Burn Me Anthology

by Shantel Tessier

  “Shane, I—“

  “Hush.” He doesn’t shout. Doesn’t raise his voice. But the calm sternness of his tone is far worse. “You knew you weren’t supposed to put pressure on your feet. But you did it anyway. And although I understand why you did it, I don’t appreciate it. If you had stopped to think about what you were doing, you would’ve realized that waking me was the right thing to do. If it’s my sleep you’re so worried about, then you’d know that by injuring yourself further, you’re only prolonging your recovery which is what deprived me of sleep in the first place.”

  I hadn’t thought of that?

  Why hadn’t I thought of that?

  Oh yeah…

  I wasn’t thinking!

  “I’m sorry!” It comes out a half plea, half sob.

  “You will be. Now you think about what I said. Think about that promise I made you in the hospital. And if you move from this position before I get back, I’ll take my belt to your ass.” With that, he leaves the room.

  The minutes tick by slowly. I’ve had time to not only think about what he said, but imagine every other possible scenario if I had just done what I was supposed to do.

  I’d have woken him. He’d have kissed me. Carried me to the bathroom. Brought me back to bed. Cradled me in his arms. Touched me as he had last night. Then slept next to me until the sun was high in the sky and our stomachs forced us from bed and to the living room where we shared a late lunch together.

  Of course he leaves me alone long enough to think of other things too. Like the fact that I’m about to get a spanking. One that will leave my butt the same color as my hands and feet which are an even angrier red than they were before I decided to be stupid.

  By the time he returns, I’m a mess. I don’t cry out of fear of what’s to come, but from the hurt I caused him. I told him I trusted him. That I wanted him to help me. Yet I defied him at the first opportunity.

  “You’re breaking my heart, baby,” he murmurs, running his fingers through my hair. “It’d be much easier to spank you if you were as defiant now as you were when you made the decision to get up without asking for my help.”

  “I-I won’t do it again.”

  “I plan to make sure of that.” His hand falls away and the loss of contact makes me feel so cold and alone, I anticipate my punishment. “I’m going to spank you with just my hand, Mila. But it will hurt. You will cry. Beg. You’ll think you can’t take anymore long before I’m through with you. But no matter how much it hurts, I want you to know that I care about you. And I’m only doing this for your own good.”

  I nod and bury my face in the pillows.

  “Hands flat on the mattress, sweetheart. If you fist them or reach back, I’ll stop spanking you, wrap them up, then finish up your punishment with my belt. Understood?” I start to nod again. “An answer, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He wastes no time.

  In the books I’ve read about domestic discipline, there’s always a warm up. Shane obviously doesn’t believe in warm ups. He lights into my bottom with powerful swings that immediately take my breath and have me begging for him to stop.

  The swats to my cheeks aren’t nearly as bad as when he focuses on my sit spots, but soon my entire behind is an inferno. The sting of one spank blends into another as he rains them down over and over.

  It’s too much.

  Hurts too bad.

  He’s right, I’m crying and begging. And he isn’t stopping.

  I want to be good for him. But I can’t. It’s too hard to not clench my fists. Even with my hands in the shape they’re in, it’s a natural reaction. Knowing I’ll bring more harm to myself and remembering that this lesson is about just that, I find my voice through the sobs and call out to him on a cry I hope is enough to make him stop.

  Chapter 10

  Shane

  “Shane!”

  The panic and fear is evident in the shrill cry and I know something is wrong. This is different from the other pleas for me to stop. And I immediately move to her. But she continues to scream as if I hadn’t.

  “Wait! Please! My hands. I can’t! Stop. Please! Just…please. My hands. My hands.”

  “Calm down, baby. I stopped the moment you said my name.” I pet her hair and rub her back as she breathes through the pain. I hadn’t gone easy on her. I don’t felt guilty about it either. As her protector and caretaker, I couldn’t not give her what I’d vowed. I am a man of my word. No matter how much I want to hold her instead of spank her. It wouldn’t be fair of me to no act on my promise.

