by Ella Burns
I slow, then stop what I’m doing as I consider our history. Everything Jane told and taught me, the hate she instilled in me, seems so flimsy as it rolls through my mind.
I think of the expression on his face when I got back, after years of being away, and hurt him. The friendship, years of care, erased like it never happened. And I relished in it. Then I think of his blank, listless face from the past year. I look down at my hands, covered in blood as they are, and notice they are shaking slightly. A drop of water falls and I frown, looking up to the ceiling before realizing I’m crying.
Jane may have accepted my darkness, but I threw away something much more important without ever realizing it. Branson loved me, he was my best friend, and I fucking ruined and broke him. Now he’s becoming the man I always hoped he would, and he fucking hates me.
My mind races with ways to fix this, to get him back to me. For a second, I wonder if it’s the old ‘want what you can’t have’ but I push the thought aside. It's so much more than that with us.
What would he want?
I know he wants me, but he clearly hates himself for that. What I need is to find a way for him to get over that shit, get over our past. Give him a way to hate and punish me so he can love me.
I think I know what I have to do, but can I swallow my pride enough to do it, even for him?
My eyes drift to the dead whore’s corpse and I consider her earlier words.
“It’s a power struggle, a give and take.”
I’ve taken a lot, but maybe, just maybe, I can still give him something too.
Chapter Ten
Branson
I’m sitting at the dining room table with a book I liberated from one of Jane’s shelves when I hear Teddy’s soft footsteps come in the room. I don’t raise my eyes from the page, picking up the glass beside me and taking a sip.
“What did you say?” I ask when I put it down, realizing she said something I didn’t hear. I frown as I look up, noticing her slumped and almost contrite posture. I tense up, immediately on edge at the familiar ruse.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice a whisper and my brows shoot up.
“What bullshit is this, Teddy?” I ask, even as a glimmer—a tiny thread—of hope forms in me.
“It’s no bullshit, no joke,” she says, looking up briefly. “I am sorry. For all of it. I—”
Her voice catches, and she lifts a hand to her throat as she clears it. “I know words don’t mean much, but I am, Branson. I’m so fucking sorry.”
The words wash over me, but I can’t quite comprehend their meaning and my body seems frozen as she continues.
“I know you can’t stay here, and I’ll understand if you leave. I won’t stop you. I’ll still help you.”
I look at her, head hung low and blood splattered over her dress. She’s much dirtier than before, and I wonder if she actually cleaned up the bodies.
My mind and heart wage war within me, all the anger bubbling up. As if she can fucking apologize and think it’ll all go away. She’s right that words can’t erase it. Not the years of shit she put me through. I want to hurt her, listen to her scream like she did to me. Yet I also want to pick her up in my arms and cradle her like the precious fucking doll she is. A beautiful bloody fucking doll and one I’ve loved since I was fifteen.
My beautiful bloody doll.
I can’t deny how much I want her. It makes me sick, fills me with self-loathing, but it’s true.
“Do you even realize—” my throat closes and I choke on the words, unable to express the depth of despair she put me through. I clear my throat and bring my face back up, willing my voice to stay calm.
“Since the first day you walked in those fucking doors, I’ve loved you. Fuck, do I love you and fuck did I hate myself for it.”
I see her swallow deeply, but she doesn’t say anything, so I press on. “All of it, all the fucking pain you put me through, I still fucking loved you.”
This time I don’t hide the crack in my voice. “She fucking turned you, I don’t know how, but she did. But I still fucking love you.”
Tears fall down her cheeks steadily, but she doesn’t make a sound. Placing a hand lightly on her chin, I lift it until she’s looking at me. Her big green eyes swim with tears and something I’ve never seen in her eyes before. Regret, maybe? Remorse? My jaw clenches.
Good. She needs to feel it, to fucking understand.
Hard resolve forms inside me.
My hands grip her face firmly, forcing her to keep looking at me.
“I’ll never forget the shit you put me through. I’ll make you pay for it every day for the rest of your fucking life, and that’s a promise.” I hear her breath catch and let my thumb snake out to rub her bottom lip. I relish how it parts for me and the faintest touch of her tongue.
“This body that put me through all that, it’s mine now. Your moans, your blood, your pleasure and pain, they’re mine now. That is your penance for what you’ve done to me. You don’t get to leave me, understood?”
With a growl I press forward, taking her lips with no mercy.
With her, I’ll never ask.
She moans lightly in my mouth, her hands coming up to my chest and neck to pull me closer. Pushing back, I take her wrists in mine, walking her slowly backward with my eyes never leaving hers until her back hits a wall. She gasps lightly as I pin her arms above her, my face hovering inches from her.
“You’re mine now, Amelia,” I say, my voice low and ragged. I see a tug at her brow at the name and she opens her mouth, I assume to object, but I stop her with my lips. This is not a kiss. No. This is a claim.
“They can call you Teddy,” I tell her, pulling back, nipping at her ear. “But for me, you will be Mia, my little doll.”
She shivers, her voice coming out breathless, “Yes.”
