Eighteen #2
I push my water toward him and he hesitates before picking it up.
He nurses this one, switching between eating and drinking, taking his time with both.
He sends me a look of discomfort when I offer him an eggroll, retracting his hand as soon as the tip of his fingers come in contact with it.
His hand goes to his stomach and he shifts from side to side with a disgruntled expression.
“Stomach bothering you?”
He nods, biting his bottom lip again.
I frown, setting my spoon down and scooting back. “I might have to do something about that sooner rather than later. Especially if it’s making it hard for you to eat.”
“Didn’t think you cared if I ate or not,” he grits out.
I huff out a breath. “Of course I do. I don’t need you getting sick and dying on my property.”
“A stomach ache isn’t going to kill me, and at least then you can spend your free time doing better things.”
“Sounds like more than a stomach ache, and what I choose to do in my free time is my business, not yours.”
He crouches over, squeezing at his stomach, and winces. “I don’t think I can finish dinner. It’s the best thing I’ve eaten in a long time too.”
“I’ll put it up in the fridge and you can finish it tomorrow.”
“That’s if my stomach will be able to handle it tomorrow.”
“We’ll have to make sure that it can, won’t we? At least some soup or oatmeal in the morning. Not eating isn’t going to do you any good.”
“It hasn’t hurt this much until now,” he groans, turning away from me to lean lower to the ground.
“You must be really backed up.” I quickly get to my feet, leaning down to collect everything back into the bag. I leave the water where it is and return the table to the corner before turning toward him again. “I’m going to go run into the house to grab a few things. I’ll be right back.”
He doesn’t say anything, moving to his side as he keeps his body folded in half. His chain rattles as he kicks one of his feet, and I frown at the claw marks around the cuff. There’s a rash underneath the metal. It must be rubbing his skin raw, and it probably got wet early, making matters worse.
I reach down to touch the raw skin and he kicks again, letting out a small whimper.
“I’ll be right back. I’ll do whatever I can to make you feel better. I promise.”
He stays as he is, rubbing his face into the hay, and I quickly move down the ladder, my feet coming down almost too hard against the wood the faster I go.
I don’t bother with the last three steps, jumping to the ground, and when I’m out of the barn, I take too long deciding whether or not to lock the doors behind me.
No one’s here or coming by today that I’m aware of, so it should be fine. It won’t take me long to get what I need. It wouldn’t take my dad long to turn back around and stir more trouble either.
Ignoring the unsettling thoughts, I run into the house to grab all the supplies, and it feels like forever has passed by the time I’m back in the barn and standing beside a shaking Blake
“It’s okay,” I say into the voice changer. “I’m here. We are going to get through this. You’ll feel better soon, I promise. As long as you let me do what needs to be done.”
His eyes are screwed tight and he mutters something I can’t make out as I kneel behind him.
“Stay exactly as you are. On your side is best.”
He straightens his legs a little, placing a hand in front of him as he opens his eyes halfway. “What are you going to do to me?” he cranes his neck, trying to look at what I’m doing, but quickly looks forward again when another cramp hits him.
“What I need to do to make you feel better. It’ll feel uncomfortable now, but it shouldn’t last long.”
“Okay,” he says tightly. “Please hurry. It hurts so much.”
“I’m doing my best little piglet. Some things shouldn’t be rushed.” I rub his back and he presses against my hand, moaning. It’s not the sound I want to hear, though. It should be, but I hate every minute that he cries out in agony. This is his karma. He left me hurting and he should hurt too.
My stomach folds in on itself as he sobs into the ground. “Please.”
“It’s okay. I got you. I’ll take care of you.”
“No one ever takes care of me,” he says between sniffles, almost too quietly.
“I’m not no one, am I?”
He shakes his head, swallowing hard, and he tenses when I lift the blanket in the back.
“I’m going to use something called a enema bulb to help flush you out, okay?”
“I . . . okay.”
“You know what that is?”
“Yeah.” He sucks in a breath. “I’ve used one before.”
“Okay, good. You should know what’s going to happen next, then.”
He nods, inhaling deeply, and stiffens when I rub lube over his entrance.
Unintelligible sounds come from him when I press the tip of the nozzle to his twitching hole.
I close my eyes, taking a breath when the very sight in front of me becomes too much.
Now’s not the time for dirty thoughts. Not when my boy’s in so much pain.
Getting hard right now won’t do either of us any good.
Also, he’s not my boy. I need to stop thinking of him as mine.
I do own him, though, don’t I? He’s in my barn with my chain around his ankle.
He moves and talks when I say. He breathes because I’m allowing him to.
It’s a different kind of ownership, though.
He’s mine to do what I please with, but not in the way my body’s trying to convince me he is.
Focus, Logan.
I push more of the nozzle in and out, then in again, my hand tensing when he pushes back.
Fuck. Why’d he have to do that? I don’t think he realizes he did it.
He’s not thinking clearly and neither am I.
I squeeze the bulb, not stopping until all the contents have been pushed inside his rectum.
He squeezes around the intrusion, babbling nonsense, and lifts one of his knees as I’m pulling back my hand.
His stomach grumbles and he coughs before gagging. “I need to . . . I think I need to use the restroom.”
“Not yet.” I lay a hand on his hip. “It hasn’t been five minutes. The longer we wait, the better the results will be.”
His head moves from side to side, sweat covering his skin. “Five minutes is way too long. I need to go now.”
“Hold it the best you can.”
“It hurts,” he cries, and I rub his side in slow strokes.
“I know, but you’re doing so good, my little piglet. You just need to think of something else in the meantime.”
My.
I didn’t mean to let that word slip out, and once it’s out there, it’s too late to take it back. Do I want to take it back?
“Like what?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“About how good that food was.”
He shakes his head, kicking one of his feet again. “I can’t think of food right now.”
Then think about how it felt when I was getting you off during your bath, I want to say, but I bite my tongue before the words can come out. “Think about what your next human request will be, then.”
“Can I say it out loud?” he mutters.
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever helps,” I encourage, and his body relaxes, along with his features.
“Books. I’d like to have stuff to read. Maybe magazines too.”
“Books? You like to read?”
“I did when I was younger, but I haven’t had a whole lot of time as an adult. My dad said I could be doing better stuff with my time when I talked about getting a library card.”
So that’s why he hated libraries. He didn’t really hate them. He was made to feel like he was supposed to. “Not sure there’s anything better than reading.”
“Do you read?” he pipes up, looking back.
“Yeah. Sometimes. Not as much as before I started my new job, but I’m slowly getting back into it before bed.”
“What kind of books?” His voice is hoarse as he arches his body. He’s trying so hard. It’ll be time for him to relieve himself before he knows it.
“I read anything and everything, just about. But right now I’m doing a re-read of Water for Elephants. It’s one of my favorites.”
“I’ve heard of the movie but I didn’t realize there was a book.”
“Both are good. Probably one of my favorite adaptations too.”
“Could you read some to me?”
“When?”
“I . . . before bed?”
I set the bulb in the bag I brought, and slide a hand down his leg, not stopping until I reach his ankle. “Sure. We have some time for that. I won’t be able to read much, but we should be able to at least get through the first chapter.”