  She’d said something about her hands. If she stopped me before she could hurt herself, her lesson would be learned. Even if her ass isn’t quite the shade of red I was going for.

  “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

  “It hurts too much. I can’t keep my hands from fisting.” Her voice breaks. “I’m sorry. I tried. I-I tried so hard.”

  “Shhh, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m so proud of you.”

  I gather her in my arms and lean against the headboard with her on my lap.

  “Y-you’re proud of me?”

  “I spanked you because you hurt yourself. You stopped your spanking before you could do it again. That tells me you understand what you did wrong. You’ve obviously learned your lesson. That’s why I do this, baby. To teach you to be safe and take care of yourself.”

  “So my spanking is over?”

  I laugh at the hope in her voice. “Yes, Mila. Your spanking is over. And as long as you’re a good girl, I won’t have to spank you again.”

  “Then I’ll always be good.”

  I knew she would try. But I couldn’t deny that a part of me hoped she would fail.

  It’s been three days since Mila’s spanking and true to her word, she’s been good. An angel. I’ve delighted so much in cherishing her, that spanking her never even crossed my mind.

  She’d stopped being so shy around me. I could now help her in the bathroom without as much as a pretty pout on her lips. When I bathed her, she was eager to open her legs and allow me to bring her to orgasm. And no matter if we were on the couch watching T.V. or in the bed talking, she was always more than willing to curl in my lap or against my chest.

  But I guess all good things must come to an end.

  I wake up and find Mila on her back staring at the ceiling. Per our morning ritual, I lean over to give her a kiss and she turns her head from me. In the bathroom, she doesn’t ask me to give her privacy, she demands it in a bratty tone I have yet to hear from her.

  I step out and leave her to her business, knowing she likely has to do something else this morning which would also explain her grouchy mood and distance. I call Terry to make sure someone can cover my shift for the next week and he assures me it’s covered. I check my voicemail and find I have a message from Colleen Hoover. She says to tell you all, “Hey motherfuckers.” Then I make the bed. Put on a pot of coffee. Get dressed. Brush my teeth in the guest bathroom—all while I keep an ear open for Mila’s call.

  Ten minutes have passed and when I still don’t hear from her, I knock on the door of the bathroom then slip inside.

  I find Mila still sitting on the toilet. The bandages from her hands lie in a heap on the floor and she’s staring at me with a smug smile. I frown at her and her smile falters, then she averts her gaze and shrugs. “Seems my hands work just fine.”

  Not wanting to press the issue, since she clearly looks okay, I agree. “Seems they do.”

  “I can probably walk too.”

  My stare hardens. “Not until the doctor clears you. Try it, and you know what will happen.”

  She flushes a little and for a moment, my heart swells at the sight of the sweet, compliant Mila I’m used to.

  “How about pancakes? And since your hands are better…a board game? Monopoly?”

  “Ugh.” She rolls her eyes. “What are you, six?”

  Patience is something I have in abundance. And since she’s the one still si
tting on a toilet because she can’t walk on her own, her words do little to intimidate me. I lift her and carry her downstairs—placing her on the couch before I start on breakfast.

  “This is ridiculous,” I hear her mutter.

  “Come again?”

  “I said,” she raises her voice to a near shout, “this is ridiculous.”

  I pull the pan from the heat and walk to the living room. Standing in front of her, I cross my arms over my chest—hoping my stance will be enough to take her down a notch. “What?”

  “This! You. Me. These stupid fucking feet of mine.” She gestures between us then to her wrapped feet.

  “Language, Mila. And I don’t understand what’s so ridiculous. I rather enjoy our time together.”

  “You enjoy bossing me around.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “It’s what I know. I guess it’s some sick kink of yours. It was fine at first, but it’s getting old.”

