3. Mandi
Jason King is six years older than me. He’s bigger, stronger, and just as mad at the world as I am.
He wears his blond hair shorn short, and his beard wilder and more dangerous. The combination sparks my genuine interest in a way that makes me feel awake in a world of sleepers, and coupled with the threatening authority that radiates from his deep, rumbling voice and harsh gaze, I’m hooked.
His angry grip was enough to choke me one-handed, and the power he could wield over me should have scared me, but it lit a fire inside me, instead.
I want more, but I don’t know how to get it.
He let me off with a warning the first time we met, and he made it seem like he cared, but he’s been keeping his distance ever since. Every time I look his way, hoping he’ll return my smile, he turns his back. And maybe I’m used to that kind of reaction from people I want to notice me, but for some reason, it hurts more when he does it.
He made me feel seen for a moment, but now I’m invisible again. I’ve been desperate to feel as important as I did that night, but he’s clearly not interested.
And why would he be? I’m pointless. I don’t even know why I exist, and lately, I’ve been spending too much time thinking that maybe I shouldn’t.
So I’m drunk.
Drunk enough to feel comfortably numb.
But not so drunk I can’t sense the danger I’m in when the boys fighting over me turn feral.
I’ve trained them to think I’m nothing but a fuckable prize, but from the panic rising through my inebriated haze of thoughts, I know I don’t want to be. The winner of their bloodlust-induced brawl will come to claim his right to my body — he’ll turn his wildly inflamed aggression on me, and the sex will be ugly. Violent.
This isn’t the way I want to die. And that’s motivation to want to live long enough to choose differently.
One thought enters my mind and refuses to leave. A voice, really. His voice.
Make better choices.
It’s a command, more than a suggestion, and the urge to obey it sobers me enough to climb off my fallen-log perch and stand.
The choice I have is to stay, or to go, and I know which was best.
I stumble through the woods, to where we’d parked on the old dirt road. I search the trucks for keys, find some, and get behind the wheel.
The door is ripped open before I fit the key in the ignition. I’m pulled roughly to the dirty ground and pinned by the bulk of a muscular man.
It’s happening. They followed me. The brawl is over, and I’m about to be claimed by the out-of-control victor.
I fight.
And my captor hums, like he’s enjoying the battle. “Keep it up, Princess. Make it hard for me, and I’ll punish you twice as bad.”
I freeze.
“Mmm… Good decision,” Jason purrs in my ear. “Better than the one you were about to make.”
He hauls me off the ground and shoves me into the passenger seat of the truck I was about to steal, before climbing in behind the wheel himself. He drives toward the lake, and I have so many questions, but my pounding heart stays lodged in my throat.
He finally stops, yanks up the parking brake, and proceeds to carefully rub down every surface he’s touched. He doesn’t speak until he’s done. Then — “Get out.”
I do as I’m told and look around.
How long will it take me to walk home from the discreet, wooded cove he’s taken me to? It might be faster to swim. Either way, home is where I’m headed. As bad as his reputation may be, Jason King won’t keep me against my will.
Is it strange that I don’t fear him or believe he’d hurt me? This stranger and known criminal who threatens me with words and possessive strength while he touches me as if he has every right to?
“Come.” He takes my hand and pulls me through the trees until we enter a small clearing. “Down,” he growls, gripping the back of my neck and shoving me to the ground.
My landing is cold and damp, but softer than I expected. The moss cushions my hands and knees, but it does nothing to lessen the severity of his tone.
“Do you know what you did wrong tonight?” he demands to know.
I hunch smaller and nod.
“Use your words, Princess.” His voice is gruff.
He sounds angry and impatient, so I hurry to answer. “Yes. I know what I did wrong.”
“And?” he asked expectantly.
And what? I beg my alcohol-blurred mind to sharpen. “I’m sorry?”
He laughs, the sound hard and cold. “You will be.”
He walks around me in a slow circle, his big boots silent on the carpeted forest floor. He comes to a stop in front of me, and I stare up at this huge, shadowed figure of strength, who’s giving me all of his attention without my needing to beg for it.
He reaches down and strokes my neck, trailing his finger under my chin to keep my face raised to him. “Close your eyes,” he commands. “The moon will break through the clouds soon, and I don’t want to see your worthless tears.” He releases me and stands with his arms crossed over his chest, until I do as he’s said.
Blind to what he might do next, I swallow hard and wait for my next instruction.
