Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
He carries me off, away from Sasha’s place. I know she’s watching, and I know that everybody in our little friend group is going to know about this in about five minutes. It’s not that she’s a gossip, it’s that expecting anybody to keep this series of events to themselves is practically inhuman.
“You can put me down.”
“I absolutely cannot. You cannot be trusted out of my sight, let alone on your own two feet. If I were to put you down now, I’d expect you to crawl for me.”
“Marcus!”
“Close,” he says. “When you are in trouble, you call me ‘Master’. Understand?”
“Uhm…”
“Master,” he repeats. “Say it. Now.”
“Master,” I mumble, feeling ashamed. The streets are not empty. I am sure someone probably has a video of me falling off the fucking fire escape, too.
He bundles me into a car that must have been waiting. As soon as he is in the back, he taps on the glass to indicate that we are leaving. Then he sits back, in the very middle of the car, and pulls me over his lap, whipping down my leggings to expose my ass in one movement.
“I was nice to you last night,” he says. “I didn’t lock you away like I should have. I let you sleep with your crate open. I won’t be making that mistake again. You’ve earned yourself confinement when you cannot be actively supervised. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”
Before I can respond as to whether or not I am satisfied with the outcome of my behavior, his palm meets my ass in a harsh, stinging smack that makes me yowl.
“This is the beginning of what’s going to happen to you,” he says. “You could have gotten yourself killed today. If I had not been there—and you went out of your way to ensure that I wouldn’t be. But I told you I’d be keeping track of you, didn’t I.”
“Ye… ow!”
I curse and squeal as he spanks me again. Hard.
“I don’t know why you felt the need to test me immediately, and in such a dangerous way, but I can promise you that you will regret it.”
He doesn’t understand. And that’s a good thing. He assumes I’m an unhinged idiot, and not that I just had something better to do. He doesn’t think I was up to anything. He just thinks I wanted to rebel. He thinks I wanted to get myself in trouble.
“Ow!” I gasp again as the third hard slap lands. “I’m sorry, Master!”
It’s not as hard to say that as I thought it would be. I figured I’d cringe internally and not be able to get that word out, but right now, I’d say anything to stop this spanking which feels incredibly humiliating—and in an entirely different way than being chipped and put in a cage feels humiliating.
The pet stuff is some kind of thing he’s into, obviously. But this isn’t anything he’s into. He’s spanking me like a spoiled brat because he disapproves of my behavior.
It’s not sexual. It’s not pretending to be sexual. It’s just a straight up punishment, and it really hurts.
“You’re not nearly as sorry as you are going to be,” he promises me. “You were given much more than fair warning. You were given explicit orders. You have not taken me seriously, Charlie. That will prove to be a significant mistake.”
He’s mad. I can hear it in his voice, and I can feel it in the way he’s holding me. Firmly, snugly. As if he doesn’t want to let me go.
In addition to the pain, and the shame, I’m starting to notice other feelings. Feelings like, surprise. It has been a long time since anybody cared where I was or what I was doing. Sure, my friends worry about me from time to time, but even when I was a kid, nobody ever noticed when I disappeared.
There was one time, before I was even a teenager, that I left home for a week. I caught a bus and went to the nearest city to see if I could join the circus. Turned out circuses don’t actually let you join them just because you want to. Anyway, I got back home, and my mother hadn’t actually noticed I was missing.
To have it noticed that I was gone this quickly, and to have been found so swiftly is wild.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” He pauses with his hand resting on my hot, sore ass.
The first thing that comes to mind, and to my mouth, is something that doesn’t sound like a good excuse at all. I say it anyway, because saying something feels better than saying nothing.
“I didn’t know you really meant it.”
He pulls me up. The limited amount of space in the back of the car means I end up on my knees on the seat next to him. My ass is still bare, and rests against the back of my calves.