Exquisite

Chapter 8

It was hard to concentrate in class the next day. My mind kept wondering back to what had happened the day before. If I thought hard enough, I could almost feel the pleasure of it all again.
Every so often, Jen would squeeze my hand under the table, or put her hand on my leg. I loved it.
I missed her when she went to the gym that evening. I did some reading for class, and enjoyed it. I knew when we had books to read, Jen often listened to audio versions while she worked out. I preferred being able to hold a book. Books had often been a comfort to me, growing up. They were an escape.
My favourite book I had was this old copy of 'Anne of Green Gables' that my mom had given me. It was bound in green leather, and had a message from her written inside the cover.

'My Grace, my sweet, sweet girl.
I hope this story will always remind you of me, as it now reminds me of you. You are like my own little Anne- you have her scarlet hair, her quick wit, her penchant for getting yourself in trouble! May you grow as she does, finding yourself along the way, and forever stay true to who you are. Know that I will love and cherish you til your dying breath and beyond.
Love always,
Your Mama'

She had written that when I was six- a few months before she died. Dad had told me they knew she was going to die by then. The message made me wistful for the childhood I had at that time. The little girl she described sounded nothing like who I grew to be. Maybe I had the red hair, and the quick wit- though I held that back- but I grew cowed and obedient, terrified of inciting punishment from dad. There were times when I felt I hated mama for dying and leaving me with him. But I knew it wasn't her fault. He wasn't so bad, before she died. Maybe it was the bitterness of grief that changed him.
I was flicking through that book when Jen came back from the gym.
"What are you reading?" She asked, flopping back on her bed.
"'Anne of Green Gables'. My mom gave it to me," I sighed, closing it over.
"You never talk about your mom," she observed.
I shrugged, "She died when I was little. Cancer. I don't remember a whole lot about her, to be honest."
I remembered the feeling of her arms around me, the sound of her laugh, her sweet kisses on my forehead. I remembered her braiding our matching red hair into identical styles. I remembered her voice singing me lullabies. But some of it was hazy.
"You never talk about your parents," I realised, "Actually, I don't know anything about your family at all."
"You never asked," she shrugged, smiling.
God, I really hadn't asked. I spend so much time trying not to talk about my own family it hadn't really occurred to me that someone else might actually want to be asked about theirs.
"It's okay," she laughed, seeing the look on my face, "It's a little embarrassing, I don't normally volunteer the information."
"Well... what is your family like?" I wondered.
She paused, "Rich. Filthy rich, actually. Like, private jet, holiday home in Dubai kind of rich."
My mouth gaped.
"I guess mom and dad are a little distant, sometimes, but they're cool," she nodded, "I took a gap year and they actually paid for Ethan to do it with me and go travelling."
"Wow," I was taken aback.
"Didn't know you were seeing an older woman, did you?" She joked, "By a whole one year."
"So did you, like,  go to private school and stuff?" I asked.
"Yeah, but it wasn't one of those ones with a stuffy uniform or anything. They had a good sports program though."
"I never did any sports," I chuckled, "I am so not coordinated enough... let me guess, you were some kind of soccer star or something."
"Nah, not soccer," she stretched, putting her feet up on the bed, "I was on the track team and the swim team."
"I bet you looked good, doing that," I said wistfully, without thinking, her tall, athletic body running through my mind.
She laughed fondly, her teeth sparkling white.
"I'm gonna go for a shower," she got up, stretching her legs, "You wanna watch a movie or something when I get back?"
"Sure," I smiled.
She grabbed her shower stuff and left, blowing me a kiss.
I lay back on my bed, scrolling through my phone. As if he knew he had me alone, a text from dad came through.
Behaving yourself, Gracie?
My heart sinking, I replied affirmatively.
I miss you Gracie.
I miss you too, dad.
I miss you a lot, little girl.
I cringed. I was sure I knew what was coming next.
Be a good girl and send daddy a picture.
A wave of nausea rushed over me. I hesitated. Then replied.
I'm a little busy with work for class. Later?
Maybe he'd forget about it.
Now, Gracie.
Feeling sick, I dutifully lifted my shirt up and snapped a picture. I hit send before I had the chance to think about what I was doing. I knew, somehow, he'd make me regret it more if I didn't.
Good girl.
I buried my face in my pillow, squeezing my eyes shut. This was by no means a unique occurrence, but it still made me feel sick to my stomach. But it was better than being at home with him. So much better.
Jen came back from the shower soon, her wet hair dampening her shirt. She flopped down on to my bed, draping her arm around my shoulder.
"Hello, gorgeous," she said casually, "Long time no see."
I gave her a small smile.
She must have noticed my stiffness.
"What's up?" She squeezed my shoulder.
My phone buzzed two or three times in a row. Dad was still detailing his reaction to my picture.
I nodded in the direction of the phone on my nightstand. "Dad."
I knew she would just assume it was another host of angry threats. God forbid she ever found out the worst part of it all.
She squeezed me tight, kissing the top of my head. "Don't think about it."
Easier said than done.
I let my head fall into the curve of her neck, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.
