26. To own is to… Hurt
Chapter twenty-six
To own is to… Hurt
C hloe
Something is happening to me. Well, something more than everything that has happened to me since my twenty-first birthday. My feet pad on the hallway runner as Sir inputs the code to his armory. I’m valiantly resisting the urge to ask if the numbers are random, or if they have significance to him. The only thing keeping the question at bay is how much it’ll suck to be scolded for remembering his access code. It’s the third time we’ve been down here this week, where my master attempts to ignore my existence as he polishes and disassembles, only to reassemble, the same weapons over and over again. His hardened confidence is in place, sure, but now it’s laced with an angry type of nervous energy. He’s unsure. Of what, I have no idea. I only know that when I ask, I’m punished; not in the overt ways, but by his silence, his distance…which is far worse than any caning or prod. I haven’t been eating well, and he’s too preoccupied to tell. Dark circles are becoming more pronounced under his eyes as he makes himself busy reading over logs, seeing which weapons are logged in and out for the day. God knows why so many are. It has been easy to forget this is my master’s job. He deals weapons of all kinds, from handguns to chemical warheads. He rarely goes on individual runs, but when he does, I’m usually stuck sequestered to his plane for hours at a time.
I make myself busy too, flipping through some weird semantics I don’t understand. Looks like some kind of bomb, though for the most part, I ignore it, pretending my anxiety hasn’t been at critical levels for a week now. My thoughts seem…different, not the internal dialog I’m used to hearing from myself. I’m not someone I recognize. My heart pounds as I lay awake all night, waiting for Master to come back to his room. I’m acting out before I decide to, like my actions aren’t my own, but most of all I’m…angry.
His attention has been so firmly on me that to live without it feels like I’m living without reason or air . My mind is a muddled mess of listless anxiety without his praise or reinsurance. I watch him from under my lashes as he takes a rocket launcher off the wall to inspect it. I imagine it will pass just as well as it did yesterday and the day before. The man is readying himself for something, and for the first time since my arrival, it’s information I’m not privy to. He never minded before, just the way you wouldn’t mind sharing your deepest, darkest secrets to an armchair. It’s never going to talk, anyway.
I sigh, louder than necessary, irritation flooding my chest. I don’t like feeling this way, shut out by someone who I suppose never really even let me in, although I can’t shake the suspicion that I was close. Like if I’d dug a little harder, I’d have found the ooey gooey center of my master. I washed him after my caning, humming out loud for the first time since I was a child, feeling… right for the first time ever. Then, he held me so tight I could barely breathe. It felt like the culmination of something…altering, and when we woke up, my master was gone, somewhere hidden from me.
I would rather he caned me within an inch of my life than endure his rejection. Anxiety needles my chest as I watch him, not even pretending not to. He knows; he wants to watch me too. Instead, he takes that stupid thing apart, methodically. Slowly.
“Dog. ”
I perk up. “Yes?”
“Perhaps busy yourself elsewhere today.”
“Please, I—"
“This is boring work; I’ll gather you at dinner.”
Tears burst to my eyes, already brimming, wetting my lashes. “I don’t want to.”
He pauses, his jaw hardening as he swallows like something left a foul taste in his mouth. “I didn’t ask what you wanted. Go. Now.”
I think that thing was me.
I shove up from my seat, willing my tears to stay at bay as I rush from the room, and that night, I eat alone.
Siren by Kailee Morgue
My long, sheer maxi skirt flows behind me as I pace the halls outside of the armory, heart pounding in my chest as I jerk rapidly between fits of crying and numbness. There's something very, terribly wrong. Something happening inside me doesn’t feel right. I need him to fix it.
How doesn’t he understand that? Why can’t I find the right words, assembled in the right order, to tell him? At this rate, I doubt he’d care if I did.
He could make it better so easily, this stupid, gnawing, sickening feeling in my mind. He always gets me before work. I always attend to him. Why didn’t he get me? Why is today different? I stop in front of the door, willing myself to knock this time, to actually do it . My eyes slide to the keypad; I know he’s in there.
I could open the door,
He might even punish me.
Then, he can’t choose not to answer.
Again .
“Don’t you have chores to attend to?”
I jump, slamming my hands behind my back like a child who just got caught with their grubby palms in a cookie jar. Stuart scowls at me from down the hall.
“I had a question for—"
“I understand your vision isn’t perfect, but surely you can see he doesn’t want to be bothered today.”
“Yes, but—"
“Remove yourself, or I will remove you. Do you understand?”
Panic wells in my chest. “You aren’t allowed to touch me.”
