CHAPTER SEVENMary Jo
Mary Jo
I tremble on the bed. I didn’t succeed. And now he was more alive than I’d seen him in the past three days, his gaze on fire. He is going to kill me. I had my big chance and now whatever game we were playing is over.
I jump when he comes back through the door. He’s holding a wooden board. No, a paddle. With some sort of cutout in it. He unlocks my cuff, and I immediately dart towards the door. He snatches me up by the hair and yanks hard so I fall with my upper body on the bed.
“Fuck you.” A tear leaks down my face from the sharp pain on my scalp. He doesn’t let up. I fight anyway. “Let me go!”
“I told you the rules. This is on you, kitten.”
I fight harder, desperation filling me. He holds me down easily. He puts his head by my ear and takes a deep breath. He then yanks my pants down.
Oh fuck. I had resolved myself to death, but not rape. Real panic takes over for the first time since waking up here despite my struggle to keep it down. I kick and scratch and hit.
“Three hits for attacking me, kitten.”
Thwack. A sharp pain explodes across my ass and then blossoms into burning. I lay there stunned. It hurts deeply. Then there’s something, a hand, massaging the spot.
“There you go. You want to act like a bad girl, you'll have to take it like a bad girl.”
Did he just…spank me?
Thwack. It comes again and I wasn’t ready. It hurts more than the last time. Despite myself I let out a small sound of pain and start fighting again.
His hand returns, massaging the burning pain, his other hand still deeply rooted in my hair.
“Push your ass up, and I’ll think you like it, dirty girl.”
“Stop! Let me g—”
THWACK. I screech, the pain becoming a haze in my mind. The hand is back again, massaging buzzing tingles of pleasure through my ass.
“You sound so good screaming for me.”
More tears leak from my eyes, and I hate myself for it. I tell myself it’s because of the sharp hold on my hair.
“All done. You fight me again, and it’ll be five.” He releases my hair and leans in. I turn my face away from him. Shame burns through me and also something else. Something…fiercer.
With horror, I realize I’m pressing my thighs together. I stop. What the fuck is wrong with me?
The man gathers the paddle and re-chains me to the bed.
I stare at him, trying to tuck all that fear back in. “What’s your name?”
He looks at me, and I’m suddenly aware of my puffy eyes. I look away, feeling calming anger start to creep in again.
“You can call me Sir.”
Like fuck I will. I don’t say anything.
He smiles. “You’re going to be fun to break.”
***
I don’t sleep. It's been dark for a few hours. Shame and embarrassment keep filling my head. I push them out.
He didn’t kill me. He has some sick perversion for hurting women.
I’m almost more afraid now than I was before.
I think back to all the times he’s had a chance to hurt me and hasn’t.
This is some kind of game to him. I’ve heard of Doms asking their Subs to call them sir before. But that was always consensual.
My ass burns and I have to shift to keep my weight off of it. He only hit the right side, making laying on my left side difficult with the little slack I have with the cuff. I imagine him sleeping peacefully, not bothered at all that I’m in pain and a prisoner. His chest rose and fell.
That goddamned piece of shit.
The anger is back. I want him to pay. All the rules say are no running and no hurting him.
He’s stuck to his promises so far. He hasn’t done anything until I break a rule.
And instead of getting angry, he gets off when I do.
So I need to figure out how to break his cool demeanor without breaking a rule.
Angry people make mistakes. But they also hurt people.
But, what’s to say he isn’t going to break his stupid rules and hurt me anyway?
I take my chain and hit it to the bedpost. It gives a delicious clank in the quiet. I throw myself into hitting it over and over. Clank. Clank. Clank. Clank.
I hit for what feels like thirty minutes, but it could be shorter or longer.
I have no way of knowing for sure. I go through the full range of emotions as I do.
Sometimes I think about yelling an apology and never making another sound.
Sometimes I imagine his fingers in between the cuff and the metal post and I hit harder.
My arm is tired, and my fingers hurt from the constant small impacts.
“That’s enough, kitten.” His voice demands from right outside my door. I jump. I hadn’t heard him approach.
The silence is loud. All I hear is the static in my head.
I wait for a while. Longer than I think it should take for him to walk back to bed. And then I wait some more.
Clank. Clank. Clank .
My door bursts open.
He stands there, looking tall and angry. The shadow is deeper on his face. His jaw ticks as he looks at me.
I smile sweetly.
In the blink of an eye, he’s by my bed, uncuffing me and tossing me over his shoulder. I beat on his back, looking down at his ass and the floor as he marches me out.
“Let me go, you ogre! You ugly-ass, unwashed shaft of a —” He marches me up the spiral staircase, and I bounce, the breath getting pushed out of my lungs.
He tosses me through the air, and I land on a king-sized bed. We’re in the loft. I try to catch my breath. I scramble to get up, and he cocks an eyebrow. “Get up, and I’ll spank your ass raw.”
I pause.
He looks deadly serious.
“Since you can’t behave on your own, you’re going to sleep here with me, and you’re going to be a good girl and keep quiet till morning.”
I open my mouth, and he shoots me another look.
“Lay down, Mary.”
I sit, frozen, eyeing his massive body. My mouth goes dry. What was he going to do to me?
“I’m not getting undressed.”
He lays on the right side of the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight. “I didn’t tell you to.”
I sit rigid for a few minutes. This is far more dangerous than being downstairs.
He looks at me with demand in his eyes. “Lay. Down.” He hasn’t moved from his side of the bed.
I scoot as far from him as I can and lay on my back on top of the blankets. I refuse to look at him. My right asscheek smarts as I lay on it.
There’s nothing but quiet breathing from his side. He’s so close. I want to kill him. To smother him in his sleep.
I lay for as long as I could stand it, stiff and hurting. Finally, I’m forced to roll to my left side to face him. The relief is sweet.
I glare at his profile. He’s lying on his back, arms above the covers, eyes closed. His dark lashes are stark against his skin. An angry red scratch flares down his cheek from our fight earlier. He breathes evenly and deeply. It smells masculine up here. A hint of musk and oil.
“Sleep, Mary.”
I jump.
“My name isn’t Mary,” I grumble. But it is. And it scares me that he knows that. Did he talk to my parents? Did he hurt them?
Thoughts bounce in my head all night. I can’t tell if he’s asleep, and I don’t want to risk him beating my ass because he would.
I lay awake until the sunlight creeps into the loft, and I allow myself a moment.
Emotions go rolling through me. Fear, loneliness, sadness, vulnerability.
I let a single tear roll down my cheek and then lock it all up again.
***