  I stiffen. “The only thing getting old is your attitude. I’ve done nothing to deserve your blatant disrespect and if you keep it up, you’re going to find yourself in a position that won’t involve sitting for quite some time.”

  She throws her hands up then slaps them down on her thighs. She tries to hide her wince and muffle the small whimper of pain, but it’s too late. When I narrow my eyes at her, it only fuels her temper tantrum.

  “Could you not find someone else to play this stupid game with? I mean, if all you wanted was some helpless girl to threaten and spank, why didn’t you just put an ad on Craigslist? You could’ve just left me in the fire and saved yourself a lot of trouble.”

  I’m going to tear her ass up.

  Which I think is exactly what she wants me to do. But I’m not going to do it now. That’s not how this works. She’s not the one in charge. So I’m going to make her wait for it. And before I give her what she needs, I’m going to break this defiant streak of hers in a way I know will get through that pretty little head of hers.

  Chapter 11

  Mila

  My life is like a perfect tower of Jenga blocks.

  Then pieces are slowly removed. One by one. You don’t even realize that the foundation is faltering until it’s too late. One wrong pull, one misjudged move, one shaky handed player and everything falls.

  I had a father. He left.

  I had a mother. She left.

  I had a grandmother. She died.

  The first foster family I was sent to were good people. Just as I was getting settled and started to feel like more than just an eight-year-old orphan, I was pulled from that home and sent to another. The process repeated three more times before I realized that happiness just wasn’t in the cards for me.

  But Alan helped me find my happiness.

  Then he left.

  He promised to come back and get me.

  I believe he would have.

  Then he died.

  Life. Fucking. Sucks.

  Always has.

  So when things with Shane started to become too perfect, I knew I couldn’t wait for the inevitable fall that would come slowly—piece by piece. I wanted the end of our relationship to be like removing a Band-Aid. Quick and with minimal pain.

  Why?

  Because I’m falling in love with him.

  All of this came to me this morning as I was lying in bed. My hands and feet were healing. I’d see the doctor in a couple days. He’d release me. Shane wouldn’t need to care for me anymore. He’d go back to his life and I’d start restacking the blocks of mine.

  I want him to be angry. Throw me out. It would be easier that way. Maybe if I pushed him far enough for him to really hurt me or dispose of me, then I could hate him. And hating him would be better than grief.

  It took a lot to push him over the edge. And even now, I’m not so sure I did. When I insinuated he should’ve left me in that fire, he simply walked back to the kitchen and resumed cooking the pancakes.

  Mind. Blown.

  “You’ll eat every bit.”

  Startled, I look up at him. He hands me a plate with two pancakes and a couple pieces of sausage. Then he sits a glass of milk on the coffee table and instead of taking his seat next to me, he pulls out a chair at the table. Keeping his back to me.

  I eat every bit.

  I don’t have an appetite really, but I need something to distract me from his coldness. I don’t like him being on the other side of the room. Had I made him that angry? If so, I shouldn’t feel so bad about it. Wasn’t that my goal?

  By the time I’m finished, he is too. He comes over to the couch, looks down at my empty plate then takes it. “Good girl.” His praise does what it always does—causes my heart to constrict and my chest to swell.

  No!

  “I’m not your girl,” I snap, angry at myself for letting him get to me.

  He walks back over and lifts a brow. I hate how he towers over me. What I’d give to stand up. “Is that so?”

  “That’s right. I don’t want your help anymore. I can take care of myself. Actually, I need to start looking for a new place to stay. Did you ever check with the motels around here like I told you to?”

  “I’ve never done anything you’ve told me to.”

  “I told you to stop spanking me and you did.”

  “No. You asked me. Begged me, if I recall. But since you brought it up, consider it noted. It won’t happen again.”

  “Damn right it won’t.”

  He nods. “Then we agree.”

  He picks me up and I’m not sure what it is we agreed on. Him not spanking me or him not stopping when I ask?