The smirk on the man's aged face is enough to make a chill run up my spine. Viper . He looks every bit it. “Who do you think sent me down here?”
My eyes dart back to the door, my hands fisting so hard, my knuckles pop. “I want—"
“Last warning.”
I sniffle, nodding in dismissal as I walk past the stern older man, wondering how that smirk would look with a hole in his face. This time, I don’t hate myself for the thought. I don’t scold the darkness away, no chastising from a long-dead woman echoing my disobedience in my mind. My breath comes out quicker, and I scream, not outwardly of course, but it bubbles inside me all the same. By the time night rolls through, the adjustment I kept assuring myself would come doesn’t. I haven’t seen him, not once today.
My restlessness wins like I knew it would as I toss the covers off, stalking out of his bedroom, being sure to glare at the wide-closed doors of his office, at the light filtering underneath along with faint music that sounds familiar, judging by the blips of it I get as I pass. Jerking the doors of my wardrobe open harder than necessary, I rifle through the perfectly organized drawers, finding a random pair of stockings as I quickly strip myself of everything else. Cold sweat breaks out over my hairline as I jerk them on, praying the door to his office isn’t locked. I don’t give myself a chance to rethink anything as I peek out into the hall, making sure my back is flush with the wall, checking for any signs of Stuart, who has taken to stalking around up here versus whatever halls he typically haunts. I almost smile. I can feel the urge, at least, remembering how I’d sneak around the halls of Tyson Manor, gathering up all the weird, old people candy that was always laid in crystal dishes that never emptied. I’d run back to our rooms, laying our spoils out over Renee’s bed.
But this isn’t that, and I’m not a little girl anymore.
I’m a woman.
And I need him more than I need the air in my lungs.
I can be them , the carnation girls.
My blonde hair falls over my shoulders in waves as I hurry across and down the hall, dragging in a deep breath before I toss the doors to his office open. I don’t look at him, not yet. But abruptly, the classical piano he was listening to ends with the slamming of his laptop. I drop to my knees, my heart pounding in my chest as I wait for him to order me away.
I crawl to him.
It’s a physical thing, my anxiety, looming over me like the blade of a guillotine. My master alone holding the cord capable of inflicting irreparable damage, but he doesn’t, not yet. I can feel his eyes on me, and the moment they leave, the sound of rustling papers picks up, filling my chest with a dangerous level of hope. My mouth waters with my first inhale of him, sage and oak tickling, taunting my senses. When I reach him, my breath is louder than anything. I can smell the liquor he’s drinking so strongly, I can nearly feel the burn in my throat.
I take my position beside him, leaning forward until my forehead thuds against his thigh, keeping my face hidden against him. Where we are now feels so much like the first day. I wait in silence for my sentencing, and he’s in no rush to dish it out.
“Get on with it. Certainly it must be pressing, if you were so bold as to burst into my office when you’re meant to be sleeping.”
I swallow hard, willing the whooshing in my ears to quiet. “You’ve been in here all day… I- I haven’t seen you.”
He sighs, but I can hear the tension in his voice as he lifts his glass. “And?”
“Master, I—" Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “I’ve been alone—"
“So, you burst in here because you need attention, is that it?”
I nod, swallowing hard. “Please, Sir.”
“I would love to give it to you, Pup, but I’m working. Dismiss yourself.”
My heart goes from a rapid pounding to nothing at all in the space of a sentence. My lip trembles before I clamp down on it with my teeth. The pain roots me, steeling me as the taste of copper tickles my tongue. My legs wobble, but only for a moment as I shove myself to a stand, lifting my eyes to meet thunderous, daring hazel ones.
I stare at him as his brow slowly hikes, his voice a growl, a warning. “Kneel.”
I reach forward instead, snagging his glass from his hand before throwing back the contents, doing my best to mask a face of absolute disgust. How he’s drinking it, I have no clue; it's one step down from paint thinner. He watches me, waiting for me to finish. I force myself to swallow the harsh liquid before setting the glass back down…right on the papers he was working on, eyeing the wet rim that’ll mar whatever document.
He nods, and the moment I meet his eyes again, I know I’ve won.
He spins his chair to face me, the look in his eyes nothing less than sinister, his calm and collected version of it. I don’t want him calm and collected. I want him .
His violence.
His rage .
I want him to make it hurt. To make me feel something that isn’t…this.
I take a step back as he stands, towering over me. His darkness is like a shadow that blots out everything. My hands twitch with the urge to smooth out the darkening bags under his eyes. His stubble is more grown in than I’ve seen it. “ Kneel .”
