Pleasure Remains the Same -Helmut Zemo(eventual winterbaron) x Reader

Continued 19

6 Months Later

The wall is starting to blur, your knees are buckling, and your ass cheeks are still burning.

The bedroom tv is loud in your ear, and for some reason, that makes every second so much worse.

It's early, too early to be punished like this but good luck telling him that. You want to ask how much longer he wants you to stand here, but if you do, you'll only add to your time spent being punished, and he's in a mood this morning. Not that your rebellious pussy seems to mind.

Fuck, you want to touch yourself so bad, and he knows it, which is precisely why you're not allowed. You shift your weight from one bare foot to the other, sniffle, and give a frustrated little huff.

He's got you in the corner with your t-shirt —his actually— up and over your ass so that he can see not only how red you are from the belt, but to watch you suffer while you stand in the corner like the disobedient sub that you are, not allowed touch yourself even when that's all you want. Well, not all, but it would be nice. Then maybe you could get on with your day.

Slowly exhaling against the solid wall, you're thankful the only sheer curtains open are the ones along the same wall you stand in front of, or else you're sure the neighbors across the way would be able to see in. You're pretty sure they've already been given more than one explicit show since you and Zemo moved in. If the way the man from the pink villa looks at you when you cross paths out in the street is any indication, he must sit by his window waiting for the next performance.

You have to wonder whose idea it was to build in this stacked, ascending fashion. Damn the hilly landscape you huff again thinking of the pretty buildings that sprout up from the trees like pastel pieces of the rainbow. Although you're pretty sure whoever settled here, however many centuries ago, had no idea it would stand long enough to have the likes of you and Baron Zemo to contend with.

Oh well, you're thankful for this space; even if it's a bit voyeuristic and your bedroom isn't the largest, it's beautiful and light and dreamy. When it's not the place of your torment, it is a wonderful home made up of stunning views, old-world wood beams and floors, with creamy plaster walls that keep your —noise—quiet. The modern steel-framed windows that reach floor to ceiling are softened by those sheer curtains, and the large bed with its fluffy white pillows and blankets and a thick rug underneath make getting up in the morning almost as easy as going to bed at night.

Typically you share this little dreamscape with Zemo and the dogs, but because of your latest behavior, the animals have been temporarily locked out, and you've been relegated to your current spot. It's one of his favorite punishments, and coincidently, the worst time you'd been placed here also had to do with your pets. It was when you brought home Ada, the newest addition to your little family.

You'd spotted her outside the flower shop by the water on a Sunday morning. She was in a pen with some other puppies and a sign listing them for sale. The florist trying to get rid of them told you they were some sort of mastiff mix, and she'd gladly take half price for the one you'd chosen. It was like the universe had practically handed Lou's sister to you in a basket. You carried the blue-eyed puppy home and suffered the consequences of Zemo's skilled belt-work with a smile on your face and stood in the corner with your cheeks blazing worse than even now. It had been worth all ten strikes. Yes, a full ten (he hadn't been all that mad) and you'd been wearing Prada that day, so you focused on her name instead of the pain until he fucked you. You smile now, thinking of the look on his face when you'd turned around —come still dripping down your thighs— and said, "What about Ada, you know drop the p and r so as not to be too clever." You'd said with a wink. Zemo grabbed his belt and added another five.