  Instead of taking me to his room, he leads me to another room I have never seen. It’s a guest room. Much simpler with basic furnishings and a full size bed with soft, green linens. What I notice most is that it doesn’t smell like him.

  He deposits me on a chair and stands without even a kiss to my forehead or a stroke of my hair. “I’d advise you to stay off your feet. But do as you wish.”

  “Wait, what? I can walk?”

  “No, Mila. You can’t walk. Physically, it’s not possible. You might make a step but then you’ll fall. But you’re not my girl, so I can’t tell you what to do.”

  The door closes and I’m left alone. A few minutes later, it opens and I’m a little too smug about it. He simply sits a cup of water on the table by the chair and turns to leave again.

  “Hey! You can’t just leave me in here. What if I need to use the bathroom?”

  “Crawl.”

  “Crawl?”

  He shrugs. “Now that you say you can take care of yourself, I’m going to catch up on some emails.”

  “So you’re just going to leave me in here?”

  His glare is hard. “You don’t want my help. Said you didn’t need it. I took you at your word.”

  “That’s it? You’re just…done with me?” My incredulity and my anger are one in the same.

  “Sweetheart, I am far from done with you. That comment on the couch and this temper tantrum you’ve been throwing has earned you something you won’t soon forget.”

  The silence following his departure is deafening. To keep from going insane, I fill it with angry outbursts. Harsh language. I curse everything from the stupid fucking pillows on the stupid fucking bed to the dumb as shit curtains on the dumb as shit windows.

  Childish.

  Petty.

  But anger is good.

  It’s better than sad.

  Though I still feel miserable.

  And to quell my depression, I turn to pain. Not the pain in my heart, but the physical pain I inflict when I deliberately try to walk, fall down, then repeatedly try again.

  I have no modern means to tell time. I judge the hour by the sun. Noon. Two. Four. By six, the sun has set. My feet are throbbing. My head hurts. I’ve stripped the bed. Tossed everything in the bathroom. Cursed Shane. Hated him. Missed him. Loved him. And hated him all over again. There’s no end to my rage. It’s a continuous, poi
sonous, virus that must run its course.

  I’m still seething, sprawled out on the bed, when Shane returns. He doesn’t give the room a second glance. It pisses me off even more. I’d intentionally destroyed it to get his attention. And he doesn’t even notice. He’s just all business. Detached. Stoic. But though he hides his real emotions, I know he is not angry.

  “Where the hell have you been?” I snap, another attempt to provoke him.

  “Busy. Let’s get this over with. I still have some work to do in my study.”

  Ouch.

  Why does him acting as though my discipline is an inconvenience sting so bad?

  He grabs my ankle and pulls me toward him. I struggle, but I’m no match. With little effort, he has me positioned on my stomach. My feet are just off the floor, and one strong hand on the small of my back holds me in place.

  “I don’t make idle threats. I never go back on my word. I told you what would happen if you ever acted as though your life wasn’t that important, and I’m going to follow through on that. I also will not tolerate your disrespect toward me or the things that belong to me. You’ve earned this, Mila. Remember that.”

  The panties he’d let me pick out online, the lacy black ones that were both comfortable and sexy, are fisted and jerked down my hips. His T-shirt—my every day ensemble—is lifted higher up my back. I’m utterly helpless under his strong hand. And though I’m scared, I’m relieved he didn’t forget. That he’s here to punish me. I want to hate him, but I can’t help but love him too.

  When the tell-tale sound of metal on metal echoes around the room, I turn my head over my shoulder to see him remove his belt from around his waist. Despite what’s to come, a small moan escapes me and I feel my arousal dampen the lips of my sex. Of course he doesn’t miss it either.

  “You might think you want this. I aim to change your mind.”

  Chapter 12

  Shane

  Things might have gone differently if she’d been just the least bit repentant about her actions. But Mila was hell bent on following through with her defiance.