I want to obey. God, it's taking everything I have not to.
He nods, reaching out and letting the pads of his fingers tickle the base of my throat. My nipples peak, my bare breasts desperate, throbbing for his touch, and he gives it to me, paper-light grasping on my neck. “Very well.”
I yelp as his touch changes, his hand tightening suddenly. In an instant, my head is light, my knees wobbling. “You think I haven’t seen you? Sneaking around, waiting outside my office like a lost fucking puppy?”
My breath is coming, but he’s robbing me of everything else. I sway on my feet, my hands flying out to steady myself in his arm. “You think I hadn’t noticed how desperate you are for me? Lying in bed at night, letting your hand stroke your neglected cunt.” The laugh he lets out is chilling, or at least, it should be. The room wobbles, and Master fades in and out of focus as he chokes me.
I open my mouth to say—what? I have no clue, but it doesn’t matter. Words evade me, wither away as his free hand finds the soaked skin of my inner thighs, gathering up my arousal. “I knew you were desperate for it, but I never thought you’d want my cock so horribly, you’d be bad . Is that what you are now? A few days without my constant guidance, and you’ve turned into a bad dog?” My body betrays the wrenched feeling in my chest, my core burning as he brings my arousal to his lips, cleaning it off his fingers.
“Tsk. Fucking pitiful.” He wrenches my mouth open, spitting in it, letting the taste of alcohol, him, and my arousal blend into a cacophony of flavor I can’t swallow.
Tears well in my eyes as my awareness evades me, and like clockwork, his grip loosens, making the hindered blood rush back frantically, trying to resupply my brain with oxygen. His lips are taunting, his stubble tickling my cheek. “When I say kneel, you kneel ,” he growls, his voice like an omen as he releases me, letting me fall jarringly to my knees at his feet. I gasp, whimpering as I try to get my barring.
“What are you?” He asks calmly, lording over me just where I wanted him.
“Sorry,” I croak.
“Last chance, little pet. What. Are. You?”
Tears blur my vision as I force myself up to a sitting position, my hair shifting free from my face as I stare up at him. “A bad dog.”
He nods, barely looking away from me as he pulls open a drawer. When he pulls out a permanent marker, my stomach drops. I wanted his attention, but this…this doesn’t feel good. I didn’t want to be bad for real. “I’m sorry, I—"
His hand gathers in my hair, wrenching my head back as he uncaps the marker with his teeth, spitting the lid somewhere behind me. “Spell it. ”
“Master, please ,” I beg.
His hand tightens in my hair, making me wince.
“B.”
He pens it on my chest.
“A.”
Each letter feels like it’s being carved in stone.
“D.”
He nods. “Continue.”
I sob again, “D. O. G.”
When his label is complete, he discards the marker and me at the same time, his cock tented in his pants as he returns to his full height. “Now, for that attention you were craving. Crawl to the middle of the floor, ass in the air by the time I get back.”
I crawl, my body feeling like it weighs more than ever. The cool hardwood acts as the slightest buffer from the sweat dusting my face. I present, shoving my ass way up. My swollen clit throbs as my core soaks itself. I’m disgustingly horny, despite my chest feeling every bit gored through.
I’m bad.
But I need this.
I’m a glutton for it.
For him.
I’m exactly what my trainer promised I’d be.
I flinch as he enters the room again, jerking my hips up higher. I don’t hazard a look at what he brought with him. My feet are eased further apart to an uncomfortable width as he engages and fastens the spreader bar, a hateful tool he often likes to use on me. My heart hurts, but it does nothing to dampen the anticipation in my gut. Pulling, taunting, need . I didn’t mean to put a voice to that, but I do.
“M-master, I need—"
“You’ve made it quite clear what you need.”
I nod, crying out as he flicks my throbbing clit before heading back to his desk. This time, I don’t hide my face, watching with rapt attention as he opens a notebook, bending the cover behind the backing. He drops it, then a pencil, in front of me.
“‘I will not disobey.’ One thousand times. If your penmanship becomes sloppy, you’ll erase it all and start over. I do not care if it takes all night.”
My tears sting my bad eye, leaving me with one reliable one as I look at the beautifully penned example line he wrote at the top of the page.
“Pup!” He barks, making me yelp. “ Write .”
“B-but Sir, I hurt…”
“You have not begun to hurt yet.” He warns as he kneels in front of me, his hand finding my peaked nipples as he teases them. “I will force upon you so much pleasure, you will beg for it to end, but it won’t. I won’t stop until your body betrays you, Pup. When you’re past the point of exhaustion, then, and only then, will I fuck you.”
