by Kitty Thomas
“Do you know why you're being punished?”
“Yes, Master,” she said quietly, the tears once again slipping past the confines of the blindfold.
“Tell me why.”
“F-for what I did to you,” she whispered.
“No.”
She flinched, again as if waiting for a blow for getting the wrong answer.
Ari removed her blindfold. She immediately dropped her gaze, but he put his fingers under her chin and forced her to look at him. Stark green eyes met his.
“You are being punished because you need absolution and me just keeping you as my slave isn't enough. You need something more visceral. You also need to know I'm not going to harm you.”
Maybe that was why she cried but didn't fight. She knew she deserved punishment. The night before she'd begged him not to kill her. It hadn't escaped his notice that she hadn't begged him not to hurt her.
He'd watched her shatter in that cell over and over when she'd beaten him. He'd been the one taking the lashes but she was the one who cried, the one who broke apart.
He'd known from the first moment she'd walked inside his cell that everything was backward and wrong. He'd felt how badly she needed someone to take control of her, her shattered life, everything. Someone who wouldn't truly hurt her. But she could never ask for such a thing. And she could never feel safe if it were offered. Because she didn't know who to trust. She probably didn't believe there was anyone in the world to trust.
It wasn't that he thought she was kinky. There was no way he could get that lucky. But there was something... a need... a desperate plea that had risen off her body with every step even when she'd been the one holding the whip. Take me. Help me. Please. Please. It had screamed.
Now that he was the one with the whip, the mask of power and control had slipped gracefully from her face. Would this help her? He wasn't sure. Society would judge him a monster. Hell, his friends would do the same. But something primal inside her reached out to him, and the beast answered back.
Nothing about any of this was normal or right or okay. He wouldn't justify it even as he wouldn't apologize for it. But it was what they were doing. She'd had her turn with the whip and him at her mercy, and the universal laws demanded this reversal to balance the scale. She'd started this game. He was finishing it.
This was her sentence. And Ari remained convinced it was better than the prison cell she would have been given by what passed for justice in this world.
The law wouldn't have cared about the pain and abuse she'd suffered to create the person who would do the things she'd done. They wouldn't have cared what had driven her to her actions. She still would have been in prison. At least she could come to love the cage with Ari. When she understood the pleasure and care he offered her, her obedience would come from gratitude, not fear.
He took her hands in his and led her over to a St. Andrew's Cross. He needed her standing for this, and it was similar to the position she'd put him in except that his arms hadn't been raised out over his head like hers would be.
The panic finally came. She struggled and pulled away. The action surprised him, and his grip loosened enough for her to wrench herself free of his grasp. But she didn't run up the stairs. She was smart enough to know how futile it would be. He was sure she didn't want him to chase her.
Instead she dropped to her knees. “Master, please, please...” she sobbed.
Ari took a deep breath. He had to remind himself what she'd done. If he hadn't escaped, she would have killed him. The only way he would have left that cell was in trash bags if he hadn't tricked her and gotten free.
And now that he had her, the only move left to him was to keep her. He couldn't let her go, and he sure as hell wasn't going to kill her. For better or worse they had to work their issues out between them.
He crossed to the wall of gleaming hooks with varying styles and sizes of whips, floggers, canes, and crops. He took a whip almost identical to the one she'd beaten him with. When he returned, he dropped the whip in front of her. She jumped when it hit the ground.
“Are you happier when you're holding the whip?” he asked. “Maybe you'd like to whip me again.”
She looked up at him, horrified. “N-no, Master.”
At least she was still addressing him properly. Ari moved back several yards and sat in a plush red leather chair at the other end of the room, giving her some space. “We aren't leaving here until that whip gets used. I can whip you, or you can whip me. Choose.”
She stared down in horror at the whip as if it might rise up and strike her of its own accord. It was unorthodox, but Ari was one hundred percent certain that she couldn't bring herself to whip him again. This was the first step in her surrender.
“Claire, if I whip you, I won't break your skin. I know what I'm doing with a whip, and I do not wish to damage you. But if you whip me, you will break the skin... or else. We can't have you changing up your methods. It has to be fair. So... who gets the whip? Who deserves the whip?”
The tears came harder. “Master, please. I can't... I can't.”
“You can't what? Whip me or be whipped by me?”
Her head dropped into her hands. “Please... I can't.”
“If I whip you, it will be ten lashes, no more. You will count them. Then I'll take you up to the kitchen for breakfast. And I will never punish you again unless you disobey me.”
“And w-what if I whip you?” she asked.
“Then you're still playing the villain. And you can't atone. You can't have absolution or peace.”
“Please...” she whimpered.
Ari refused to be moved. “You will either put the whip in your mouth, crawl to me and place it on my lap, and take your punishment like a good girl, or you will pick up the whip, stand, and order me to put my hands on the wall. One of those two things is going to happen. Choose.”
9
Claire stared at the whip on the ground in front of her. What the hell was she going to do? She wondered if the option to whip him was a trap that would only make him hurt her more. It had to be. But it didn't matter because she absolutely could never hit him again. The very thought of it made her feel sick.
