Chapter 10
Ten
Briana
My alarm blaring jerks me awake, but when I reach for it, two things happen. One, I wince in pain. Two, I don’t find my alarm clock next to my bed. The entire nightstand is several feet farther away than normal.
And the alarm is still blaring.
What the fuck.
Cringing, I tug the covers away and quickly rise to make that godawful sound stop.
My legs are wobbly as I slam my palm down on the alarm.
Yes, I have a fucking old-fashioned alarm clock.
It’s plugged into a battery backup so that I never miss class.
Because, the truth is, I’m known to forget to plug in my phone, which causes it to die in the night.
Looking down, I gasp. Yep. I’m naked from the waist down. The only thing I’m wearing is a twisted tank top.
My memory floods back, and I run a hand down my face as I recall the events of last night.
I let my stalker fucking spank me. I’m not even sure if “let” is the right term since he gave me little choice. But I’m the one who blindfolded myself and lay in my bed waiting, anxious for him to arrive. And I knew he was going to spank me.
The problem is, I had no idea he would strike me so hard that I would break down into tears. Nor did I expect him to gag me.
I shudder. I hated that fucking ball gag. And yet again, I remind myself that I’m to blame for its existence. He warned me he would use it if I couldn’t be quiet.
Why don’t I start taking this man seriously?
I stare at the nightstand before stomping across my room in search of my phone. My breath stammers as I take in my desk. It’s so tidy. Everything is in its place—whatever place my stalker has decided my things should be in.
There are notes. Several of them. Sticky notes. They protrude from piles of papers. Others are stuck on my desk and on various other items. One is stuck on my phone.
I yank that one off and read it.
You need to start plugging your phone in at night, princess.
Scowling, I wad up the note and toss it toward the trash can. It misses. I don’t care. I’m cranky. My ass hurts, and my sleep was cut short.
After opening my phone, I find the text thread with Daddy and punch out a message.
Briana: You moved my fucking nightstand?
When there’s no immediate response, I bite my lip and consider my tone. Shit. He’s probably not going to like my choice of words either. Still no response. Keeping my phone in my hand, I jerk another note off my desk. This one is attached to a granola bar.
Eat this, princess. You need fuel before you go to class.
I groan as I toss that note toward the trash can, too, giggling ridiculously when it misses. “Overbearing bossy asshole,” I grumble.
Plucking another sticky from my desk, I draw in a long breath.
I checked over your homework and left you some corrections. Fix your math before you head for class. Spend more time on this subject, princess. I don’t want your grades slipping. If you need help, go to the math lab. They have tutors who can help you understand the parts you’re struggling with.
“Jesus…” I mutter as I open my math homework and lean over the first page. “Holy shit.” I look at my work and his note again. He’s right. I fucked that up. He marked four other problems, too. “Maybe I do need a Daddy.”
Squeezing my eyes closed, I take deep breaths before heading for the bathroom.
I shut the door, take off my shirt, and drop it in the hamper.
No… Not in the hamper because the lid is fucking closed.
My controlling stalker closed my hamper.
I have to snatch up my shirt and open the lid before I can drop the tank inside.
“Fucker.” I’ve never cussed so much in my life.
I rarely did in any of the homes I lived in.
There were always younger kids. It’s only since I arrived here that I started cussing.
It might be partly because everyone does.
Or it could be my overall frustration caused by a certain man who is now controlling my life.
I spin around to look at my ass in the full-length mirror. It’s red but not nearly as bad as I was expecting. The way it felt last night, I thought I would find blood on my sheets. There are no open wounds.
Reaching for the knob to turn on the shower, I stop yet again. There’s a pink bottle of something on the ledge. And another sticky note. I already know what I’m going to find when I lift it.
Use this to remove your pubic hair, princess. Read the instructions. Don’t leave it on longer than it says.
I’m breathing heavily as I read the bottle. Can I do this? Why would I remove the hair on my pussy just because some stranger tells me to?
For a few minutes, I ponder my options. I can end this. I can text him and tell him to fuck off. To never come back. I can threaten to go to the police if he dares to come near me again. That should work. Hell, I bet I could get my brother and his roommates to stake out my house if I needed.
I’d rather not tell Silver how stupid I am, but I could.
After slowly setting the hair removal lotion back down, I start pacing the room. I also chew on my bottom lip. My thoughts are all over the place. If I don’t pull myself together, I’m going to be late for class.
I do have some extra time, though, since someone reset the time on my alarm clock and moved it too far away to reach, forcing me to get up earlier than intended. I stop and twist around to look in the mirror again, wincing when I touch my ass. Fuck, it’s going to hurt all day.
Turning around, I stare at my face. Who am I?
I’m naked, so I let my gaze roam down my body.
Closing my eyes, I cup my breasts and hold them.
I can’t get my mysterious stranger out of my head.
He’s consuming me. I want his hands on my breasts.
I want him to pinch my nipples. Twist them.
Pull on them. Bite them. I want to feel alive like he made me feel last night.
No one has ever made me feel.
My mind wanders to me lying on my stomach, my bottom in the air, his hand holding me down while he spanked me. I flinch as I relive the swats. The sound seems so loud in my memory. The pain increases as if it’s happening now.
