She didn’t dare speak while she waited, papers in hand.
Minutes passed.
Her swollen clit burned with the fires of Hell. Her nipples flared with pain every time her breath deepened. She could feel the edges of the leaves moving inside her bra with every tiny motion of her ribs.
Finally, Kenny saved his work and turned toward her.
He accepted the pages and took ten to twenty seconds to look at every page.
“Let me see the pages you scrapped.”
Her stomach clenched. “Yes, Sir.”
She turned carefully, walking like she might trip the pain alarms in her body if she moved too fast, and retrieved the discarded sheets from her desk. She was only allowed two mistakes per page before she had to scrap the page and start over.
She offered them to him with the same raw, throbbing hands she’d been gripping the pen with for hours.
He flipped through the pages. Set them aside. Looked at the main stack again, and met her gaze.
“Strip in your bathroom. Put all four punishment garments in a plastic bag. You may wash and dry them later before you return them to the drawer. From now on, all four are designated punishment pieces when you’re a disrespectful, disobedient, disgraceful fuckhole.”
Her stomach clenched so hard she almost gagged. The words landed like a slap she’d earned, heat rushing up her neck while her spine went cold.
Her vision blurred. Shame flushed through her like fever, prickling every inch of skin the nettles hadn’t already claimed. It pulsed under her breasts, over her clit, along her thighs — not just from pain now, but mortification.
She’d snapped at Boone, mouthing off like some entitled brat instead of the owned, trained submissive she was supposed to be. That title,fuckhole, wasn’t about sex right now. It was about failure. Like she was nothing but a hole, unworthy of speech, barely worth correction.
Her throat tightened. Her hands trembled. The worddisgracefulechoed louder than the rest, slicing past her pride like glass.
She deserved this punishment. Deserved the bra that still burned against her nipples. Deserved the panties steeped in stinging shame.
Because that’s what she’d been. Disrespectful. Disgraceful.
Her chest tightened. “Yes, Sir.”
“No shower. No washing up. Return in a dress. Disrobe when you enter.”
She turned to leave, and he asked, “Did you get enough to eat, earlier?”
“I did, but I’m hungry again, Sir.”
“Look at me.”
She turned and faced him.
He eyed her, gaze flicking over her face.
“We don’t want you in the kitchen while you’re being punished. That’s none of anyone’s business.”
A pause. Then, “Silas will bring food up to you. Dismissed.”
She nodded, throat dry, and left.
* * * *
Thirty minutes later, Willow shut the office door behind her, the click unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
Her body was one raw nerve, heat and pain pulsing everywhere at once — under the bra, between her thighs, buried in her ass crack, and inside her still-aching clit. Her fingers felt like fat sausages wrapped around glass shards, and her thighs trembled with the effort to keep standing.