“Tell me what you did wrong, Princess.”
“I let things go too far.” I wipe the tickle of a tear from my cheek. “I shouldn’t have let those guys get that carried away. It was dangerous.”
Jason laughs again. “It was. And it was wise to leave when you did. It seems you’ve learned a valuable lesson about what you will and won’t subject yourself to, and that’s a good thing. But that’s not what I’ll be reprimanding you for.”
His words leave me both relieved and fearful.
He sounds almost proud of me, for leaving the dangerous situation, but he also left a threat hanging in the air. He’s promising discipline for something, but I don’t understand what else I’ve done wrong. “What will you punish me for?”
“For the high-risk, thoughtless behavior that led to my intervention,” he says without delay. “Alcohol makes bad decisions seem like fine ideas, and you only know how to make poor choices, so drinking alcohol is not an acceptable activity for you, Princess. How much did you drink tonight?”
I shrug. “Maybe quarter of a bottle of vodka?”
He grunts softly. “Don’t lie to me.”
“Half,” I say quietly. “Give or take.”
“Half,” he agrees. “Too much for a girl your age and size. Where did you get it?”
I sigh into the quiet night, not wanting to admit what I did.
“How about I tell you?” Jason suggests. “You made a deal with Stepdaddy. Flashed your tits and told him you’d suck his cock next time Mommy took the little one to dance class.”
I stop breathing. There’s no way he could know such a thing without having seen or heard the deal being made. Has he been watching me? He must have?—
“How many sets of headlights did you see on our way here?” He interrupts my thoughts with his change of subject.
I shake my head, confused. “Sorry?”
“Playing dumb won’t help you here, Princess,” he snarled. “How many cars did you see on the road from your wayward forest fuck-fest to your current location, where you will learn what it truly means to regret your actions?”
I gulp. “I… um… I don’t know. Some? Maybe six? Seven?”
“Nine,” he says with certainty. “Nine cars. That’s at least nine lives you would have endangered with your thoughtless stupidity. Ten, if you include your own. Driving drunk is not an acceptable decision, Amanda Warren. Don’t do it again. Ever.”
I hang my head in shame. He’s right. I am stupid. I wasn’t thinking, and I could have gone off the road or crossed the center-line and killed someone. No big deal if it was me, but what if it’d been a family on their way home, kids sleeping in the back?
Jason takes a calm step closer, pats the top of my head, and then slowly strokes my back, as if I’m his pet. His attention is both wonderful and unnerving. The care being taken in each touch is something I can feel in my bones, but the threat of punishment still lingers in the background, and the anticipation is torture.
“You haven’t been shown a lot of kindness, so I understand your confusion about the value of your life,” he says softly, bringing tears to my eyes. Does he know the way he’s touching me is the most kindness I’d felt in… maybe ever?
“You might think it’s okay to be reckless with your life, and it’s not for me to convince you otherwise,” he continues. “That’s a journey you’ll need to complete alone, if you’re to believe it. But I’ll be making sure you leave this clearing convinced it’s never okay to be cavalier with the lives of others.”
“Will you punish me?” I ask in a whisper.
“Not so quietly, Amanda,” he scolds. “Own your words and your behavior. Was that a scared question or a remorseful request?”
“Request,” I confirm, more loudly.
“Ten strikes,” he says in a cool voice, as he slides the short skirt of my dress up onto my back, to expose my thong and bare buttocks to the cool breeze. “One for every life you would have risked. That’s how many times you’ll feel the sting of my hand on your ass, Princess.”
He raises goosebumps across my skin with a gentle pass of his hand over his target. “You’ll feel a fraction of the pain that can be caused when a drunk gets behind the wheel of a death machine, but when I’m done with you, you’ll know to make a safer choice next time. Do you agree that the punishment is fair?”
I nod, my head spinning from the way he’s touching me. It feels good in a way I haven’t experienced before. I’ve been touched on my ass plenty by the boys about town, and my stepdad when I cornered him into sneaky positions I knew he couldn’t resist even in mom’s presence, but Jason has a completely different style. Possessive, but nurturing.
He handles me as if I have value. Not like I’m some fragile or breakable treasure, but definitely worth something. Like he cares what I feel and doesn’t plan to enjoy the pain he’s promising, despite his clear desire to inflict it.
It’s the strangest feeling, to be subjected to these opposing forces, and knowing his pleasant stroking will soon be replaced by a crueler treatment makes his gentle touch all the sweeter.
