A Sharper, More Lasting Pain

Twelve

Nadia Dupont || Before

"You will read this," Simone says, expression soft but otherwise unreadable, "until you can recite it from memory."

When they first proposed investigating her, Nadia had expecting giggling library dates and study sessions ending in a different sort of studying, lingering glances across cafe tables and endless flirting. Much to her dismay, however, she soon learns Simone's true meaning.

She regards the book they've offered her, brow quirked and bare skin buzzing. The cover is all worn brown leather, the title once gold-plated and now rubbed beyond recognition.

"I know you're a serious student." Nadia pauses to finish reading the title, To Be Loved By Gods, with a snort. "But I never took you for the religious sort."

Simone's mouth quirks. "I'm not. This is part of your Divination and Mysticism assignment."

"I wasn't aware I had one."

"I know."

Nadia takes the book from them after a moment of hesitation, wincing at the sudden weight. Still, she doesn't let go. "How did you find out what I was assigned?"

"I have my ways."

"And I'm supposed to read this whole book?"

A playful twinkle lights up Simone's eyes. "Of course not." Then, more serious, "You would know this if you'd been paying attention in your classes."

This is another part of the deal they've forged. Simone had looked on the verge of combusting when they learned of Nadia's awful attendance history, let alone her grades.

"We cannot continue this relationship," Simone had said, much to Nadia's dismay. Then, as tears pricked her eyes, they had continued, "Not unless you start performing better."

And so an arrangement was made.

Simone's gaze is a persistent prickling between her shoulders for a long while. Between sly glances, she stares at the pages until the letters—and she—refuse to sit still. Whenever she looks up, Simone brandishes their thin switch rod and arches a brow.

After a couple of lashes, she learns to keep her eyes on the pages.

Before long, she's lost in the rhythm of the words. The cadence rolls over her like water. The longer the session goes on, the less she feels the lick of Simone's switch at her back...and the more she aches for its sting.

The end of the hour is punctuated by Simone's sharp, "Stop."

The word comes to her from some faraway place, like a misted-over dream. It isn't until Simone is perched over her, delicate fingers caressing the rounded nub of her chin, that she registers their command at all. She wants them to touch her like that. Or, perhaps they could swat her until she cries.

What is she thinking? She's been to the occasional session with people who direct her with a stern word, or stretch her emotionally and sexually, but nothing like this. And yet, she likes it. She craves it.

"Do it again," she wants to tell Simone. "Hit me again." Would they think her odd if she begged?

"Stand."

Shrugging the post-meditative numbness and the ache in her hips, Nadia is quick to obey.

"Stay."

Her breath hitches as they cross the room and sit on the edge of their bed. The frame creaks as they settle into a comfortable position. Then, eyes shadowed, they flip to the beginning of the book. "Tell me what you read. Summarize for me.