She had a front row seat as he recorded notes from several of his calls into a leather-bound journal, and the accountant in her began to get curious about what kind of businesses Jake Davenport ran and what exactly he was asking her to do for him. She would never return to this house again, at least not voluntarily, but as she lay there, she began to hatch a plan of revenge.
She didn't get far in her plan when Jake stood, moving to her right wrist and unlocking her from her restraint. When he didn't continue to her other limbs, she glanced up to see him holding some papers and a pen. He laid the paper on the desk, placed the pen in her hand, and stepped back.
When she hesitated, he prodded her. "Sign the contract, Hannah."
She clearly had a death wish because she didn't bother to contain her chuckle. "You've lost your mind if you think I'm going to work for you, Jake. I want no part of ever coming back here. You've had your fun, now let me go and take me to my car."
She saw fury in his eyes, but for the briefest of seconds, she caught a glimpse of that sick excitement he'd had when he was belting her. Perhaps she should have waited until she was free before she got sassy.
He crossed his muscular arms across his chest as he waited. He looked frighteningly ridiculous with his hard cock jutting out from his otherwise clothed body, waiting for her to crumble. It didn't take long. All he had to do was pick up his belt and she whimpered. She decided to stall.
"Why do you want me to work for you? I have no experience," she tried.
"All the better for me to train you."
"I still have to work at the florist. They need me."
"What you do during the day is irrelevant. You'll work for me in the evenings and at night."
"This is far for me to drive. My car is old."
"I'll buy you a new car. It's part of your hiring package. A car. A ten-thousand-dollar bonus and two grand a week under the table, tax free."
Her head was pounding. Damn him for hitting her where she was vulnerable.
"Come on, Hannah. I know you have $197.13 in your checking account. Rent is due next week. Working for me will mean you'll never have to worry about money again."
Of course, he knew what she had in her bank account. He could relieve her poverty, but at what cost? The price was too high. Still, she saw the rigid set of his jaw and suspected he would keep her there as long as it took for her to agree to his terms. Jake Davenport was not used to hearing the word no.
"Let me think about it."
"No. Now. Here. Tonight. Sign, and we'll get you get started."
"You want me to work tonight?" she asked incredulously.
"Of course. I told you, I've been without an accountant for a few weeks. I need to get caught up before Thursday night."
She could tell he was getting annoyed with her questions, but she couldn't help but want to distract him in any way she could to keep him from picking up his belt again, or deciding it was time to stick that pole of his into her next hole.
"What happens Thursday night?" she asked.
"Enough with the fucking fifty questions. Thursday is a big night for my business and that's all you need to know. Now, I can see you're in need of some additional persuasion." He turned to walk across the room, behind her where she couldn't see. She could hear him moving objects around but had no idea what he was doing until he returned to her side, sporting a vicious-looking wooden paddle with three holes down the middle.
Hannah moved her free right hand back to instinctively cover her ass, feeling the warmth still emanating from her already punished flesh. The smile that didn't quite reach his eyes was back.
"We'll do these in sets of six. You'll take six before I give you a chance to sign. You pass, you'll get six more. And so on."
She'd been a fool. "Okay, okay... I'll sign." She reached up for the pen, but he looped the cuff around her wrist instead, resecuring her.
"I'm glad to hear it. You'll sign after you take six of the best."
The thud of the heavy paddle made the belt feel like cotton balls. Never in her life had Hannah experienced such pain as when that wood struck her tenderized ass. The coverage area was huge, and the holes allowed for less resistance in his swing. She couldn't take more. She was sure of it. Surely women have died from the paddle? That was the last thought she had before his second swing connected across both her cheeks, overlapping the last stroke enough to make her wish she could die. The pain after that swing was so intense she found herself turning internal, praying for the strength to escape this asshole and his house of horror.
It was over relatively fast, all things considered. He set the paddle down on the desk and reached to unlock her right hand, and this time when he placed the pen in her hand, her trembling made it hard to hold onto it. The paper was shoved in front of her and she scribbled her name. She told herself it didn't matter what it said, it wouldn't hold up in a court of law. All she cared about was ending the hellish torture, and if that meant signing a piece of paper, then sign it she would.
After he had released her limbs, Jake assisted her to her feet, holding her up when her legs threatened to buckle under her. With a
