Shadow Girl by Mael d'Armor Read Free Book Online Page A

she has to keep him happy. She has to keep those cool, wonderful tones wrapped around her.
    Another chocolate is pushed into her mouth. She has forgotten all about her waistline. Her throat is drowning in liqueur. She got the R right, she got the R right, she sings through the dizziness, through the haze dimming her thoughts.
    Fingers linger over her lips, fluttering like mischievous birds.
    â€˜You have a tiny smudge on the side there, in the crease of your mouth. Allow me to wipe it clean for you.’
    A thumb brushes against the fullness of her lip, bringing her brief relief as it cuts a small gash in the heat swaddling her.
    She is convinced she is about to lose her balance and grips the rug, searching for anchorage. She senses that she is slipping, losing control. That she should call the whole thing off. But her mind is blunted, caught between inflamed jubilation and a perverse desire to keep going. To respond to the smooth, compelling prompts of his voice. She cannot let herself be diverted from her goal. Her goal.
    Yes, it is her goal to please him.
    â€˜Well done, Sandra. You are ready to tackle the ultimate core phoneme. The O sound. The lynchpin of the whole neurolinguistics edifice! But also the most challenging part, it is only fair to warn you.’
    Yaouen’s voice drones on, soothing, caressing.
    â€˜The French O is a cardinal vowel described by the late Professor Daniel Jones — may his soul rest in peace. It is a mid-high back vowel, rounded, and requires precise and meticulous positioning of the lips, the upper oral tract, the pharyngeal tissues and the organs of the thoracic cavity.’
    This makes absolutely no sense to her but his voice keeps weaving its hypnotic thread, trapping her more sweetly with every sentence.
    â€˜Unlike the English O, it is not a diphthong, or gliding vowel, in which the tongue moves from one position to another, but a pure sound, characterised by lingual fixity.’
    A pause. The blood is pounding in her temples. Flushing her cheeks. Her shirt is a damp paste on her skin.
    â€˜Now, let us try,’ resumes Yaouen’s voice. ‘O,’ it demonstrates. ‘Please repeat. O.’
    â€˜Ow,’ she says, hesitant.
    â€˜As I said, O is a pure vowel, not a mixture of two sounds. Let’s try with a word. Jojo.’
    â€˜Jowjow.’
    She braces herself for a slap on her bottom. Nothing. She feels a twitch of disappointment — and then perceives, as through a fog, how unreal this whole situation has become. Disappointment? For not getting spanked? What is happening to her?
    She tries to rally her thoughts, to will herself together. Come on, get a grip , she begs. She gropes for a mental picture of self-assertion. No, this is hopeless. She cannot escape the slow burn in her head, her chest, her limbs. Cannot escape his mesmeric tones.
    She starts longing for his cool reassuring voice. For those seductive eyes. For the taste of his thumb.
    â€˜We have to work on the mouth,’ instructs his voice. ‘Purse your lips to make a nice circle.’
    She tries, but he is not pleased.
    â€˜Further forward, Sandra. Imagine you want to leave the imprint of a kiss on a glass.’
    Dutifully, she strains her lips and puts on an admirable duck face.
    â€˜Well done,’ says his voice, curling around her. ‘Very promising.’
    Another chocolate is offered to her tongue. She chews obediently, succumbing further to the flavour. She has to dig her nails deeper into the rug to stop herself from tipping over.
    And his voice . . . His voice is amplified in her head. Pervasive, inescapable, like a smooth dark presence.
    â€˜The orbicularis oris — that’s the muscle around your mouth — needs to be strengthened so you can hold the position. So please relax your lips, then make the circle. Focus, Sandra. Relax those lips. Again. And again.’
    A pause.
    â€˜You can do better than that.’
    The voice is not happy.