I feel dirty for letting him punish me like that. Filthy.
Naughty.
Like a girl who needs discipline.
Do I?
My stalker thinks I do. But is he really a good judge of what I do and don’t need? After all, the man is obviously extremely anal. Why should I be punished simply because he likes the lid on the hamper closed?
I whimper as I relive the sensations. The pain. The release. The tears. It was so intense. A life event I’ll never forget, no matter how much time passes or what my life becomes.
Is something like this sustainable? Just because I craved his discipline doesn’t mean I want him to do it again. But that’s the point, isn’t it? I have choices. I could have cleaned my room. Instead, I opted to experience a hard spanking.
I don’t have to endure that again. I can obey him instead. What would that feel like? Would he also reward me when I’m good?
Tears are running down my cheeks. I don’t even realize I’m crying until I look in the mirror again. Why the tears?
Sadness?
Relief?
Acceptance?
What does that mean? Acceptance? Who’s accepting what? I think it’s me. I’m accepting…myself. It’s like I didn’t really know myself at all, and I’m suddenly finding out who I am. My mystery stalker is dragging me out of me.
Is that intentional? Does he realize what he’s doing?
I’m on a precipice. I need to make a decision. The hair removal is monumental. It’s like a line in the sand. For no particular reason. Using it doesn’t have to mean anything. I can still change my mind about him. I can always change my mind.
But it feels big. Bigger than letting him spank me.
I didn’t really know what to expect after he swatted my ass.
It seems like he’s testing me. Pushing me.
He knew I would wake up today and have doubts.
He’s fucking with me. That’s why he didn’t respond to my text.
He’s still playing with my emotions. This hair removal is a test.
“Fuck it. Don’t be a pussy.” I grab the bottle, climb into the tub, and sit on my sore ass. The cold porcelain feels good against my heated skin. I’ll remember that for next time. If there is a next time.
I squeeze a generous amount of the pink lotion onto my hair and use one finger to smear it around. If anyone walked in here, they would think I’ve lost my last brain cell. I look ridiculous, sitting here with my legs open wide, propped on the sides of the tub, my pussy covered with the cream.
Bending forward, I turn on the faucet to wash off my finger, careful not to get my pussy wet. And then I lean back in the tub and stare at the ceiling. I forgot to bring my phone to use as a timer, so I start counting. It’s a good use of my time to keep my mind off my odd decision anyway.
I count to sixty five times before turning on the water. I hope this hair doesn’t clog the pipes…
Scooting forward, I let the water hit directly against my folds until I’m rinsed clean. It feels good. The stream is hitting my clit, turning me on. But I reluctantly stand, switch the spray so it comes out of the shower nozzle, and grab my shampoo.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m back in front of the mirror, touching myself.
It feels weird. Naughty. I might like it, though.
It’s not like I’m the first woman to remove her pubic hair.
Seems like damn near everyone does. I heard girls talking about it in high school.
I’ve just never considered it for myself.
I need to hurry. I work a comb through my hair.
It’s going to have to be wet this morning.
I don’t have time to dry it or style it.
When I open my makeup drawer, I groan. My stalker seems to have eliminated several of my products.
I guess that means he only left what he approves of.
After applying mascara and lip gloss I rush back into my bedroom, naked.
For a minute, I hold up the dress my controlling stalker set out for me.
It’s new. The tags are still on it. He bought it for me, which means he wants me to wear it.
The only other article of clothing he left me is a bra.
White. Plain. I bought it. He clearly likes my boring bras, though.
I put it on and then the dress, leaving my ass bare underneath.
He told me not to wear panties, and he didn’t leave any out. I’m certain he’s right. The elastic would fucking hurt.
I cringe when I sit down to put my shoes and socks on. It’s not until I’m stuffing everything in my backpack that I check my phone again.
Daddy: I don’t appreciate your tone or your language, naughty girl. You will not speak to me disrespectfully, nor will you cuss. Read through the rules I left on your desk. Both of those are listed.
Trembling, I pick up the rules. He’s right. Fuck.
My phone pings again.
Daddy: Since I assume you don’t want me to spank your bottom again anytime soon, I’ll give you another option.
I won’t always be this lenient, but you’re learning, so I’ll go easy on you.
Pull your dress up, spread your legs, and take a picture of your shaved cunt.
Do it now. Don’t hesitate. I want to see it in ten seconds, princess.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m shaking. I set the phone down as though it’s on fire. I can’t send him a nude. This is madness.
But I also don’t want to endure another spanking.
Fuck it. I’ll take the picture close up. No one would ever know it was me.
I lift my butt off the chair, haul the dress up to my waist, grab my phone, flip the screen, and snap the most scandalous picture I’ve ever seen in my life. When I look at it, I second guess myself.
When the phone pings again, I nearly drop it.
Daddy: You’re overthinking, princess. Send Daddy the picture.
Holding my breath, I do it. Probably one of the biggest mistakes of my life, but I do it anyway. And now I’m staring at the phone. Waiting. It seems like an eternity before he responds.
Daddy: Good girl. Eat your granola bar and get to class. Text me when you’re in your seat so I’ll know you arrived safely.
Aparently, my controlling Daddy is upping the ante today.