Chapter 19
The Screams
Jenna
The first thing I do after Ian has let me go is head to the entryway to get my phone from my purse.
But my phone is gone. My nerves twist as I search for it, already knowing I won’t find it.
Ian must have confiscated it. As if that’s not enough to drive my nerves through the roof, I’m worried about bumping into Killian.
I can hear him playing upstairs, so it’s easy to keep track of him, but I still worry he’ll suddenly pounce.
He’s playing one of Liszt’s Transcendental études.
If I weren’t so nervous, I’d probably roll my eyes.
It’s not that I don’t like Liszt—many of his pieces are high on my list of favorites—but Killian always picks flashy pieces that show off his technical prowess.
I much prefer the more expressive, emotional music his dad plays.
The butt plug keeps moving inside me as I go, and when I finally give up and leave the entryway, I’m hot and flushed, my pussy begging for attention despite just having gotten plenty. But that seems like the least of my worries right now.
Part of me wants to march into Ian’s office and demand my phone back—or at least my panties—but he made it very clear his office is off-limits, and I’m not eager to risk a punishment.
I already feel vulnerable enough after everything that’s happened today and with the butt plug shifting inside my ass, a constant reminder of the humiliation.
I also don’t doubt Ian meant what he said about the next punishment not just being ten smacks with a bare hand.
The episode over his spanking bench last weekend was brutal enough; I have no desire to discover what worse entails.
All these thoughts make my belly twist, stirring waves of nausea, so I decide to go lie down for a while in the bedroom.
But rest doesn’t come easily as my mind keeps spinning, so I end up in the music room half an hour early, hoping the piano will grant me some peace of mind.
Playing Schubert’s Impromptu in G-flat major helps somewhat.
It’s one of the pieces I always come back to whenever I feel down.
Even though it’s been months since I played it, the notes flow effortlessly from my fingers, and it has the usual calming effect.
Once the clock strikes two, I shift my focus to “Die Moldau.” Although I wish I were playing the primo part with the melody instead of just the rapid flowing accompaniment, the music still touches me deeply.
When Ian comes in, I glance at the clock, surprised he’s already here. It’s four o’clock on the dot. I can’t believe I managed to find enough peace to forget about time.
My newfound peace is short-lived, though. Ian rouses the dormant unease as he comes to my side and taps my thigh.
“Spread your legs.”
I instinctively do it, not daring to disobey.
Humiliation washes over me when he leans down and lifts the hem of the T-shirt, exposing my pussy. But it’s not my private parts he’s interested in.
He tuts. “You’ve soiled my piano bench.” Straightening, he crosses his arms over his chest. “Get up.”
I scramble to obey, hoping it will appease him, but he remains all strict authority as he stares me down.
“Hands on the edge.” He taps the piano, just below the music stand. “Stick your ass out.” He kicks the piano bench aside to make room.
“I didn’t want to disturb you to ask for my panties,” I say as I grab the edge, hoping my obedience will win me some points.
Ignoring my words, he pushes at the base of the butt plug, making me release a muffled yelp. “Is this what made you wet? Or was it sitting on my lap, feeling how hard I was?”
I squeeze my eyes shut as I realize I have to answer or this will only get worse. “The plug,” I say in a thin voice. I’m not sure it’s just the plug, but that’s the most pressing thing since I’ve been sitting on it for the last half hour, and it’s the easiest one to admit to.
“Such a bad little girl.” He bunches the T-shirt up around my waist and starts kneading my ass with the other hand. “Getting all horny while practicing. Soiling my bench. You’ll get ten smacks.”
I release a relieved breath. The punishment last weekend was hard, but a repeat is much better than what I had feared. Apparently, his warning about something worse was just an empty threat. I adjust my grip on the piano and draw a deep breath. Just ten smacks. I can do this.
When the first one lands, my resolve shrivels as I realize Ian held back the last time.
His big hand lands with a force that reverberates through my whole body, making me shuffle and tighten my grip just to remain in place.
The sound alone is sharp, echoing off the walls, but it’s the burn that bursts into my skin like fire that steals the air from my lungs.
“Stop, please. I’m sorry,” I beg in a choked voice. But Ian delivers an equally hard smack to my other ass cheek. “I’m sorry,” I keep going. “I’m so, so sorry.”
He rubs my fiery skin, and the burn slowly fades. But the memory lingers, sharp and clear, and I tense up as I wait for him to continue.
“Would you like me to draw it out or get it over with quickly?”
I close my eyes and try to think. But my brain doesn’t work. The daze from earlier seems to linger, and the shock of the pain makes it impossible to consider the implications of my choice. So I blurt, “Fast.” I just want to get it over with.
“Fast it is. Stand very still, or we’re starting over.”
Tightening my grip on the piano, I steel myself for the next blow, but Ian doesn’t just deliver one. He rains his hand down over my right cheek four times in rapid succession.
My mouth drops open to let out a scream, but it lodges in my throat, pain taking my entire body in a stranglehold. I can’t breathe; I can’t move. All I can do is stand here, locking up all my muscles as the force rolls through me like an earthquake.
I have barely recovered when Ian lifts his hand and delivers four equally hard blows to the other side of my ass.
