by Nikki Rae
“Good.” Patting my hand, he stood to retrieve the bench from under the bathroom vanity, setting it between the beds. “Kneel and lie on your stomach, Fawn.”
He kissed my cheek with such tenderness I could have broken into sobs, but then it was over and I was following his instructions. My loose clothing slipped down my shoulder as I got into position, facing the bed I’d slept in. With my torso over the bench, I could comfortably kneel with most of my weight against the wood and off my limbs. Master Lyon shifted on the opposite mattress, leaning over me so he could tuck a pillow under my head, which couldn’t quite reach the floor.
“Comfortable?”
“Yes, sir.”
I could remember the day he’d marked me with the impermanent ink, how badly I’d wanted to bear evidence of his touch and then the relief of the intricate design once it was torn from my flesh. Patience was the lesson then. I didn’t know what he was trying to teach me now.
“Take down your bottoms.”
His gentle command snapped me out of my thoughts, and I fumbled with the elastic around my waist. Once I was done, I rested my hands under me, where there was a wooden ledge. Master Lyon was soft, stroking my shoulder and then hugging the curve of my hip. I hated sitting still, anticipating when he would strike.
“Don’t move,” he whispered, leaving my side. I heard him shifting behind me, almost missing his belt leaving his pants. When I flinched, his reassuring hand was on my back and I laid flat on my stomach again, hugging the stool.
Instead of hitting me with it or tying my hands, he wrapped it around my middle so I was secured to the cushion beneath me. “All that running…” he purred as he buckled the leather. “You must be tired.”
I wasn’t certain he was speaking metaphorically or not, but the answer was the same nevertheless. “Yes, sir.”
“Elliot,” he corrected.
We both preferred our real names; I could only hope it made our footing somewhat equal.
“Yes,” I repeated, “I’m very tired, Elliot.” I mumbled it mostly into my arm, but he didn’t ask me to speak up.
The ensuing quiet crushed us from all sides, only the sound of my breathing in my ears. We were in another strange place—in any sense of the word. The rules we’d made for ourselves and each other didn’t exist here, yet we’d still chosen to respect them.
If I was good, I would be rewarded. If I let him do this, we could talk. He would listen.
I jumped at the soft vibration of his phone on the bed and he settled a palm across my lower back so I wouldn’t move any more. His hand briefly left my T-shirt so he could answer the call.
He spoke in French, keeping his voice to a whisper as if I was asleep. “Oui,” he said in response to some question. Then in English, “Soon. We will be there.”
I hardly had time to take a breath before the conversation ended and he’d replaced the device on the nightstand. I could only hope it was Marius; I wanted to speak to him as well, but I knew better than to ask. I doubted I would know what to say had I the chance.
After what felt like a long time, I heard Elliot release a deep breath. Then he brushed the hair from my face. “Still okay?”
I knew he meant more than whether I was comfortable. He always chose his words carefully.
“Yes,” I answered.
His knee grazed my thigh as he closed the space between us, my behind bare to him. I felt his warm hand travel the surface, slowly inching up my shirt until it was out of the way, only covering me up to where the belt held it in place. The air was cool around me and I couldn’t stop a slight tremble.
“You’ll be warm in a minute,” he whispered. His finger circled the bruising on my inner thigh and a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I see you enjoyed my time away.”
He pinched almost to the point of pain; my legs had naturally parted and my face flamed as he brought it to my attention. Automatically, I tried to bring my knees together, but he held them apart with his other hand. “He loves leaving marks on a girl’s skin,” he explained, finally releasing me. Then his hot mouth, almost sharp in its eagerness as it explored the same area.
“Would you think he’d like to watch me hurt you?” His voice was soft, like he hadn’t meant to ask aloud. His tongue slid over the skin again, heat rising in my chest and making me shake with the effort of trying to close my legs.