I nod, desperate for it. With the promise of pleasure, my brain blocks out most everything else. Finally, I have him, my master again. I hike myself up on my elbows and begin my lines, my body hyper-aware of him as he leaves, only to reenter moments later holding something long and black. When the hard hum of vibration comes, I nearly moan.
Master flicks my clit again, making me cry out. I drag the pencil down the page, breaking the lead. He tsks. “Pity. You will have to start over already.”
“Yes, Sir,” I moan as he coats the thick vibrator in my arousal, fighting the temptation to rock back and forth on it as he holds it against my core. The page crinkles as I read what few lines I’d scribbled out. “I-I broke my pencil.”
“Perhaps you should beg for a new one, if you want me to shove this inside you.”
“Master, may I—" My breath hitches as he lines it up with my entrance, easing it in, achingly slow. “May I please have a new pencil?”
“No.”
“Master, please . I want to be a good girl again.” I moan as he pushes it in and out, fucking me with it. My head slams the notebook as I rock, fucking myself back on it, the vibrations making my mind swirl .
“But you aren’t a girl, are you?”
“N-no, Master. I’m your pet. I’m a dog and, oh fuck—" I groan as he shoves it to the hilt, forcing the clit attachment against my swollen, pulsing nub. The sensation is almost too much, the setting too high. “I’m bad. I’m a bad pet, and I want to do my lines for you. I want you to make me come until I can’t think straight. Please, Sir.”
I gasp as he fastens something over my waist, my head snapping over to look as he adjusts the modified belt around me, between my legs, where an additional strap rests just over my navel, securing the vibrator in place.
As if I’d ever want it out.
He sighs, walking back over to his desk, where from his chair he has an uninterrupted view of my stuffed and soaked cunt. He drops the new pencil on my notebook. “It is already nearing midnight. I suggest you begin.”
But I can’t,
Oh, fuck, I can’t.
Even with the setting too high, I’m floating among the clouds, rocking back and forth, trying desperately to fuck myself on something wedged so deeply inside me. It isn’t budging an inch. I begin my lines, slowly, achingly slowly, screaming as I finally figure out which way to move so that the vibrator shifts inside me, grinding against that special spot. I explode, squirting as my release covers my legs. Master gives an amused huff, and the thought of his hand on his cock sends me over the edge again. My second release forces me to drop the pencil altogether.
“Write,” he commands, and I obey. Already, sweat is dotting my skin, and we’ve only just begun.
Master only lasted an hour watching me find my release over and over again before he appeared, fisting his cock. My mouth waters as he comes, spurting onto the page. “Go on then, Pup. Lap it up,” he murmurs, putting himself back in his pants as he goes back to his work.
God, I want to so badly.
It’s disgusting.
I’m disgusting.
Even so, I moan as my tongue dips out, my legs spread as his salty taste bursts on my tongue. My core clamps and spasms, and I’m hurtling again toward an orgasm. I’m lapping it up from the page, moaning and whimpering, begging for who knows what, my words leaving me in babbles.
I lost count of the lines, my next orgasm leaving me with such violence, I crumple against the page. I’m screaming, squirming, but nothing I do eases the sensation as Master uses his remote to change the setting to a cycling pulse.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Then steady.
“Master, please!” I wail.
“Now, now,” he chastises. “It’s only been two hours.”
Two hours? It’s only been two hours?
I sob, my stomach cramping from the constant onslaught of orgasms, of sensation, my entire body trembling. “I can’t. It hurts. Master, please take it off my clit, please!”
He sighs, getting up from his desk. “I have travel plans to finalize. You’re making it difficult to focus.”
His words don’t register as he offers me a straw. I suck down the water so fast, I nearly choke, my hair stuck to the sweat on my face. When he pulls it away, I cry out, teetering on the edge. Even his gentle touch tracing along my spine is too much. I flinch away from it as he prods at my stretched entrance, working a finger in alongside the vibrator. I scream until I’m hoarse, jerking away from him and slamming up to a seated position, grinding the end of the vibrator against the ground as I come apart.
He only sighs again. “If I had any idea how beautiful you’d look like this, I’d have done it ages ago. What do you say, Pup? Are you fulfilled? Have you gotten the attention you needed?”
“I’m sorry, Master,” I sob as he forces me back into my position.
He runs his thumb over the spittle and sweat on my lips, tasting it. “Yes, I imagine you are.”
With that, he leaves, coming back moments later to gag me so that I may write in silence.