He seems to know just how to make me feel sorry the pleasure will end, and then he delivers the first stinging slap.
It’s so sharp, it takes my breath and lights my skin on fire. The whole side of my ass tingles with the throbbing heat, and I rock forward to rest my forehead on the cool moss with a moan.
“One.”
He presses his big hand to my inflamed skin, and the vibrations that pass between us are indescribable. I have no frame of reference to measure what I’m feeling against. It’s as if he wants to soothe me and hurt me all at once. I can feel the tremor in his hand — the power in him, being restrained. He metered his touch, so I would take my punishment and receive the message I needed to hear.
“Your behavior was unacceptable.” Another sharp slap. I gasp again, and then press my ass into his palm when it comes close enough to make my skin hum.
“Two.” His tone remains firm and clear.
Nobody has ever struck me like this. I’ve been slapped and dismissed more times than I can count, but on the rare occasion anyone’s bothered to reprimand me beyond that, I’ve only been isolated and sent somewhere I could be more easily ignored. Never has someone delivered a punishment that took the kind of stamina and effort Jason is putting into this.
“I will not tolerate such disregard of safety from you.” He slaps the same spot again, leaving my skin ringing with his mark. “Three.”
Four, five, and six come hard and fast on my other cheek. I moan into the earthy moss, not because of the pain or the heat, but because it feels so good to be found and held accountable for the wrong I’ve done.
How many times have I acted out, hoping for such a reaction, only to go unpunished?
Seven, eight, and nine land dead center, to bridge the achingly untouched gap between the pulsating heat of the sides of my buttocks, and I keep my ass high, knowing I have one more to come — and wanting it more than anything.
Jason’s firm hand rubs my ass in circles, and I rock with the movement, hypnotized by the blood rushing in my veins and the surface of my skin, and the incredible sense of peace that’s almost within my grasp.
I’m on the edge of redemption, and I can feel how sweet it will be on the other side.
The more he rubs me, the more I need that final slap, but it doesn’t come. Tears of need are running down my face and my legs, and his hand keeps circling, circling. He smears the moisture of my arousal over my thighs and ass with each pass of his hand, until I’m covered and trembling from the intensity of my yearning and the cool night air.
I crave that last slap like I crave my next breath. Not knowing how to find relief without it, I beg for it. “Please.”
He slow his hand, but increases the pressure. “Promise me it’ll never happen again, Princess.”
The way he says the pet-name is completely different to how I’ve become accustomed to his using it. Previously, he made it sound like an insult — a name for a spoiled brat who can’t behave herself — but now it makes me sound as if I’m precious. Like he’s calling me Princess because I’m his future queen.
It’s then that the truth of Jason’s actions become clear.
The pleasure and pain he’s delivered haven’t been in opposition. They’ve been working together to show me one thing — someone cares about what I do. Cares enough to correct my course. What I do matters. I matter. To the man delivering my sentence.
I’m not alone in the world. I don’t need to act up or scream more loudly for someone to see or hear me. He’s here. With me. Showing me that I’m noticed. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, and I will promise him the world if he asks for it.
“I promise.” And I mean it.
Tenstrikes my pussy with a wet splatter, and its sting sends a wave of sensation crashing through me that I can’t comprehend.
The impact thrusts me forward, and I collapsed to the forest floor in a twitching, moaning heap as my core shakes, my pussy squeezes, and my head goes fuzzy with pure joy. Pleasure courses through my veins, and I become too heavy to move and so light I can float at the same time.
Jason’s weight comes to crowd me, keeping me grounded in the bliss when I would have drifted far away. “Good girl,” he purrs in my ear, as I writhe and shudder beneath him.
He holds me until I quiet, and then he gathers my spent body in his arms and carries me home. He leaves me standing on my doorstep an hour before sunrise and walks away without a word. As if maybe I haven’t mattered after all.
But he showed me a glimpse of the other side, and I’m already addicted. There’s nothing I won’t do, to feel that again.
The days of summer roll on, and I stay on my best behavior, hoping he’ll see me and praise me for my efforts. I’m full of secret smiles when I see him around town, but he remains immune to my flirty glances and barely looks my way.
All I want is for him to come closer, but he won’t, and that hurts so badly I can barely stand to live.
I resort to old habits to lure him in, hoping to ease the pain in my heart any way that I can. I’m so afraid that without him, I’ll die.
And nobody will even notice.