I shook my head, mumbling “No,” at the thought of him using the video feature on his phone to show Marius my shame. I tried to sit up, but his fingers cradled the back of my skull. “Please, Elliot,” I begged, not knowing whether I wanted more or for him to stop.
Mercifully, he backed away, rubbing any place that might be in pain until it dissipated.
“Hush.” He massaged my scalp, pulling my thighs back together on top of a pillow. He may have asked I call him Elliot, but Master Lyon’s punishments always involved some mild form of humiliation, and I was already letting him get the better of me. What was worse, he knew it.
“Tell me, Fawn,” he murmured, hand running the length of one calf, up the back of my thigh and to my backside, which he kneaded in his palm. “Tell me again what you need from me.”
He wasn’t content to mark me. Bruises and welts faded; he wanted me to remember this lesson well past after I was healed. And he wanted me to plead for it.
I swallowed the lump of uncertainty in my throat and tried to keep my voice even. This went against everything I should have wanted, yet the smallest part of me craved the pain. Needed him to prove to me I wasn’t alone in it. “Please, Elliot,” I said, more conscious of his skin against mine. “Will you please hurt me?”
Elliot squeezed one buttock and then the other, releasing an exhale. “That’s very nice,” he quietly praised. “I want you to repeat that each time. Understood?”
I hadn’t been afraid until now, and I wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t going to treat me like I was sick anymore, and although I was grateful he didn’t view me as weak, I couldn’t help but tense every muscle in my body. Something must have alerted him to this, because he lifted my head.
My back arched until I was using a hand to steady me, and he whispered in my ear, “I’m still waiting for your answer, Doe.”
I liked how this sounded better. Belonging to him. Safe in his arms, even as he broke me down and pieced me back together.
“Yes,” I croaked. “I understand, Elliot.”
He pressed his cheek to mine and I could feel him smile. “Very good.”
Letting go, he set my head back on the pillow. Then without so much as a warning, his hand came down hard across the back of my thigh. The initial sting blossomed into a heat I wished he would take away, but this was just the first of many. I held myself as still as possible as the pain spread and I waited for another blow, but it never came. Already, he’d made me forget my instructions. Right now, I wasn’t sure of my own name.
How had he done this so easily? Less than a year ago, I would have never cracked at a physical punishment. Perhaps it was more about the person delivering it than the act itself. I could already sense the distant threat of tears building in the back of my throat. How ashamed the girl he’d first purchased would be now. If she still existed at all.
An immeasurable silence stretched between us, and he didn’t hit me again.
“Please.” I licked my dry lips in some attempt to stall. “Will you please hurt me, Elliot?”
My voice came out small, but he’d heard me and I was given another smack to the opposite thigh. “Such good manners, Fawn,” he cooed, blissfully rubbing away the sting this time. “Such a good girl when you need to be.”
He couldn’t see my face, but I still shoved it further into the pillow as my bottom lip quivered.
Master Lyon was quiet again as he waited for the expected reply; he didn’t rush me, allowing time for the pain to dissipate. I knew it would only make it worse when the next blow landed, but it was more difficult to ask for it this time. “Please, hurt me, Elliot.”
&nbs
p; His hand came down again and I saw an entire cosmos of stars as I squeezed my eyes shut.
We did this a countless number of times, each stroke of his large, strong palm forcing the words from my mouth with increased speed. It was better if I didn’t give myself the chance to let the bite settle into my skin and fade. However, the alternative was just as harsh. There was no way to escape the pain, no running and no blocking it out. When I reflexively tried to move, I was stuck, and he used his feet to keep the stool in place.
Elliot didn’t stop until tears sprung to my eyes and I was struggling to untie the belt around my waist. He effortlessly regained control over me, and a tear rolled down my cheek. My Owner craned my head back so he could see. Through blurred vision, I watched him smirk.
“Good,” he whispered. “That’s what I want.”
I sniffled, unable to speak for fear of breaking. I tried to shake my head, but he yanked my hair and immediately stopped me.