The tension inside me coils tighter as more pain bursts through me. It doesn’t just hurt. It shatters. Every nerve feels like it’s tearing apart, every second dragging on like an eternity inside my skin. My vision blurs. My knees threaten to cave in, but my body won’t even give me that release.
“You may straighten,” Ian says.
I loosen my grip on the piano and try to do so, but my legs won’t hold me.
The moment I release the piano, I collapse onto the floor.
Ian reaches for me, grabbing my waist just in time to soften my landing.
The moment I hit the floor, a desperate sob rips from my throat.
More come in its wake, and I curl in on myself, the pain and the shock of everything slashing through me, threatening to tear me apart from the inside.
Ian sinks to the floor behind me and pulls me into his arms.
“Let me go,” I say, trying to pull away, but my protest is weak. When his arms wrap around me, I forget who they belong to. I just need the comfort. I scramble to turn, needing to get closer and cling to him.
“Shh.” He tightens his arms around me and peppers tiny kisses over my head. “It’s over now. I’ve got you.”
The sobs keep racking my body, but it’s not enough to get all the emotional upheaval out. It’s like trying to drain a raging flood through a pinhole. The emotions keep building in my chest, squeezing my lungs and my every muscle until I’m hyperventilating and clawing at Ian’s chest.
“Breathe, Jenna,” he urges, grabbing my face between his hands. “Breathe.”
“I can’t.” I keep clawing at his chest as I stare at him. “It’s stuck,” I say between sobs.
“Just breathe,” he repeats.
I shake my head as I try and fail to get the air past the constriction in my throat.
He turns me around to press my back against his chest, and the panic squeezes tighter, making black spots dance in my vision.
Tightening his arms around me, he leans close to my ear. “Then scream. I’ll hold you together.”
When I can’t snap out of it, he deepens his voice to a resonant growl that reverberates deep inside my soul.
“Scream!”
I manage to draw a few shuddery breaths, then lean forward against his arms and scream.
“Again!” he demands in that same urgent voice.
I scream with the full force of my lungs. The sound echoes through the room, vibrating in the walls and setting the piano strings ringing.
My throat feels raw as I release another scream, but I keep going.
Anger surges through me, hot and livid. But it’s not just from the hurt and desperation of the last two weeks, I realize as I dig my nails into my knees and scream again. It’s the anger of a full lifetime that’s finally getting a release.
“Good girl,” Ian praises, prying my hands from my knees to take them into his own, bringing them into his tight embrace. “Again.”
I keep going, over and over, until my throat feels like sandpaper and I’m drained. The anger is not all gone, but I can’t expel any more. I collapse against Ian, panting hard, yet finally able to breathe.
“That’s it.” He smooths the hair from my damp forehead, and I lean deeper into him. “Did that help?” he asks.
I nod, watching his big hand with visible veins as he brushes it over my arm, down my chest, and across my stomach.
That’s when I notice dried blood on his skin. Two half-moon marks. Shocked, I grab his hand. “Did I do that?” I turn to look at him. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shh.” He leans forward to kiss my forehead. “It’s okay. It’s just a couple of scratches.”
I gasp as I take his other hand and see that the marks are even worse there. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s worth it if it helped.” A smile forms on his lips. “So don’t say it didn’t, because then I’ll have to punish you again.”
I go absolutely rigid, my nervous system so fraught I can’t see his humor.
He pulls me to him. “Shh-sh-shh. I’m just kidding. No more today. I promise.” He pats my hip. “Hold onto me while you lift your ass. I’ll take out the butt plug.”
Heat seeps into my face, and I’m happy to hide against him as I wrap my hands around his neck and push up on my knees.
I whimper as he grabs the base of the plug.
When he jostles it a little, memories come rushing.
That terrible night. Having to remove the butt plug on my own.
Struggling for half an hour before I could get it out because I was so tense.
“Easy now. Just relax for me.”
“I’m scared,” I confess. It hurt that time. A lot.
He releases the plug to spit on two fingers. “Just a little moisture to make it go easier,” he says, smearing the spit around my opening, behind the base. “Now exhale slowly.”
He starts pulling, and I push out a long, shuddery breath.
“Good girl.” He tightens his arm around my waist, steadying me as he pulls a little more.
“Give me a little push, sweetheart.”
I do as he says, badly wanting the intrusive thing out.
“That’s it. Just like that.”
“Nnh.” I groan as the stretch grows painful.
He kisses my temple. “Almost there.”
I give another push, and finally, the plug pops free.
Ian sets it aside and repositions me to hold me close. I slump against him, overcome by the strain of it all. But also strangely calm. I draw a deep breath that brings me the faint notes of cedar and cardamom. His scent. It’s safe. Somehow, despite everything he’s done, he’s safe.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“For taking out the plug?”
I shake my head. “That too, but…”
He leans back to watch me. “What then?”
“I don’t know.”
He grabs my jaw and levels me with an earnest expression. “You’re much more submissive than I could have ever imagined, Jenna. So much more.”
Part of me wants to balk at his assessment. Being a pleaser has never been a good thing—not in the eyes of anyone. But I find no trace of mockery or condescension in Ian’s expression.
It’s a compliment. Maybe even a huge one.