My cock jumps at her agreement, a small flush of power running through me. Leaning into her neck, I bite down hard. She cries out, trying to pull back against my grip. I squeeze her wrists in warning, pulling back to look into her eyes again.
“This body is mine and I’ll do what I want with it. And if I want to fucking bite you and hurt you, you will not pull away. Understood?”
Her eyes are wide, her cheeks flushed, as she nods without taking her eyes off mine.
“I didn’t hear you,” I whisper.
“I won’t pull away,” she says, leaning forward to me. I don’t fail to notice the heated look and realize that she loves this. Good. I slam her back and she cries out again. I grin before frowning as I look again at the blood splattered little girls’ dress. I release her wrists, stepping back and nodding at her outfit. It’s not a fucking child I want.
“Take it off,” I command her, feeling my dick swell when she immediately lifts a hand to unzip the back. I groan when it drops, revealing her pale and sweet body. My gaze trails down to the perfect handful sized breasts and perfect pink nipples, the softness of her stomach, utterly feminine and touchable. My breath catches at the sight of the small black panties, the thigh high socks still remaining. She licks her lips as I pace in front of her, trying so hard not to lose control.
I need to stay in control.
Closing my eyes, I let out a deep breath before stepping up to her, not touching her despite how my body is shaking to do so. She raises a hand to touch me and I shake my head, enjoying how she immediately pulls back and waits for my direction.
A small bit of understanding falls into place.
Control. Power. Love.
This is how it can be. This is how it should be.
I pace in front of her, unable to keep still yet unsure of how to move forward. All I want to do is toss her on this table and fuck her senseless, but a part of me knows that isn’t how I will own her. She wants that. She wants pleasure. If I will truly own her, her pleasure needs to be my choice, not hers.
She bites her lip and I stop pacing, pointing at the floor in front of me.
“On your knees,” I order. She nods,
her eyes dropping to the large tent in the towel I’m making no effort to hide. It twitches as she gracefully gets to her knees and I have to bite back a moan at seeing her like this, her blonde hair messy and framing her face as she looks up at me in a way I’ve dreamed of a thousand times.
Her big doe eyes dart from my face and down to my dick questioningly.
I swallow deeply but nod, not trusting my voice. She smiles, bringing her hands up to remove the flimsy fabric. My dick bounces to attention at her expression and her eyes widen as it bobs in her face. I push the thought out of my mind that she’s probably done this before, forcing my hand to go to her head, urging her forward.
When her soft lips wrap around the tip, I have to clench my fists to keep from coming right there. I don’t hold back a moan as her mouth envelopes me, warm and inviting. My hand stays on her head as she begins to move, twisting through her hair without thinking.
I’ve touched myself before, but not in a long time and already I can feel something building inside me. My jaw clenches with the will to keep it in, wanting to savor the feel of her mouth on me.
When her hand comes up and moves along with her mouth, it’s too much and I give no warning before releasing, holding my dick deep in her throat. She gags as I empty myself into her throat but doesn’t move until I pull her head back. With my hands threaded in her hair, I raise her eyes to mine, noting how dazed they look. A smile plays on her lips that are still coated with me and I let go of her hair, moving my hand down her cheek.
That was like nothing I could have fucking imagined, and I allow myself to feel real hope. I don’t know how she knew what I needed, knew that it wasn’t about forgiveness as much as power, but I think she does understand. Her willingness to give up her power, even just sexually, speaks volumes.
This is a role I can do. No more fucking slave, but I can sure as fuck be her Master.
“Good girl,” I whisper, and she sighs, leaning her head against me.
Chapter Eleven
Teddy
“Good girl,” he says, his hand moving from the top of my head down to my chin, heedless of the mess still covering my mouth. My mouth curves into a smile at his words, a flush of warmth washing over me. I lean forward, lightly pressing my head against his thigh and enjoying the soft pets.
A part of me is shouting, objecting to allowing this to happen. That stubborn girl who's still inside, wanting to burn anything and anyone who thinks they can control me to the ground. This was all supposed to be a game. Say sorry, make him mine again. Somehow, I think I just became his. And what’s stranger is even with that realization, I feel utterly satisfied and happy.
When Branson was telling me what to do, I didn’t have to think. My body moved as though on autopilot, easily sinking into his commands as a kind of euphoria overtook me.
Jane tried to teach me that being in control was the end all, be all. But I’m starting to realize she was wrong about many things. Sure, having power over someone is special, feels incredible, but this is something else. There’s something to giving up your power. Something worth exploring.
I lift my face to look at him and my breath catches in my throat at the look on his face. The small smile, one like I’ve never seen before. I want to make him smile, I realize.
Putting a hand down, he helps me stand so we’re both facing each other, me wearing only panties and socks, him completely naked. My eyes trail over the scars and burns marring his flesh, and I’m surprised to not feel guilt when I look at them.
He looks fucking amazing.
“What now?” I finally ask, not sure where to go from here. We spent years as friends, longer as enemies, and now, here we are. The corner of his mouth turns up a fraction more.
“Now, we go to bed.”