“Giving up so soon?” His voice had taken on a teasing tone again. “I want more from you, Fawn.”
I choked back more sobs, stupidly trying to withhold what already belonged to him. This was why he’d wanted to do this; why I’d asked for it. It was inevitable, really, mourning the relationship I’d ruined. He deserved this just as badly as I did.
Elliot allowed me to catch my breath, easing the tension from my shoulders as my backside and legs radiated with a tingling, blistering heat. If I concentrated, I was able to pinpoint exactly where the bruises would appear, what areas would remain raw and red for days after this moment.
Then I said the words again and again, gasping between smacks that rang in my ears as loud as my pulse. Eventually, I was almost numb to it all, and it was then that he stopped.
“Please,” I whispered on a shaky breath, unable to say anything past that. I’d rather he make me bleed than feel this—whatever it was.
My lips parted as I stammered for my response, but he briefly covered my mouth to tell me it was done.
“Shh.” He smoothed the sweaty hair from my forehead before carefully pulling up my boxers. He kept his hands concentrated on my back as I cried helplessly into the pillow by my head, and we both knew it was more than the punishment that had caused it.
The cotton along my backside made everything hot and sore, overly sensitive like an open wound. As my sobs tapered off, he unbuckled me from the bench and I collapsed into his arms. He set me on my side atop his bed—which remained unmade from the night before. When I quieted, we sat a long time as he rocked me against his chest and whispered in French I could scarcely hear. I caught “Bonne fille,” and “je suis ici.” He’d used the same words as the Cerberus left my system.
Good girl. I’m here.
We both were, and for these blissful silent seconds, that was all that mattered.
Treating me as if I were made of something fragile, he turned me onto my stomach and stood, making sure my head was comfortably against the pillow. “I will be right back.”
I licked my lips, listening as his footsteps retreated to the bathroom. I heard water running and then turn off. He was quiet when he returned, mindful not to jostle the mattress as he sat near me. This time, he slid away the boxers, and I didn’t have it in me to fight him. He was done hurting me for now, so there was no reason.
“This will be cold,” he said from behind me.
A moment later, I felt the cool dampness of a washcloth as he laid it over my aching skin. I suppressed a whimper while the relief spread, semi-conscious of him rounding the bed so he was in front of me. I felt something against my lips and found him holding a glass of water. Wordlessly, I drank all he offered, somehow managing not to spill.
From the paper bag I’d spotted when I woke, he produced a plain blue sundress with tiny white flowers embroidered on it. With this, he gave me the flats I’d worn the day before. Anyone else would have only seen this as a kind gesture; fulfilling the demands I’d made. I knew better. What he had chosen was impractical, but only for someone on the run.
“I’ll draw you a bath, all right?” he asked with caution, setting the items aside.
It was disorienting, how close we’d been as he hurt me and the distance he put between us as he crossed the room. His eyes had become almost hollow, and I couldn’t figure out what I’d done to elicit such a change. Perhaps I’d given up too soon, should have pushed myself more for him. Proved myself worthy of his trust. This was the way he thought when he closed himself off; I knew it better than anyone, yet I was powerless to change anything.
“When you’re ready, get dressed and pack up your things,” he instructed in an even tone, all the warmth sucked out. “We can talk on the road.”
Snatching his phone from the nightstand, he stepped out of the room, locking the door behind him. Since he didn’t bother tying me up again, I assumed he was staying close by, just wanting to use the device in private. He was probably calling Marius again, asking questions so he could prepare himself for the conversation I wanted once we were in motion. Hiding when he should have been facing things head-on.
He boasted quite often that he knew me, but likewise, I knew him.
Twelve
I waited until the washcloth was no longer cold before I attempted to sit up. Sore and stiff, I shed the clothes I’d slept in. When I passed my reflection in the mirror above the sink, I found the limited amount of marks disappointing; deep red in some areas, and my lower thighs and backside hadn’t accumulated more than a handful of bruises. He’d made it hurt without leaving lasting visible evidence behind—another punishment in itself.
