Page 61 of Fundamentals of Being a Good Girl
Again, but incrementally harder.
“Four.”
“You love being punished just as much as you like being rewarded. Isn’t that right, Madelyn?”
My fingers dig into the edge of the desk as I nod.
“It makes the reward so much sweeter.”
“Please touch me,” I beg him.
“Soon,” he promises. “Soon I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk.”
The rod lashes down against my skin again, and this time he doesn’t hold back. The sting of it makes my eyes water, and I find myself thrusting against the desk, searching for friction of any kind. “Fuck,” I whimper.
He chuckles as the rod clatters against the floor. “I think what you meant to say was five.” His warm hand sweeps over my backside, gently rubbing along the tender lines left behind by my punishment.
“Now, darling, are you ready to write some lines on the board?”
“Are you fucking serious?” I ask. “What happened to fucking me so hard I can’t walk?”
He chuckles darkly. “The fucking will be your reward. The swats were your punishment. And the lines are your lesson. Chalkboard. Now.”
Chapter Twenty
Maddie
Istand up straight, leaving the hem of my skirt tucked into my waistband. I am so starved for immediate gratification, but Bram Loe is a patient man, and he’s always worth the wait.
His eyes darken as I meet him at the chalkboard and take the chalk from where it sits on the ledge.
I take his hand and press his fingers to my lips before taking two of them into my mouth, holding his gaze as I do. I refuse to be the only one suffering.
He holds his fingers there for a moment, pushing against my tongue, like he’s testing me. I hollow my cheeks and suck, then he drags his fingers away only to dip his hand under the front of my skirt and presses those same two fingers past my slit. He cruelly avoids my swollen clitoris, but still thrusts deeper, his fingers finding no resistance as they sink into my wet cunt.
“There you are,” he says. “You’re dripping for me, Madelyn. Just absolutely drenched.” He pulls his fingers out much too quickly and I gasp at the sudden vacancy.
A frustrated noise is all I can manage as he turns me to the board and takes my hand—the one holding the chalk—and begins to write the letterF.
“Fuck,” he says as we spell the vulgar word out together. “The. Polls.”
There it is on the board, in some sort of mix of both of our handwriting.
“Repeat it back to me, Maddie.”
My mouth is dry as the words gather in my throat. It’s something I’ve thought plenty of times, but it’s hard to get past the numbers. Even if I think the polls are bullshit, that doesn’t stop them from mattering.
But polls aren’t perfect, and I am more than a series of questions and answers on a scale of one to ten. I have to be more. That has to be true.
“Fuck the polls,” I whisper.
He crouches down and gives me a sweet kiss just below my ear. “Now write it out. Do it for me, baby. Do it for you.”
Dust falls from the chalk with each line as I write those three words.Fuck the polls.
“Good girl. Again.”
I’m so enthralled by the words that I hardly feel his absence as I write the line again, and again.
