Consequences
Page 8
By the time they reached the grand doors to his office, red infiltrated his vision. It wasn’t intense, but the world had a crimson hue. Catherine had told him that he was wrong to take Claire. Nathaniel’s plan had been clear, yet there was something about Claire that fascinated him. He wouldn’t fail and prove Catherine right. He would make Claire behave appropriately—this would work.
Shoving her inside his office, Anthony reeled in the red and spoke in his most even tone. “So, you say you can follow instructions. We’ll see.” He watched as she stood before him trembling. He wondered how she could be trembling—his anger warmed him to an uncomfortable heat. Then he realized, it wasn’t cold: it was fear. That was good. Fear was an excellent motivator. He continued, “Let’s start with you taking off your clothes.”
Though her hands shook as she unfastened the clasps, she didn’t argue. Whenever she looked away, he reached for her chin and redirected her eyes. There was so much he could see in her eyes; he refused to allow her to hide that emotion. After he redirected her the second time, she maintained eye contact. Once she was nude, he assessed. There was nothing wrong with her body. She’d even seemed to have lost some weight since she first arrived. Her earlier markings were gone, and her skin tone was lighter—probably due to staying inside. After all, she wasn’t in the warm Georgia sun any longer.
“Lie down on the floor,” he directed.
She didn’t speak, yet he saw her indecision. Anthony Rawlings wouldn’t make the same request twice. Just as he was about to assist, Claire knelt on the carpet.
“Lie on your stomach and keep your face and eyes down.”
He didn’t know if it was his imagination or if time was indeed moving slowly; nevertheless, each of her movements seemed to occur painfully slow. At least they were occurring. Despite the fact that she was still trembling, she eventually lay down, totally nude, and prone on the carpet.
Anthony had had his fair share of experiences in life; however, this was once again entering the world of new and untested territory. He’d accepted the responsibility to train this woman, to make her into a compliant soul. Catherine said it couldn’t be done. She said that women today were too independent. Watching Claire lie as still as possible, Anthony almost laughed—independent indeed. Claire Nichols would learn to behave.
Perhaps it was a childhood memory, or maybe something he’d read; regardless of the source, physical negative reinforcement was often very effective in molding behavior. Even Pavlov’s dog learned to stop responding to the bell once the reinforcement turned from food to an electrical shock. Claire Nichols would learn to listen to Anthony. When she replied appropriately, she earned house tours and time in the library. When she disappointed him, she earned negative reinforcement.
Slowly, Anthony unbuckled his belt. It wasn’t the fulfillment of the punishment he sought. No, it was Claire’s reaction. He needed to hear her response. When his belt contacted her back for the first blow, she let out a satisfying scream. It was his reinforcement, confirming her understanding of his control. That scream told Anthony that she understood her behavior was unacceptable. He wanted more.
He listened as the belt contacted her skin—again and again—however, his reinforcement was gone. Claire remained silent. Moving his eyes from the growing welts, Anthony noticed Claire’s fist at her lips. He felt the red return with the realization that she was refusing to give him his satisfaction.
Crimson flooded the room. Damn her! She would learn that he was in control. She would learn to behave. She said she could follow directions—then by God, he had directions for her to follow. Reaching for her shoulder, he turned her over. Maintaining eye contact, Anthony began to undress. He didn’t give instructions—at first. His intent was obvious.
With time, he began to direct her movements. His desired positions required her compliance and manipulation. Sometimes he told her what to do, other times he moved her as he saw fit. There were times he heard her ragged breaths or tasted her salty tears; nevertheless, Claire never argued nor told him to stop. At least she seemed to comprehend their arrangement—this was consensual.
By the time he finished, Claire seemed incapable of complete sentences. Her eyes no longer revealed her emotions; they were momentarily void and puffy and her cheeks were wet. Anthony refused to be affected by her demeanor. It reminded him of the woman he’d left two weeks ago in the suite and he didn’t like it.
When he returned from the bathroom, Claire was still sitting on the floor holding her clothes. He walked toward her. Her disheveled appearance and vacant look disgusted him. More than anything, he wanted her out of his office. “You may go to your suite, clean yourself up, and get ready to demonstrate to me again your ability to follow directions.” It was as if his words unlocked the invisible bonds that held her in place and allowed her to move. While she mechanically dressed, he did his best to ignore her occasional ragged breaths. Before she left, he callously added, “Do not leave your suite until I decide. Your pass to roam has been revoked.”
When she reached for the door handle, Claire turned back toward Anthony. Her lips incapable of words, her eyes questioned. Only after he nodded did she open the door and walk away. He listened to her shoes on the marble corridor. Out of mere curiosity, he went to his computer and found the camera’s view of the foyer. When Claire started to walk past the stairs toward the outside doors, Anthony shook his head and began walking toward the front of the house. He didn’t need to hurry. There was no way that she could escape the grounds; nevertheless, he’d just told her to stay in her suite. Going outside was definitely forbidden. By the time he made it to the foyer, she was halfway up the stairs. Though he stood near the banister and watched, she never turned toward him.
