by Smith, Maren
“P-Pony.” She tried, but she couldn’t make herself stop shaking.
“You have a pony?”
She almost laughed, but that was when the first tear slipped past her faltering defenses. She shook her head, her hands balling into fists, pulling at her own hair. The pain of inadvertently pulling her own hair helped to ground her.
“Who’s Pony?” Carlson asked.
“W-we served him… M-Master Ethen. There used to be more of us, b-but now it’s just me and Pony.”
“All right,” he said slowly. “So, what about Pony made you change your mind?”
“I-I-I c-can’t eat,” she stammered.
“You can’t eat? According to who?”
“No, you—you don’t understand.” It got harder to breathe. “I was disobedient.”
“According to who?” he countered again. “The guy who went to prison?”
He was still calm, still not yelling, and yet the way he arched his eyebrows and squared his shoulders said clearly he was growing annoyed.
“Are you still in contact with him?”
She flinched, dropping her gaze to the floor. She didn’t want to be. Her face burned; her chest felt suffocatingly tight. “I-I—”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t he get put away for what he did to you?”
“Y-yes.” But mostly what he’d been incarcerated for was his theft of Kitty’s house and car, which he sold and for which he received a five-year plea deal with supposedly a guaranteed two years before he was eligible for parole. But prison was crowded and because his convictions were only for white collar crimes, with very little of his physical abuse even having been mentioned in court, he was getting out early.
“Are you planning to go back to him?” Carlson demanded.
“I don’t want to!” But Pony did, and desperately. If she went back, then Puppy would have no choice but to follow. She could take Ethen’s sadistic streak. Pony couldn’t. She just wasn’t strong enough.
“Good,” Carlson said bluntly. “I’m glad to hear it. Look at me.”
Reluctantly raising her gaze back to his, she flinched again at the severity waiting for her in his stony eyes.
“Am I your Sir, or is Ethen?”
More than anything, she wished she’d never met Ethen, but it was hopeless. She couldn’t cut him out of her life now anymore than she could shoehorn Carlson in. She had no business wanting his comfort, or his safety, or any other part that she couldn’t have, because none of it was destined to last. Carlson wasn’t damaged like her. He wasn’t messed up. He had options, and she just didn’t.
She ought to let him go. Surely someone less selfish would have, but already the loss of what she shouldn’t have was breaking her. Her bottom lip was quivering. Two more tears slipped free as she rasped a shaky, “You,” from a throat so tight that she could barely speak.
“Good,” he said again, “because I don’t share my submissives. I especially don’t share them with people who hurt them. Shall we try this again?”
She blinked hopefully, struggling to see through her tears.
“We’re going to go back out to the table and we’re going to do a proper negotiation. Unless you have an allergy or a serious dislike of something I ordered, I expect you to eat your share.”
Puppy deflated. “I can’t! Pony got punished because of me. It’s not right.”
“Yes, you can,” he countered. “You can because I’m telling you to. I can’t do anything about Pony. She’s making her own decisions, but if you’re serious about submitting to me as your Sir, then part of that power exchange involves trusting me to do what’s best for us within the parameters of our dominant-submissive relationship. Right now, our parameters are undefined, but I don’t care. You need to eat something. Frankly, honey, you need the calories. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You are bones under skin, you are so thin.”
Startled, Puppy glanced at their reflections in the mirror over the sink. She saw her. Just normal her, as slender as menagerie girls were supposed to be. She didn’t think she was bony. In fact, staring at herself, all she could think about was once more having to eat that special diet Ethen would put them back on as soon as he got out. The daily weigh-ins would start up again. The tape measure would come out.
She ought to go ahead and eat the burger Carlson had ordered for her, for that reason alone. She didn’t have a lot of time or chances left. She could cut the burger in half and take part home to Pony. Not that Pony would eat it, she’d always had an iron will when it came to following Ethen’s edicts.
The longer she stared at herself, the fuller her face and narrow frame seemed to grow. A moment on the lips… She looked away. She didn’t need Ethen’s scale or measuring tape to remind her of her flaws. She could see them clearly enough. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand that you’re telling me you want me to be your Dom, and yet you’re unwilling to give me the same courtesy and respect that any other submissive would give to their dominant. You’re not even willing to give me the same respect you gave Ethen O’Dowell.”
That hit her every bit as painfully as a physical slap. Even more painful, was the realization that he was right. She would never have argued with Ethen the way she was arguing with him, and never over something as mundane as eating.
But Carlson wasn’t Ethen, and he didn’t understand about Pony. How could she possibly sit down to a supper like the one that would be waiting at their table when Pony was allowed nothing but water, and all because of her? It was a horrible Catch-22. The more she tried to be with Carlson, the more trouble she caused for Pony; and the more she tried to ease her guilt over that, the worse she made it for Carlson.
She was going to lose him. Unless she found a way to get past this kneejerk reaction that constantly sought to balance everything she did to her sub-mate—would Pony approve; would she get in more trouble; would she tell on her—then in all likelihood, Puppy knew, she was going to lose him tonight.
It was bound to happen eventually, but she wasn’t ready for it to happen right now.
