Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

A lice

Lucas’ tone sounded casual, almost amused, which only intensified my mortification. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling exposed despite being fully clothed.

“But… but that’s a violation of privacy!” I protested weakly.

Lucas raised an eyebrow. “Is it? You agreed to the terms when you signed up, Alice. Perhaps you should have looked more closely at what you signed.”

My chest filled with fury at myself. What hadn’t I agreed to, I wondered suddenly, with a thrill of fear.

“Now then,” Lucas continued, the stern edge in his voice taking on an even harsher tone. “We need to discuss your behavior. From this moment on, touching yourself without permission is strictly forbidden for you, as my fuck toy.”

My body’s reaction to this sudden descent into coarseness and brutality took me utterly by surprise. I felt my knees literally wobble as between my legs I clenched so hard that a whimper escaped my lips. My jaw went slack and I stared at Lucas, my eyes undoubtedly bulging with the intensity of my attempt to disbelieve what he had just said.

I remembered with a mounting blush that I had felt myself respond in something like this fashion to Martin’s less skillful use of degradation. Something like this: at the same time, nothing like this, because for a moment I really thought I would swoon and sink to the floor.

Lucas’ eyes narrowed as he watched the emotions play across my face. For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of concern in those icy blue depths. But then his expression hardened once more, and he stepped toward me with predatory grace.

“You’re trembling, ma chère ,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Are you afraid? Or simply overwhelmed by the realization of what you’ve become?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came out. My mind reeled, unable to process the rapid shifts in his demeanor. Just moments ago, we had been engaged in stimulating conversation about medieval history. Now Lucas stood before me, radiating dominance and raw sexuality.

He moved closer still, backing me up against the wall. I could feel the heat of his body, smell the intoxicating blend of his cologne and something uniquely male. My breath came in short, ragged gasps as I tilted my head back to meet his gaze.

“You signed yourself over to me, Alice,” Lucas growled, his breath hot against my ear. “Your body, your pleasure—they belong to me now. And I intend to claim what’s mine.”

Before I could react, Lucas’ strong arms encircled me. One hand tangled in my hair, gripping tightly as he pulled my head back. The other pressed against the small of my back, crushing me against his muscular chest.

My eyes widened in shock as Lucas’ lips crashed down on mine. Lucas’ kiss was nothing like I had ever experienced before. It was demanding, possessive, almost brutal in its intensity. His lips moved against mine with fierce determination, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth. I gasped, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensation.

Part of me wanted to resist, to push him away and assert some semblance of control. But a deeper, primal part of me responded eagerly to his dominance. My body betrayed me, melting against him as a soft moan escaped my throat.

Lucas growled in approval, the vibration rumbling through his chest. His hand slid from my back to my bottom, gripping roughly. I jumped at the sudden contact, acutely aware of how tender I still was from Martin’s cruel spanking.

“Mine,” Lucas murmured against my lips. “All mine to play with, to punish, to pleasure.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine. I should have been outraged, should have protested this possessive claim. Instead, I felt a rush of heat between my legs, my body responding traitorously to his dominant assertion.

Lucas’ hand moved from my hair to cup my breast through the thin fabric of my dress. I arched into his touch instinctively, desperate for more. He chuckled darkly, clearly pleased by my eager response.

“Such a needy little slut,” he purred. “So desperate for my touch already. I’m going to enjoy training you, Alice.”

Training. The word had a dangerous potency from Lucas’ lips. A world famous athlete… the best soccer player in the world, I had literally, actually heard him called. A man who understood training: its demands, its discomforts… the punishment of it.

Lucas’ hand moved to grip my chin firmly, forcing me to meet his intense gaze. “You’re going to learn to obey me in all things, Alice,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “I’ll punish you when you’re naughty, and reward you when you please me.”

As he spoke, his other hand traced down my body, sending shivers through me. Despite my best efforts to resist, I felt myself responding even further to his touch, my breath quickening.

“But make no mistake,” Lucas continued, his fingers ghosting over the curve of my hip, “you belong to me now. Every inch of this delectable body is mine to do with as I please.”

I demanded of myself the outrage I should have felt. I told my arms to push him away and order him to leave—despite my growing, clawing anxiety that it wouldn’t have any effect at all. Something in his tone, though, in the way he held me, made me hesitate. There was a possessiveness in his touch, yes, but also a real, though strange tenderness. His hand on my chin was firm but not cruel, his fingers on my hip more caressing than groping.

Lucas leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, “I’m going to take such good care of you, ma petite . You’ll want for nothing.”

The unexpected gentleness in his words caught me off guard. I looked up at him, searching his face. Behind the stern expression, I caught a glimpse of something else—a warmth in his eyes that belied his harsh words.

