"Eleanor, let me ask you, do you find pleasure in seeing me upset with you like this?" He shouts, slamming his fist against the wall above my head. I remain silent, fearful of saying something to fuel his anger. "For God's sake, answer me," he demands. "N-No, no," I stutter, trying to defend myself. "If not, then why don't you heed my words? Was the previous discipline insufficient? Are you asking for me to unleash my full fury before you listen?" he questions, and I shake my head, denying the need. "Give me a valid reason why I shouldn't discipline you now, Eleanor, by administering twenty lashes to each of your buttocks for laughing at Evan's comment," he threatens, leaving me momentarily speechless. "You shouldn't spank me because I have the right to decide whether to laugh or not at what Evan said," I finally reply, standing my ground. "Eleanor, you misunderstand. Only I have the authority to dictate your mirth," he declares, his tone cold and possessive. "Excuse me?" I ask, my confusion evident as I struggle to comprehend his bizarre logic. "I am the one who owns your laughter, Eleanor, and not just that – I own every part of you," he asserts, leaving me shaken and questioning the nature of our relationship.