Shoving her inside his office, Anthony reeled in the red and spoke in his most even tone. “So, you say you can follow instructions. We’ll see.” He watched as she stood before him trembling. He wondered how she could be trembling—his anger warmed him to an uncomfortable heat. Then he realized, it wasn’t cold: it was fear. That was good. Fear was an excellent motivator. He continued, “Let’s start with you taking off your clothes.”
Though her hands shook as she unfastened the clasps, she didn’t argue. Whenever she looked away, he reached for her chin and redirected her eyes. There was so much he could see in her eyes; he refused to allow her to hide that emotion. After he redirected her the second time, she maintained eye contact. Once she was nude, he assessed. There was nothing wrong with her body. She’d even seemed to have lost some weight since she first arrived. Her earlier markings were gone, and her skin tone was lighter—probably due to staying inside. After all, she wasn’t in the warm Georgia sun any longer.
“Lie down on the floor,” he directed.
She didn’t speak, yet he saw her indecision. Anthony Rawlings wouldn’t make the same request twice. Just as he was about to assist, Claire knelt on the carpet.
“Lie on your stomach and keep your face and eyes down.”
He didn’t know if it was his imagination or if time was indeed moving slowly; nevertheless, each of her movements seemed to occur painfully slow. At least they were occurring. Despite the fact that she was still trembling, she eventually lay down, totally nude, and prone on the carpet.
Anthony had had his fair share of experiences in life; however, this was once again entering the world of new and untested territory. He’d accepted the responsibility to train this woman, to make her into a compliant soul. Catherine said it couldn’t be done. She said that women today were too independent. Watching Claire lie as still as possible, Anthony almost laughed—independent indeed. Claire Nichols would learn to behave.
Perhaps it was a childhood memory, or maybe something he’d read; regardless of the source, physical negative reinforcement was often very effective in molding behavior. Even Pavlov’s dog learned to stop responding to the bell once the reinforcement turned from food to an electrical shock. Claire Nichols would learn to listen to Anthony. When she replied appropriately, she earned house tours and time in the library. When she disappointed him, she earned negative reinforcement.
Slowly, Anthony unbuckled his belt. It wasn’t the fulfillment of the punishment he sought. No, it was Claire’s reaction. He needed to hear her response. When his belt contacted her back for the first blow, she let out a satisfying scream. It was his reinforcement, confirming her understanding of his control. That scream told Anthony that she understood her behavior was unacceptable. He wanted more.
He listened as the belt contacted her skin—again and again—however, his reinforcement was gone. Claire remained silent. Moving his eyes from the growing welts, Anthony noticed Claire’s fist at her lips. He felt the red return with the realization that she was refusing to give him his satisfaction.
Crimson flooded the room. Damn her! She would learn that he was in control. She would learn to behave. She said she could follow directions—then by God, he had directions for her to follow. Reaching for her shoulder, he turned her over. Maintaining eye contact, Anthony began to undress. He didn’t give instructions—at first. His intent was obvious.
With time, he began to direct her movements. His desired positions required her compliance and manipulation. Sometimes he told her what to do, other times he moved her as he saw fit. There were times he heard her ragged breaths or tasted her salty tears; nevertheless, Claire never argued nor told him to stop. At least she seemed to comprehend their arrangement—this was consensual.
By the time he finished, Claire seemed incapable of complete sentences. Her eyes no longer revealed her emotions; they were momentarily void and puffy and her cheeks were wet. Anthony refused to be affected by her demeanor. It reminded him of the woman he’d left two weeks ago in the suite and he didn’t like it.
When he returned from the bathroom, Claire was still sitting on the floor holding her clothes. He walked toward her. Her disheveled appearance and vacant look disgusted him. More than anything, he wanted her out of his office. “You may go to your suite, clean yourself up, and get ready to demonstrate to me again your ability to follow directions.” It was as if his words unlocked the invisible bonds that held her in place and allowed her to move. While she mechanically dressed, he did his best to ignore her occasional ragged breaths. Before she left, he callously added, “Do not leave your suite until I decide. Your pass to roam has been revoked.”
When she reached for the door handle, Claire turned back toward Anthony. Her lips incapable of words, her eyes questioned. Only after he nodded did she open the door and walk away. He listened to her shoes on the marble corridor. Out of mere curiosity, he went to his computer and found the camera’s view of the foyer. When Claire started to walk past the stairs toward the outside doors, Anthony shook his head and began walking toward the front of the house. He didn’t need to hurry. There was no way that she could escape the grounds; nevertheless, he’d just told her to stay in her suite. Going outside was definitely forbidden. By the time he made it to the foyer, she was halfway up the stairs. Though he stood near the banister and watched, she never turned toward him.