“You’re right,” she said thickly, blinking back tears. “I’m sorry.”
Carlson shook his head. “You don’t have to be sorry, and this isn’t about who’s right. This is about figuring out what we want and how we’re going to proceed from where we are right now. Frankly, I’m fine with walking out of here as friends only. I’m still going to make you eat dinner. I was serious about that; you need the calories. Don’t get me wrong, I one hundred percent support a woman’s right to eat whatever, however, and whenever she wants. Right up until it starts to impact her health. Call me an asshole if you want, but at the point that you’re starving yourself for someone else’s very dubious benefit, then I don’t feel I’m at all out of line saying you’ve lost your perspective. As your friend, I’m not going to stand by and watch you get thinner. Or worse, die. As your Sir, I will happily shove sandwiches down your throat, with both hands if I have to. But what I won’t do and am not happy about is playing second fiddle to the same asshole who went to prison for the shit he’s still doing to you. Make a decision, honey. Are we going to be just friends, or are you going to put yourself in my hands and trust me to be your Sir?”
She had never felt so attacked or so cared for all at once, but he was right. It was a hard truth to swallow. In parts, it was an even harder truth for her to see. When she looked at her reflection again, she didn’t see someone so thin as to cause anyone concern. Her stomach was empty, but it was the kind of empty that didn’t really hurt anymore. She simply felt hollow. She also didn’t think she was in any danger of dying, that part was probably an exaggeration. But he was right about the rest of it. And when it all came down to the very end, it wasn’t ‘just a friend’ that she wanted.
“If…” She caught herself, already knowing she was asking too much. People like her didn’t often get second chances, and at this point, she already felt like she was on chance three or even f
our. “If there’s too much food at the table, Sir, may I take half my supper home?”
His hand was so huge compared to her. When he cupped her chin, his thumb and fingers held firm to opposite sides of her lower jaw as he forced her to meet his knowing eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “You may take half home to Pony. But I do expect you to eat the rest yourself. Is that understood?”
His hand, like his tone, was both stern and gentle. It was also accepting. Despite the mess she’d made of the evening, he wasn’t just granting her permission, he was accepting her unspoken request to try again.
“Thank you, Sir,” she said, melting just a little into the steadiness of his grip. No matter what he desired of her, from now until he got tired of her, she was determined. She would give it, without question or hesitation. She would be as good as she was able.
“All right, let’s finish this so we can eat.” Letting go of her chin, he unbuttoned the right cuff of his long black shirt sleeve. Turn after turn, he rolled it up, baring his muscular forearm all the way to the shoulder. “Sex is still off the table, right?”
Stunned by that roadmap of veins traveling the hard, thickness of his arm, she completely missed her cue. She’d felt the solidness of him both when he’d hugged her and certainly when he’d spanked her earlier. But, good lord, she’d had no idea he was this solid!
“Hey.”
She yanked her gaze back to his, the heat of her unwilling blush scalding her face for having been caught staring.
“I’m not asking,” he told her. “I’m telling you so you’ll know that boundary is still in effect and that I have every intention of honoring it. Sex is still off the table, all right?”
“Yes, Sir.” She nodded, not at all sure why he thought she needed the clarification now. Not until he bent, taking hold of the fastenings of her jeans.
Before her startled brain could process it, he’d unbuttoned and unzipped her, and in two steady jerks, peeled them off her hips and dropped them all the way down her legs. Gravity had them puddling around her ankles in a sea of worn denim. Before she could more than catch her breath, he hooked his fingers in her white underwear with its pastel colored butterflies and skinned those down as well. The cotton dropped on top of the denim, leaving her standing before him, nude from hips to ankles, and fighting to keep her shock from showing through the carefully schooled expression that she ought to have as a menagerie girl.
She kept her hands on her head, but only just barely. It was at once the most frightening, terrifying, oddly sexual in the most non-sexual way that any man had ever touched her. And God knew, there had been men beyond her desire to count since she’d signed Ethen’s slave contract. But this was the first time that she’d had a choice.
She stared at him, her eyes huge and her heart hammering against her ribs as he straightened again. Hands on his lean hips, he stared directly down into her eyes, as if completely uninterested in the fact that he’d just rendered her half-naked.
“The first time I spanked you tonight was for the disrespect you showed me at the table,” he told her. “Off the top of my head, I can’t think of any circumstance when you would not be allowed to voice your opinion if I tell you to do something, so long as you acknowledge that, as your Dom, the final say is mine. But that wasn’t what you did. Instead, you argued, and then you outright defied me. Right?”
A prickling tremble went right up the backs of her legs, centering instantly in the blushing heat of her long-neglected pussy. She couldn’t control it. She was too vulnerable. But when she tried to look away, he stopped her.
“No,” he said sharply. He pointed back at his own eyes. “Right here.”
She made herself obey, both legs shaking, her hands fists in her hair, unable to stop herself from pulling any more than she could stop herself from nervously picking at her nails until they bled.
