Ella,” Nathan snarled, “if you don’t shut up right now, I’ll… I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” She gave a hollow laugh. “Punish me? Send me to bed without any supper?” A great wave of fury consumed her and she used that surge of energy to push herself up off the desk and spin around to face him. “You don’t seem to understand,” she said, grimly. “There is absolutely nothing you could do to me to make my life worse. I have nothing. I am treated as though I were nothing. I am at your beck and call every hour of the day, and often during the night as well. I’m given impossible tasks purely so you and your evil witch of a mother can exercise your sadistic urges and find ‘excuses’ to punish me. I have no life!” Her heart pounding, she stared him down, trying to find some trace of humanity or humility in Nathan’s eyes, but they were cold. Blank. Uncaring.
“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.