Nash turned to look at her with a smile. “You’re fidgeting a lot. Got ants in your pants?” She glared at him. “You know very well what’s in my pants. I have a sore bottom and a piece of plastic up my ass. I’d like to see you sit still.” He simply chuckled and turned back around. After her spanking that morning, Nash had kept her on his lap, her wrists bound as he’d fed her. They’d tied her hands to keep her from dressing before they gave her permission. Or so they’d said. Personally, she figured they just enjoyed keeping her at their mercy. Not that she was complaining. After breakfast, Quinn had taken her into the bathroom, bent her over the bathroom counter and pushed a different plug up her bottom. A larger one. Only then had she been allowed to put clothes on before they’d left to look for Doug. Three hours passed with no sign of him. “Do you think I should call the police?” she asked, unable to keep the tremor out of her voice. Nash’s eyes grew concerned.