“We’re back here now,” Carlson said, “not because you lied to me or because you were bratting, or even because you defied my wishes a second time over the same issue. You’re getting this spanking because I need you to know you’ve got a Dom who gives a damn, and it’s not that guy.” He stabbed a pointing finger off toward the bathroom wall in a direction she wasn’t at all sure led to Ethen’s current place of residence, but she knew what he meant. He pointed straight back at himself next. “It’s this guy. We need to connect, and considering where we are and what I have at my disposal, this is how I’m choosing to do it. Questions, comments or concerns?”
She shook her head, trying hard not to look at either his hands or his arm, or think about how much worse this second round was going to feel now that she had no protective barriers between his bare hand and her flesh. Worse, and yet not worse. It had been such a long time since anyone had cared enough to touch her. She’d missed this. It was wrong for her to, but she missed this so very much.
“Hands down,” he told her.
He barely waited for her to lower her trembling arms before he reached for her and back over his hip she went. Tucking her firmly under his arm and against his side, the flat of his heavy right hand began a hard, disciplinary rhythm all over her backside. It only took two brisk slaps for him to reawaken every nerve that had already been smacked once that night.
She tried to stay quiet. She tried to find that place in her head where she always used to go whenever Ethen would grab her by the hair, dragging her through the living room while he whipped her with her leash. But there was no place to hide. Not from the crisp sharp smacks that filled the bathroom, bouncing off the floor and wall tiles. Certainly not from the painful sting as he delivered way more than the dozen or so swats she’d received the last time.
This spanking was harder and lasted longer, and try though she did not to make any noise, she couldn’t stop herself. Her breaths turned to squeaks and squeaks became yelps that she couldn’t seem to muffle behind her hands no matter how hard she pressed. The last thing she wanted was somebody coming up to the door to investigate what this clapping, echoing noise was, especially if she was punctuating it with little noises of distress. Surely somebody had to be hearing this. The police were going to get called. They were going to get asked to leave. Carlson might even get arrested.
She gritted her teeth, praying the noise from the kitchen would cover it up.
She quickly switched to praying it would just stop, but his hand kept right on slapping, hard and unhurried. Seemingly unconcerned where consequences were concerned. Positively setting her ass on fire in a way that was impossible for her to hold still for.
This was nothing like the beatings she was used to, and yet once upon a time she could have taken far, far worse than this juvenile form of correction. She couldn’t take this. She’d lost the ability. Especially during that part when he finally deemed her bottom spanked enough and switched his painful attentions to the tops of her thighs. She burst into tears then and had to grab onto his leg just to keep from reaching back.
It was awful. The pain took her to a place where all she felt was sorry—sorry for tonight; sorry for a year’s worth of being unable to stand up for herself, to her mother, Pony, Ethen; sorry for every adult decision that she’d ever made, the culmination of all of it leading up to this utter ruination that she’d made of her life. But more than that was the overwhelming relief that followed, marching along on the heels of that invading army of self-pitying sorries. Whatever she had to do to make sure she never disappointed him again, she was determined to do. It was a promise she had every intention of keeping, right up until he finished spanking her and pulled her up, enveloping her in a hug she didn’t deserve.
His chest was every bit as hard and strong and solid as the rest of him. He held her close, one burning hand on her back and the other caressing her hair. The softness of his black shirt absorbed her tears, and there it was again: Safety.
“If we need to make a third trip back here, then we’ll be getting our food to go, because three times within the same twenty-four-hour period will result in m
y belt coming off. Got it?” he asked against the top of her head.
She nodded, but deep inside she knew she would happily take his belt if it meant he would hold her again afterwards.
As soon as she got herself back under control, he let her go. She stood like a proper menagerie girl as he returned her panties to their proper place and even fastened her back into her jeans.
“Wash your face,” he said, and she did, but already she felt bereft. She ached to be held, but without a way to ask for it, all she could do was follow him back out to their table.
He held the bathroom door, letting her exit first before taking the lead. She liked that. It made her feel special.
Once at the table, he waited until she gingerly eased herself down before taking his own seat. She shifted, adjusting her weight on a bottom that was so very sore and burning. Almost as soon as they were seated, the server brought their food to the table.
“Do you have an email?” Opening up his phone contacts when she nodded, he passed her his cell. “Please enter your number and your email. Do you have access to a printer?”
Thinking about the library, she nodded again. There was no way she could print anything Carlson sent her at her mother’s house and still keep this relationship a secret from Pony. She wasn’t even sure where in the house she could hide what he sent where neither might find it.
“First thing tomorrow, I’m going to send you a contract. I want you to go through it. Make a note of any questions you have, and when we get together next, we’ll go over each point together. I have a regular nine-to-five through the week, but my schedule puts me at Black Light most Wednesdays through Saturdays, six to midnight.” Taking back his phone as soon as she was done, he promptly texted her. “Now you have my number. Shoot me a text to let me know when you’re coming, and I’ll make time for us to talk about it.”
“Okay,” she agreed, but already in the back of her mind she was bracing herself not to get her hopes up. As soon as he had a quiet moment to replay tonight in his head, he was going to realize how much of a mess she was. He’d probably send her a text eventually, but it wouldn’t be first thing in the morning. It might not happen tomorrow at all.