Chapter Twelve
Branson
I step into her room for the first time in months, keeping my eyes straight ahead despite my desire to look around at what’s different. She’s long since gotten rid of most of the stuff from when she was a kid, but from the corner of my eye I do see the old vanity still in the same place. My jaw clenches as I steel myself for what's next. I turn to see her standing in the doorway, and despite having come only minutes ago, I feel myself start to get hard again.
Focus, Branson, I have to tell myself.
“Close the door and sit on the bed,” I command, keeping my voice low and firm. The corner of her mouth twitches slightly, but she does as she’s told and sashays across the room, crossing her legs on the end of the bed. From a few feet away, I point at her legs.
“The rest of it, off. Then lie in the middle of the bed.”
While she obliges, I adjust myself and look around, quickly finding what I was looking for. When I turn back to the bed and see her naked, it takes everything in me not to take her right there. Through gritted teeth, I go to the head of the bed and take her hands, tying them up and lashing them to the bedpost. Her feet I keep spread.
Stepping back from the bed, I survey my work, the spread-eagle goddess bound to her own bed. A smile curves on my lips and I step up to the bed, leaning my head down toward her. She immediately lifts her own, eager to get to me and I chuckle from a few inches away.
“Goodnight, Amelia,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss her forehead. Her eyes widen.
“Good- Branson, what the f— you can’t leave me here!”
“I told you,” I interrupted. “Penance.”
I give her a wink before walking out of the room. The shouts following behind me are music to my ears as I make my way back downstairs to finish my dinner.
✽✽✽
It’s a few hours before I decide to head to bed, making a stop to see how Mia is doing. When I get there, she’s asleep, her head lolled to the side. I look down at her face, the blonde hair spread all around.
“What the hell have you done to me?” I whisper to her sleeping form, kissing the top of her head. I consider going to another room but shrug and drop a blanket over her, laying down and promptly falling asleep.
Chapter Thirteen
Branson
Strange dreams haunt my sleep, dreams of blood and vengeance, but when I wake it’s dawn and she is still asleep beside me. Lifting my head slightly, I look down, noting the small smile on her lips. The corner of my own lip turns up and I let out a small chuckle as I drop my head.
She may have complained yesterday, but I think my little Mia likes being tied up.
Sighing, I sit up with a small groan.
Yesterday's events run through my mind. Even a fraction of the events that happened were enough to elicit more emotion than I’ve felt in years, much less everything. I’m still in shock, but I do feel an increasingly familiar, bubbling anger. Simmering, but not forgotten. As much as it would be nice to have the time to come to terms with it all, I realize today we have some decisions to make. With Bud dead, there really isn’t anything stopping us from leaving.
But as much as it shames me, my stomach twists at the thought. I have no love for this place that’s brought me so much misery, but apart from television, I don’t know anything about the real world.
She does, a small voice reminds me.
Swallowing deeply, I think again about what happened in the dining room yesterday. My dick hardens at the thought of her on her knees in front of me. Of her doing exactly as I told her, the rush of dominance I felt.
She wanted to do that, the voice argues. Can you really trust her? Will she listen when it matters? Is she really sorry?
My brow pulls into a frown at the repulsive thought of things going back to how they were. I would rather die than be someone’s fucking slave again. I squeeze my fists into the bed, only stopping when I feel a small stir behind me. Her eyes widen as she sees me and my heart beats faster just from her gaze
“Good morning,” I say, my voice gruff and hoarse.
She lifts her head a touch to look up at her bindings. “You’re a dick, you know that?”
I smile. “Yup. And you deserve
it because you’re an evil bitch. Ready for breakfast?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Fuck. You.”
“That doesn’t seem like the actions of someone who’s contrite,” I chide her even as I yawn and sit up with a stretch. I hear the creak of her tugging on the rope.
“Fuck, let me out. I have to pee,” she whines, and I turn to her and raise a brow
“Then this will be even more suitable penance,” I reply before heading over to the bathroom.
“Branson! You—” her voice cuts off as I close the heavy door behind me. I chuckle to myself as I turn on the shower, excited to take as long as I fucking please.
When I finish, I head through the other door and into the hallway rather than pass Mia again. She can wait a bit longer before I release her. If she pisses herself, even better.
✽✽✽
It’s almost midday by the time I make my way back to the bedroom. When I enter, her eyes are on me immediately, full of fire. I keep my pace slow as I make my way to the bed, sitting down on the end of it. My nostrils flare as the scent of piss hits me.
“Ready to be nice yet?” I ask her. She lets a breath out of her nose, and I can see the wheels in her head turning. When she speaks her voice is low and measured.
“Please, let me out.”
I look at her a moment longer before nodding.
“I told you I’d own you,” I tell her as I begin to untie her feet first, not convinced she won’t try to hit me when I untie her hands. “And you said you were willing. Seven years of abuse is a long fucking time, Amelia.”
I don’t say anything else, leaving it as a statement rather than a question. When her wrists are untied, she curls up away from the mess. She rubs her wrists but doesn’t leave right away.
“Did you enjoy it? Last night?”
She flashes me an accusing look but nods slowly.
“I did, other than the last part, obviously.”
I smile.
“Good. You weren’t supposed to like that. Now, wash up and meet me downstairs for breakfast.”