Control by Halsey
Warrick
Another hour and a half passes before Pup grows suspiciously quiet. My neck and cock ache as I peek over my laptop. Her flushed chest rises and falls slowly, her body twitching from the overwhelming sensation, even unconscious as she is. For a moment, I debate waiting a little longer, perhaps pulling back up the old videos of her playing the piano I’d been watching before she barged in here. I can’t seem to stop wondering how her cunt of a grandmother could’ve possibly found fault in anything she did. I can’t find the answer, so I sit and I watch. Endlessly.
Taunting the pitiful remains of my self-control.
Ignoring Pup is like ignoring the sunshine.
Impossible and painful.
Which is why I need to continue to do it.
Despite it making me an even more miserable bastard .
I turn off the vibrator, leaning back in my chair and taking in the way her body relaxes further. She’s out cold, her pretty, flushed face pressed into her notebook. I stand, watching her sleep, easing my throbbing cock from my pants as I bite back a groan. Sleeping in my office has done a number on me the past few nights. Sickeningly enough, watching her like this, it’s becoming unrealistic to continue to deny how much I’ve missed her constant adoration, her whimpering and incessant talking. I miss her always finding a way to snuggle close to me in bed, despite the number of times I roll her away. A California king, and she manages to force me to the edge.
And I let her.
She whimpers but doesn’t stir as I unfasten the harness, easing the soaked toy from her. Bringing my tongue along the base, the taste of her is everything, and I loathe her for it. My father would be shocked to see how low I’ve sunk. Mourning over a fucking pet, hiding in my own home, all because I can’t control myself, can’t trust myself to be near her without showering her with affection.
Without kissing her.
Touching her.
Smiling at her bratty antics.
Soaking up and basking in her innocence like the sick fuck I am.
She’s going to destroy you.
I repeat the reminder in my head as I gently pick her up, carrying her to the couch. My tongue tastes her salty, sweet skin as I slide my cock along her swollen core, coating myself in her. She doesn’t wake, even as I enter her. Feeling her raw cunt squeeze down on my cock is like coming home.
She’s going to destroy you.
I lift her small, scarred hands, pining them above her head as I hitch her leg at my waist, listening to her breath hitch as I thrust into her. A groan leaves me as I bend down to rest my forehead against hers.
She’s going to destroy you.
Her nipples brush my chest, making my balls tighten as I grind my cock at the base .
She’s going to destroy you.
My sweet pup sleeps as I fuck her little cunt. Even thoroughly abused, it strangles my cock in a way that has ruined me for anyone who comes after her.
She’s going to destroy you.
Fucking hell, Pup.
I think you already have.
I lean back, kissing her unresponsive lips with gentle, adoring pecks I can’t give her while she’s awake before I grip her hips, pounding into her until my balls tighten, making me burst, my cum splattering, filling her the way only I can.
But that doesn’t matter.
I need her, but I need revenge more.
I slam deeper, groaning a name I’m muttering for the first time out loud under my breath as I bend, sucking her peddled nipple into my mouth, worshipping her perfect body. I kiss the penned bad dog across her chest, resisting the urge to wash it from her beautiful skin, knowing how much it hurts her. It’s not until I lean back and am met with half-closed doe eyes that I pull out, forcing indifference to my face as I stare down at her.
You’re a tool, Pup.
Nothing more.
She gives me a sleepy little smile, wincing as she closes her legs, still mostly out of it. “I’m sorry, Master.”
“No, you aren’t.”
She giggles, and fuck, the feeling that blooms in my chest at the sound. “No, maybe not.” She opens her eyes a little wider, looking up at me from under pale lashes, the blue from her bisected eye shining. “But I am pretty.”
Fuck me.
I laugh.
“Yes, that you are,” I admit, soaking her in.
Her hand trembles as she lifts them, cupping my face gently, adoringly, looking at me like I’m the center of her universe. She’s showing me all the unconditional love her abused brain has convinced her she feels, looking at me the way I’d always wanted to look at someone one day.
Her eyes well with tears, widening. “Sir…” she breathes.
She’s going to destroy you.
She’ll ruin everything
You need her.
You need her to do this.
You need to allow her to do it.
I jerk away, avoiding her eyes. “Get yourself cleaned up and go to sleep, in your bed.”
I don’t wait to hear her soft cries or see the look on her face as I leave the office.
You’re going to destroy her.
My knuckles pop as I clench my fists, heading for my bedroom, for my bed, the one that smells like her, with the long blonde hairs that stick to everything. Something inside me snaps as I hit the threshold, slamming and locking the door behind me, jerking the sheets off the fucking bed. I gather them up, stalking toward the window, wrenching it open before tossing them out.