Chapter 6 #2
Someone had lined a table with butcher paper, treating the damned leaves like the toxic substance they were. She gratefully leaned forward and let them fall from her arms.
Her breasts and sternum ached from contact, her fingers were already swollen, and her palms burned like she’d rubbed them across a stovetop. She forced herself upright and adjusted her grip on the panties and bra.
“Bra first,” Silas told Boone, tone conversational. “Make sure the leaves go around the cup and especially along the strap. Let’s pick an extra special one for the nipples.”
Boone nodded and met Willow’s gaze for a long, silent beat. No warmth in his eyes. No mercy. Just quiet determination with the full force of his displeasure behind it.
He put the panties on the table and held the bra. “Turn around, mouthy little fuckhole.”
He fastened it around her ribcage first, and leaves were wedged between cotton and skin, each a promise of torment.
He lined three inside the base of a cup, held it to the underside of her boob, and had a long, horrifyingly casual conversation with Silas about which leaf would give her nipple the sharpest, most intense sting.
Her breath came hard and fast when Boone’s massive thumb and forefinger shaped the chosen leaf around her nipple like a sadist folding petals around the bud of a flower. She held back a whimper when he layered more into the cup’s top seam.
Then came the arm strap, and once it was up, he tucked barbed green leaves along the underside of the elastic.
The same sadistic ritual played out on the other breast. By the time it was done, she was shaking. Blinking against tears.
“We’re going to need more leaves to properly punish the mouthy cocksleeve,” Silas said, looking over what was left on the paper.
“Another two dozen, mouthy bitch. Go.” Boone’s voice brooked no argument.
Her feet obeyed before her brain caught up, moving pantiless in a torture bra like a prisoner to her own execution.
Her hands were already raw and inflamed, burning like the fires of hell.
The barbs had driven deep, and her skin throbbed like it was covered in microscopic acid-tipped needles.
Tears streamed down her face, her vision blurring until the leaves swam like mirages.
She blinked hard, again and again, forcing her body to obey.
Behind her, the men talked as if she weren’t there.
“Can’t believe Kenny picked finishing the oil change over this,” Silas said, voice light with amusement.
Boone’s chuckle was low and cruel. “Not being here’ll make the interrogation later more interesting.”
Willow’s gut twisted like someone had yanked her intestines into a tight knot. She was going to have to explain her actions to Kenny. Look him in the eye and own every fucking disrespectful word. A violent full-body shiver coursed through her, and the tears came faster.
Still, she kept picking. One vicious leaf at a time. Each one clung to her fingers, some of them curling against the flesh and releasing a fresh wave of sting.
She could carry about a dozen in each hand without damaging them, and when she returned, the men had scooted the earlier leaves to the left side of the paper. Boone motioned her forward without a word.
She laid the second load gently on top, and before she could move away, Boone scooped her up and placed her on the cleared section of butcher paper. Flat on her back.
The sting began instantly, sharp pinpricks shooting up her spine where a few stray leaf pieces remained.
Boone’s voice came short. Harsh. “Grab your ankles, foulmouthed cumbucket.”
She held them up and out, wanting to apologize, to tell him how sorry she was, but he’d said no more words, and she wouldn’t disobey again.
Or at least, not today. Probably not for another couple of weeks, maybe even months.
She grit her teeth, trying to stay still as Boone moved between her legs and began layering leaves with distressing precision.
He started at her outer lips, and the moment the first leaf brushed her folds, her hips jerked. The pain was instant and mind-ripping, poison penetrating until every sensitive nerve along her slit screamed.
He didn’t stop.
Boone used broad fingers to tuck leaf after leaf between her inner and outer labia, and she felt each new patch of stinging nettles rake across skin too delicate for this kind of torment. She tried to keep still, tried to be good, but her legs trembled uncontrollably.
A long whine escaped when he circled the outside of her hole with them.
And then he started toward her clit.
Silas’s voice was calm and helpful. “No. Lift the hood up, get it all the way up so you can tuck them in completely around it, and angle the little hairs aimed at her clit, with another layer angled out, toward the inside of the hood. Make her think twice before she mouths off to you like that again.”
Boone followed the instructions to the letter.
She cried out when he pinched the hood between his fingernails to pull it up, and then came the leaves. One tucked beneath the hood and pressed around it as he’d done her nipple. Another layered over it, barbs angled with surgical malice before he carefully situated the hood back down.
More pressed into the top of her cleft.
Every cell of her cunt felt blistered and inflamed. Her breath hitched, and her head rolled back against the table as she whimpered.
The panties went on over her legs, and Boone held the fabric to her cunt while he helped her stand and then pulled them up.
She thought they were done, but Silas’s voice came from behind her again. “Bend over, disobedient fuckhole.”
Her muscles didn’t want to move, but she obeyed. Moved like a broken doll, barely aware of how her legs turned her around, how her body bent over the table.
She folded an arm on the table and rested her cheek on her upper arm to keep her face away from the torn leaf pieces.
Boone peeled her panties down enough to tuck nettles against her asshole, and the leaves stuck to her raw skin, barbs raking across her rim before he added more down her crack, across both cheeks, layered thick.
She couldn’t stop shaking.
By the time the panties were back in place, it felt like her whole body pulsed with flame. Every movement hurt. Every breath reminded her of her own stupidity. Her arrogance.
Boone helped her into an exercise bra and tight compression bike shorts. She gasped when the material pressed everything tight against her, sealing the fire to her skin and locking it in.
“Workout’s not over,” Boone said, and his words hit her like a fucking death sentence.
“Oh, nice touch,” Silas said. “And then the five-mile run.”
“I’ve decided on her lines,” Boone said.
She’d have sworn her heart skipped a few beats.
“She’ll sit her ass down and write: ‘I must respect my owners and follow every order. I don’t need to understand their reasoning, I only need to do as I’m motherfucking told’.”
He met her gaze. “One hundred motherfucking times.”
Willow’s throat burned as she followed Boone back to the weight room, each step a fresh wave of agony. The leaves clawed at her ass, her nipples, her cunt. The elastic of the shorts forced them deeper.
A sob broke from her chest when Boone reached for the leather strap beside the door — she’d feel it every time her form wasn’t perfect. Striking her ass, probably over the leaves. Pressing them in even more, if that was possible. Maybe her breasts if they were an easier target.
She’d brought this on herself. Her tone, her defiance, her fucking attitude.
Why the fuck had she mouthed off?