“That’s all I need,” he says, surprising me with his agreeable response.
“How do you want her?”
The spark returns to his eyes. “A cute pink dress. One you don’t mind me ripping.”
I smile as well, seeing myself reflected in him in so many ways. Part of me thought he’d want her dressed like a hooker, like he tends to prefer his girls, but Jenna is special. We both see it.
“I’ll send her upstairs at eight,” I say, and with that, I leave.
When I’m halfway down the stairs, he starts playing again. This time, it’s “Un Sospiro” by Liszt. I haven’t heard him play that one before, and I pause. Usually, I would have thought it to be a too soulful piece for him, but he plays it with a depth of emotion I’ve only seen glimmers of before but always knew was there. Killian has mastered his technique to perfection. He’s only in his fourth year at the Academy and he’s already better than me, but I know he holds a potential that can bring him to even greater heights. That’s why I push him, hoping he’ll someday break out of the shell that’s holding him back. Maybe this is the first step of getting there.
When the piece is almost over, I start walking again, not wanting him to hear that I lingered. A spark of hope awakens in my chest. Maybe having Jenna here is bringing him out of his shell little by little. If that’s the case, I can’t wait to see what happens when he finally gets to have her on his terms.
31
The Upstairs
Killian
I’m buzzing with anticipation, hunger, and violence when I hear footsteps coming up the stairs in the evening. I look up from my book about chess openings. Eight o’clock on the dot. A smile spreads over my lips.
I hate to admit it, but Dad is right about me not being in control, so I take a moment to breathe calmly before I go out to greet Jenna—in through my nose, out through my mouth. It’s one of the few things I took to heart from years of therapy. I repeat a few times until the agitated buzzing calms somewhat. I don’t want to risk fucking this up and giving Dad a good reason to keep her to himself for three more weeks.
When I go out, Jenna is standing on the landing, just one step away from the stairs as if she doesn’t dare go farther. She’s wearing the cutest little dusty-rose dress with a layered skirt that makes her look even more innocent than she already does. Her brown hair falls in thick waves down her porcelain skin, making me think of a doll. Her wide, nervous eyes only enhance the image, as do the white stockings.
I go to lift her dress and find that it’s thigh-high stockings. Her lacy white panties are as flimsy as they can be but still match the innocent theme.
I smile.Thanks Dad.
Wanting to take it all in, I bring her into the middle of the landing and turn her a few times. Her head is slightly lowered in a naturally submissive stance, and her eyes dart across the floor, unruly and unable to meet mine. So damn breakable and willing to succumb.
Shit.I’m tempted to just rip that dress off right here and fuck her. Or maybe tear it to tatters and make her wear the scraps while I come all over her. So many delicious possibilities. But I don’t have much time, and I need a release for all the aggression that has been accumulating inside me.
I’m not sure using Jenna to take the edge off is the best idea, my uncontrollable mood taken into consideration, but if I don’t do this, it will fester. To take my precautions, I’ve laid out my most tame flogger in the piano room, which is where we’ll be playing. If I take her to my BDSM room tonight, I’ll just risk grabbing a much heavier implement and going too far. With the one I’ve picked, I’ll be able to put in almost all my strength and still only leave faint bruises.
Taking her by the hand, I lead her into the piano room, where I point at the padded bench that I have pulled away from the piano and covered with a towel. “Bend over.”
She swallows hard but goes to it.
I wanted to have her kneel on it and bend over the piano like the last time I had her here, but I’m afraid it would trigger a trauma response in her, so I chose this instead.
When she pauses in front of it, not moving farther, I grab the back of her neck and lean close to her ear. “I said down over the bench.”
She lets out a whimper at my cruel tone, and my smile grows. Gingerly, she gets into position. She lies completely still, only twitching a little, as I proceed to restrain her wrists to the legs of the bench, using leather cuffs and rope. Once she’s fixed in place, I take out the switchblade in my pocket, enjoying how the metallic pop makes her twitch nervously.
“What are you doing?” she asks in a thin voice, straining her head to get a good view. Before she can see, I turn and lower myself to sit on her back, only putting in enough weight to immobilize her. And then I start.
Grabbing a handful of the skirt, I slice the knife through the many layers of fabric, cutting a hole just above her ass. And then Irip. Jenna squeals and squirms as the skirt parts in two. I shake my head.Women and their clothes.I’ve had girls getting angrier at me for ruining their clothes than for cutting their skin.
“Don’t worry, I’m only cutting the fabric—tonight,” I tell her and pat her almost bare ass a few times. I’ll let her keep the flimsy panties, or I won’t be able to keep myself from using her ass. I don’t have the time for that tonight. “Tonight, I’m just whipping you.”
I get up and grab the flogger. Wasting no time, I strike her ass—not too hard, but not softly either. I hate sloppy floggings where the strands fan out in a haphazard scatter of leather, but I’ve had more than enough practice to do it right despite the restrained force. The strands fall in one clean, controlled strike, connecting with just the spot I aimed for, making a loud smack that sounds more violent than it really is. And Jenna reacts according to the sound. She cries out like I’ve just struck her with my heaviest flogger, tensing up in her entire body.
“Relax, it’s not that hard,” I say.
She pants but slowly relaxes as she realizes I’m right. She probably feels a sting, but far from enough to warrant such a reaction.
I step back, rubbing the sides of my mouth as I take in the faint pink trail along her perfect white skin. Before I send her back downstairs, her whole ass will be covered in a pretty shade of pink. It’s a shame I can’t leave marks with this flogger. They would look good on her.
