Driftwood Deeds Read Online Free PDF

of his shark teeth or a dinosaur bone.
    “Ebay.” 
    He chuckled again, putting the cassette back into place. “Good girl. Thank you.” 
    My mouth opened but nothing came out. I had not expected that and with each time he did this, made me pause and reassess the constant mind-movie of expectations, I wanted him more. His knees were so close, I wanted to climb up onto his lap and start undoing his shirt, I wanted to kiss his neck and find out if his hair smelled like salt and sea. Instead, I just trembled under his gaze.
    “Do you know why I asked you to bring this?”
    I shook my head. 
    “You sound beautiful when you’re aroused. I want you to hear that, your moans and cries, when you aren’t so distracted by what I’m going to do to you.” 
    I stared at the recorder, remembered my mother giving it to me when I started university. I didn’t tell her how far technology had progressed in the field. I still haven’t. 
    “And maybe later,” he added with a knowing smile, “I’ll take a picture of the beautiful way you blush.”
    Before I could think about that statement—the warning?—he had put the recorder on the table and scooted back a little with his ottoman. Patting his lap once, my face split into a smile but again he stopped me when I tried to get up.
    “Ah-ah-ah,” he chided, shaking his head even as his voice never rose over a gentle and friendly murmur. “Over the knee, not on my lap for now. See—you know what I mean, that’s why you are feeling your muscles seize up around your chest, why you are growing dizzy. I bet you found some of those corners online, looked at pictures—didn’t you?”
    I nodded. Of course I had—was there really anyone left who hadn’t? My hands were trembling like leaves in a storm when I tried my best to lean over his lap. It wasn’t enough and I knew it as I felt my breasts squish against his thigh and my back lay straight over his lap. 
    “Go ahead,” he said, gathering my hair to the far side of my neck to give him a better view and I tried to rise to my feet only to scoot my body further over his knees until my hands could reach the ground on the other side. At this point I could only expel fast gulps of air and was clenching my jaws against each other to keep them from shaking with nerves.
    “A little more, baby girl.” His fingers ran down my spine, pushing through my shirt. “I want your forehead on the floor.”
    I pushed until only the tips of my toes still rested on one side of him and I could feel the grain of the carpet pressing into my hairline at the other. My bottom was now the highest part of my body, prone and presented perfectly on his lap. I was holding my breath, waiting for—something, a touch, a smack, anything. But nothing came. Finally, I could feel him shifting under me; I heard a click and then saw his hand enter my field of vision, leaving the recorder next to my mouth. 
    “Don’t forget to breathe, Iris.”

 
     
     
    VI
     
     
    That one, massive inhale was the first thing I would hear when he’d later play the tape back to me. He was far enough from the microphone to only feature in small murmuring voices but what he said was burned into my mind like everything else.
    I could feel the blood rushing to my head, that drowning sound in my ears that I vaguely recalled from practicing handstands as a child.
    “Do you want me to touch you?” he asked and I nodded immediately. “Say it, Iris.”
    “Yes,” I exhaled and his fingers connected with the back of my knee. My tights were still intact there but they did nothing to dull the sensation. I groaned in surprise, kicked the air at the unexpected tickle—already I was panting, breathing shallowly and blowing a little storm of static against the microphone with each exhale. He drew circles and runes into the sensitive skin just above the back of my knee and just when I thought I couldn’t stand it anymore, he flattened his palm against it—warm and strong. Like a