“I…” I started, unsure of what to say. Lucas’ sudden shift from domineering to almost tender left me reeling. “I don’t understand.”

Lucas’ lips curved into a small smile. “You will, in time,” he murmured. His hand moved from my chin to cup my cheek gently. “This is all new to you, isn’t it? The submission, the discipline?”

I nodded mutely, unable to find my voice.

“Don’t worry,” Lucas said softly. “I’ll guide you through it all. But first…” His expression hardened slightly. “I need to assert my authority as fully as I can.”

My eyes widened. My lips parted but no words found their way from my whirling mind to my vocal cords.

Lucas nodded slightly at my silence, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “It would be unjust for me to punish you for touching yourself last night, before we had met, Alice, much as I want to and as lovely as I found the sight of you masturbating. On the other hand, I also want to make sure you understand what I mean by discipline. I’m going to whip you tonight just to teach you how thoroughly you belong to me.”

A shiver ran through me at his words. Part of me wanted to protest, to argue that he had no right to… to just… take possession of my body that way. But the unwelcome voice of a deeper, more primal part of me thrilled at the idea of submitting to his discipline.

“What… what do you mean?” I whispered, as if the word whip —fouet— didn’t have a perfectly good, well-established meaning. I felt my forehead crease as I remembered the way I’d felt when I’d first learned that word, as a sophomore. How I’d tried to pretend an insane, wayward thrill hadn’t gone through my body as I’d read it, softly, on the vocabulary list for the forgettable novel we’d been reading.

Lucas’ eyes gleamed with a mix of sternness and arousal. “I’m going to use the martinet on you, ma chère . And then, once you’ve learned your lesson, I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.”

I gasped, heat flooding my core at his crude words. Lucas’ hand moved to grip my wrist, tugging me gently but firmly away from the wall. “Come,” he commanded. “Let me show you some of the features of your new living arrangement.”

He led me toward the front door, the simple sensation of his touch sending tingles up my arm. When we reached the entryway, he pulled out his phone and tapped the screen a few times. To my astonishment, I heard the lock click open and then closed again, without Lucas touching it.

“As you can see,” he explained, his voice low and intimate, “I have full control over the locks in your apartment. I can come and go as I please, whenever I want.”

A shiver ran through me at the implications. My apartment was no longer truly my own private space. It had never been, I suddenly understood; these high-tech features designed for the convenience of my sponsor had lain hidden all the time.

Lucas guided me further into the living room, his hand never leaving my wrist. He gestured toward the corners of the room, where I noticed the glint of small, discreet camera lenses I had never seen before.

“These allow me to keep an eye on you at all times,” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. “Whether you’re studying, sleeping, or…” his voice dropped even lower, “pleasuring yourself, I’ll be able to watch.”

My cheeks burned with embarrassment as I remembered the footage he had shown me earlier. Even my most private moments would not be hidden from the man who kept me.

We moved into the bedroom, where Lucas approached a locked cabinet I had thought must hide a wiring panel that could hurt me if I touched it the wrong way. With another tap on his phone, it unlocked with a soft click. He opened it and withdrew something that made my eyes widen and my heart thud in my chest.

He held it out to me, as if presenting it. I shrank back from the polished handle and the supple leather lashes that cascaded down from it, curling elegantly around his fingers. Each strand seemed like an echo of the history clearly imbued within the cruel, primitive instrument.

“This,” Lucas said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver racing through me, “is a martinet.” He ran his thumb over the handle, as if caressing an old friend. “Traditionally used in France for both family and school discipline, it has served generations of disciplinarians well. The very essence of its purpose is rooted in teaching not just obedience but also humility and shame.”

His eyes bored into mine, intense and unwavering.

“The martinet is always used on the bare flesh of the miscreant, so that the nudity enhances the punishment through embarrassment, heightening the sensation of exposure—the sting of the lashes paired with the shame of nakedness, even when used only on the legs. Truly, though, it is the bare bottom of a naughty girl where it has always found its truest service.”

As I listened to him, my heart raced—not just from fear or anticipation but from a twisted sense of intrigue. My instincts screamed at me to run, yet my body betrayed me with each breath that filled my lungs. I was caught in this web he’d woven between dominance and care.

“Now,” he continued, his voice sharpening with authority. “Take off all your clothes.”

I hesitated, caught in a tug-of-war between my will and his command. It felt surreal: my mind raced with conflicting notions even as my hands twitched, trying to move toward the zipper at the back of my dress, my body crazily responding with an obedience my brain screamed to reject.

“No,” I whispered, my eyes wide as I gazed up at his hard, gorgeous face looming over me. I swallowed hard. “No… I… I won’t. It’s not… I don’t… I don’t want to.”