"Hey, you're gonna get all wet," she tapped my nose.
"I don't mind," I closed my eyes, nuzzling into her neck. Her skin felt smooth on mine, her arm wrapped firmly around me.
"Let me dry my hair," she said, gently detaching me.
I nodded, flopping back on the bed again.
I watched as she dried her hair, brushing through it absent-mindedly. I found myself picturing her shower beforehand. Picturing her rubbing soap into her body. Imagining her taut arms reaching up to shampoo her hair. Without even realising I was doing it, my hand moved between my legs, rubbing myself through my shorts, soothing a throbbing that was growing there.
Suddenly, the hairdryer clicked off. She was staring at me, wide eyed.
"What are you doing?"
My face went crimson. I snatched my hand away.
"I.... Sorry, I... I don't even know what came over me, I..."
She shushed me, coming back over to sit on the bed.
"Jen, seriously, I..."
She cut me off by putting a finger to my lips.
"Did you get a little carried away there?" She wondered, her eyes glinting.
I nodded mutely, still blushing furiously.
"You don't need to be embarrassed," she said softly. Her hand reached downwards, filling the space mine had vacated, rubbing slowly.
I found myself grinding against her hand.
"Does that feel nice?" She crooned.
I nodded again, staring into her deep brown eyes.
"That was very naughty," she hummed, her eyes glinting again, "Touching yourself like that."
"Was it?" I feigned ignorance.
"Oh, I think you know it was," she kept rubbing, letting me grind into her hand.
"Do I need to be punished?" The words escaped my lips without thought.
She chuckled, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
I saw what she was doing, expertly seeking my consent without ruining the mood through her subtle phrasing. I nodded solemnly.
"Well then, how do you think I should punish you?"
I glanced over to the hairbrush she had been using, which sat on her desk. The back of it was round and flat- paddle like. She followed my gaze.
"Are you sure?" She raised her eyebrows.
I nodded, sitting up so our faces were close.
"How hard do you want it?" She breathed, running her hand through my hair.
"Hard," I looked down, starting to blush again, then forced myself to meet her eyes, "Hurt me. Make me squeal."
I knew I would like the pain if it was inflicted by her. I wasn't scared. I was excited.
She raised one eyebrow, biting her lip, "Go get it then."
I got up and slowly brought the hairbrush to her. She took it off me, setting it on the bed beside her. She looked me up and down.
"Are you sure you can take it? You don't need me to go easy? Cause when you say you want it hard, Grace... I take that to mean hard. It's gonna hurt."
I took a deep breath, "That's exactly what I want. Be hard on me. Make me sorry... Treat me like shit on your shoe."
She chuckled at me. Then suddenly took hold of my hair, pulling my face close to hers. She winked.
"You don't get to tell me what to do," she muttered into my ear, "Bitch."
I gasped, a beautiful shudder creeping up my spine.
"Turn around," she ordered, pushing me away.
I turned around so my back was to her. She took hold of the waistband of my shorts and pulled them down so my backside was exposed. Then she grabbed my arm and manoeuvred me so I was bent over her lap.
"Look at me."
I craned my neck round.
"Why are you being spanked?"
My face flushed and I muttered, "Cause I touched myself," quickly looking away again.
"Nuh uh," she laughed, using my hair to pull my head round to look at her again, "You wanna be a greedy little slut, you're gonna look me in the eye and say it with your chest. Why are you being spanked?"
"Cause I touched myself?"
"Louder."
"Cause I touched myself!"
"And why'd you do that, huh?" She stroked my hair.
I thought about my answer, and used her own words, "Cause I'm a greedy little slut?"
"Damn right you are," she pushed my head away again.
I felt the cold smoothness of the back of the hairbrush settle on my backside. My skin pricked with goose pimples. She suddenly rose it and brought it down hard. I gasped as stinging pain spread out over my cheeks. She let the pain sink in, then brought it down again. And again. And again. When I began to whimper, she hit harder. I yelped.
"Shut up and take it," she snapped.
I tried, but soon I was whining into the bedsheets, my toes curling. When she brought it down even harder, my hands instinctively reached to shield my stinging backside.
She grabbed one wrist, then the other, holding them in place behind my back in one strong fist. I had secretly hoped she'd do that.
True to what I had asked, she spanked me until I was letting out muffled squeals into the bedsheets. Then she put the hairbrush down and let her cool hand softly rub my burning cheeks. She rubbed soothingly, then let her hand slip between my legs, feeling me there.
"You're dripping," she murmured, her fingers moving backwards and forwards along my slit. Suddenly, she plunged her fingers into me, moving them in and out. I moaned. She still held my arms tightly behind my back. I was overwhelmed by how much this aroused me.
She pumped her fingers faster, making lewd, wet sounds. I gasped, parting my legs for her. Her thumb massaged my clit, quickly sending me over the edge. She fucked me mercilessly, even as I came hard on her fingers, and I realised I was squirting messily, all down the side of her leg, soaking my shorts too, which still sat just above my knees.
She slowed to a stop and pulled her fingers out, dripping the wetness on to my throbbing behind.
She gave it one last slap with the palm of her hand.
"You made such a mess," she teased, releasing my arms.
I put my hands over my face, now embarrassed.
"Learned your lesson?" I could hear the grin in her voice.
"For now," I said quietly.
"Good girl."