Page 29 of Fallen Angel

Silence.

“Do you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Poppy says.

“Good girl. Do not speak again unless I tell you to. And remember to stay perfectly still.”

Violet walks to the door, opens and closes it, but doesn’t leave the room. She waits for Poppy to do what’s inevitable: try to move her arms and peek out from under her blindfold. Minutes pass. She doesn’t.

Violet smiles. People rarely surprise her. Maybe Poppy isn’t such a bad consolation prize.

Chapter Fifteen

I’m back,” Violet says, opening and closing the door with a bang that makes Poppy twitch. “I hope you obeyed me,” she says.

“I did,” Poppy says.

“When you speak to me, address me as Mistress Violet. So—answer my question again.”

“I did … Mistress Violet.”

Violet gets to work organizing her equipment: a pair of scissors, a paddle, a cat-o’-nine-tails, and ankle restraints. She returns to the supply shelf for a ball gag, just in case her sexual servant suddenly becomes chatty. People are unpredictable when they’re aroused.

She picks up the fabric shears and hopes, for Poppy’s sake, that the long-sleeved black T-shirt she’s wearing is Old Navy and not Vince or James Perse.

“Stay very still,” she commands, holding the shirt taut by the edge and lining up the scissors. Violet makes sure that Poppy feels the cold press of the metal against her skin as she makes the first cut.

“What are you doing?” Poppy says.

Violet continues cutting.

“What did I tell you about speaking unless spoken to? I’m going to have to punish you for that. And, not that it’s any of your business, I happen to be removing your shirt. Your hands are tied since I obviously can’t trust you, so I have no choice but to cut it off.”

Once the T-shirt is severed in half, she parts it like a curtain and looks at Poppy’s perfect breasts. Violet recalls, now that she’s thinking about it, seeing Poppy’s frumpy girlfriend at the show a few times. It’s confusing; Poppy might be the most beautiful girl at the club. So what’s with the subpar pussy at home?

Poppy squirms, as if sensing or guessing she’s under scrutiny. Well, Violet is feeling impatient herself. She unzips Poppy’s jeans and tugs them off roughly. Then she takes the scissors to her underwear, and Poppy gasps when she grazes her pussy lips with the cool metal. Violet wonders if her pussy is moist and inviting, if she’s thoroughly wet already. By this point, most people are.

The truth is, Violet isn’t sure what she wants to do with her. She decides she’d like to see her ass. She unties her wrists and tells her to turn over on her stomach.

Poppy hesitates.

“Now!” Violet barks.

Poppy rotates her body slowly.

“I shouldn’t have to ask you twice. Now get up on all fours.”

Poppy scrambles fast onto her hands and knees. Violet retrieves the wooden paddle and with a heavy arm smacks it violently against Poppy’s left ass cheek.

“Ow!” Poppy says.

“No talking!” She smacks her again. “That’s for your disobedience.”

Poppy’s body stiffens, bracing itself against the blows. But she stays silent. Violet walks around to the opposite side of the bed. “Lie on your stomach,” she says.

Poppy flattens herself on the bed, and Violet arranges her arms so she can retie them to the bedpost. She locates her ankle restraints and uses them to secure Poppy to the bottom of the bed, her legs spread wide apart.

Violet admires the alabaster skin of her ass, marred with two angry red splotches like states on a map. She knows Poppy is tense with anticipation for what will happen next, so Violet does nothing. Finally, she says: “I’m going into the other room. Again, you had better not move a muscle. Do you hear me?”