Dressing in what he’d given me, I was too on edge to sit still. I gathered my belongings and shoved them into my backpack, omitting the water bottle after emptying it and returning the tracking device. It didn’t matter now whether I carried it or not. Then I set to work gathering the dirty towels and stowing them in the laundry basket provided. When Master Lyon hadn’t come back, I decided I had time to make the beds, clear the table. I even lined up everything by the door. I no longer felt sick, but remaining motionless for too long made my mind travel to dangerous places I wasn’t ready to explore.
No less than twenty minutes later, my Owner was back, eyes immediately on me when he entered. I stood between the beds, hands folded in front of me as I gazed past his head.
“Were you bored without me?” he attempted to joke, but I wasn’t ready for it.
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
In reality, it had more to do with feeling guilty—about many, many things.
“The Compound,” I stuttered. “I kept my room really clean there. Just a habit, I guess.”
“It makes you feel better,” he offered, taking a step forward.
I shrugged again. “If things are tidy, there’s some kind of order to them.”
He nodded in acknowledgement then gestured with his head to the nightstand. “What did you do with it?”
It took a moment for me to realize he meant the water bottle and cup we’d left there. “I threw it out. Dumped it down the toilet.”
With a slight nod, he passed me on his way to the bathroom. He made it no secret that he was checking to make sure I’d told the truth. Only when he’d confirmed the bottle was abandoned in the trash did he return.
“Good,” he said evenly, adding a slight smile. “You didn’t need to take the soap and shampoo with you. I bought some while I was out.”
I stared at the floor, more embarrassed than I should have let show. I shrugged, unable to explain.
“Another habit,” Master Lyon said gently, as if speaking it aloud made him realize this.
My Owner started taking our bags by the door, waiting for me to follow. As we headed down the hall, I almost felt naked. It was too bright, too alive with other visitors. Part of me was glad we’d be alone in the car for another stretch of time.
At the elevator, we boarded by ourselves. As the doors slid shut, he rested his palm between my shoulders before we started moving. It was th
e most physical contact he’d given me since this morning, and I was ashamed at how much I craved it.
“It suits you,” he said without emotion, like telling me was inappropriate.
I stared down at the pattern on my dress, chilly underneath. “There…weren’t any underwear, sir.”
“You’ll thank me,” he said, fingers tracing over the achy parts of my skin. “Do you have any bruises yet?”
I shook my head.
The elevator stopped and we parted; I feared he’d never touch me again.
“Patience,” was all he said as he led me through the parking garage.
The car was different than the one I remembered him dragging me into yesterday; white instead of black. Kentucky plates. I knew we still had to be somewhere in Seattle or close, but other than that I was lost without my Owner’s direction. He had me right where he wanted.
He opened the passenger door for me so I could climb inside. Where he had hit me the night before was tender and although there were no severe marks, it felt like there should have been more damage. Now I knew why I wore nothing but the dress: too much fabric would cause more discomfort. Reaching next to me, he found my book on the floor.
My pulse radiated to my fingertips. All this time I thought it had been safely in my bag, but he could have found it at any given moment. I was still tired enough not to react outwardly as he set it in my lap like some kind of peace offering.
“Don’t read it while we’re driving,” he warned. “I don’t want you to be sick again.”
His tone hadn’t changed a fraction since we’d left the room, but the concern behind his instructions wasn’t lost on me. Then he shut me in, locking the doors even though he was less than a foot away. He couldn’t take any more chances. No more mistakes.
Master Lyon sat behind the wheel with a cigarette between his lips, but he didn’t light it until he started the engine. Rolling down the electric window, he blew out the smoke. I grasped the book against my thighs as soon as I buckled myself, irrationally afraid the card would slip out when I knew it was still tucked safely between the pages.