She glanced furtively around the room. She couldn't outrun him. And where would she go? She spied a small connected room. It looked like a bathroom. She could just make out a mirror and sink from her vantage point. She wanted to run and lock herself in that room, but she was sure he could easily break down the door, and then everything would be worse.
She tried to block out the memory of whipping him in that cell, making him bleed, watching as he bit back the screams. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of his screams—as if any of it had given her satisfaction.
She couldn't whip Ari even as she knew his kindness must be a lie. The lack of violence was ending now. But she couldn't hurt him again. She couldn't do it.
And she couldn't crawl to him and give him the whip to beat her. The reason she couldn't do that was far more shameful than any reason a normal person would assume. She was supposed to not want to do it because nobody wants to be hurt. And he was going to hurt her.
Claire was definitely afraid of that, but the more pressing concern was the growing wetness between her legs. He was going to see it. He would know. He'd know what a sick fucking freak she was. It wasn't kink that she thought was sick. She'd never been ashamed of her fantasies before the basement.
But after...? She'd just expected her mind and body to change. She'd expected to become someone different who didn't crave or fantasize about the same things because the reality of captivity is obviously not the same as the kinky fantasy. She'd always known they were different, and it had never bothered her before because fantasies were fantasies and fantasies were okay. Every daytime talk show confirmed this fact.
She wasn't hurting anyone with the thoughts she masturbated to.
But now? Wasn't she hurting herself? After what happened in the basement... she couldn't. And this wasn't even a kin
ky fantasy. Ari wasn't playing a game with her. He was holding her prisoner forever. And that was if she was lucky. If she was unlucky, he'd get bored and kill her.
They both knew he couldn't let her go. For the same reasons she couldn't let him go. Once you crossed that line you couldn't uncross it because prison was the only outcome if you did. He wouldn't go to prison for her any more than she would have gone for him. So it was down to keep or kill? She'd chosen the latter for him. Which would he choose for her?
She couldn't have even played a safe kinky sex game with someone after the basement. And nothing about this situation was safe.
And yet, every time the word Master fell from her lips she felt this stupid insane sort of peace fall over her. As if the word itself were a drug to soothe her frazzled mind. Every time she called him that, it made that feeling between her legs grow more intense. This conflict between fear and need was more than she could take right now.
All of this was so unfair. The two of them obviously had needs that matched. If neither of them had been imprisoned, this would be the fairy tale. But that wasn't their story. He wanted to really punish her for a crime that deserved punishment. And she was too broken to ever be put back together.
She pushed away the thoughts she'd touched herself to the day before that man had taken her and locked her in his basement. Her last orgasm. She'd been so grateful that her body hadn't responded to him or his friends during her captivity. She'd been so relieved her body hadn't turned against her because she could convince herself that her fantasies were different and they were still okay even if she couldn't go there again.
But now? It was all unraveling now. She chanced a glance up at the man now demanding she call him Master. He sat calmly, patiently, as if he had the rest of time itself to wait on her to make this decision. He wore only a pair of jeans, his legs spread wide, taking up so much space... taking up the entire room somehow. He was so fucking beautiful. Why did he have to look so good?
She remembered watching him on the monitor as he'd bathed, becoming aroused by the very sight of him, and the shame of it because of who she'd thought he was. He wasn't that guy, so was she allowed to find him attractive now? She shouldn't. It still felt so wrong.
Part of her believed she deserved this. It was karma. He had no idea what he was doing... what he would become if he did this to her. He'd become the monster she'd become. You just couldn't do these sorts of things to people and come out unscathed.
And that scar. How could Ari have the same scar? And the same build? And the same hair? Did he have the same eyes? She didn't know. She couldn't remember. Shouldn't she be able to remember eyes like Ari's?
But he wasn't the same. This guy had money.
Another realization came then, landing like a stone in the empty pit of her stomach. What if he was the same guy? He could have come into money. Maybe a rich uncle died. Maybe he'd won the lottery. Anything could have happened in three years. Wealth wasn't some fixed and unmovable thing. People lost money, and they gained money. Things happened.
“Claire...” he said, finally, interrupting her thoughts. He couldn't have interrupted them before she'd realized he could still be the guy? No. She was being crazy. He didn't treat her at all the same way. His voice and tone were different. She may have forgotten a lot of details, but she'd never forget that. That guy hadn't been smart enough to maintain a ruse this long. Had he?
Even if she'd convinced herself he'd spoken and acted differently in the cell to appease her because she had the power, he had it now. He didn't have to restrain himself. He didn't have to pretend.
“W-why do you have that scar?” She had to know even as she wished she could stuff those words back into her mouth and never let them escape.
Ari sighed. There was a long pause, during which she was sure he wouldn't answer her. But finally he spoke. “I was in a kink club playing with this girl...” He paused again as if he wasn't sure how much he should say. “We were doing something called edge play. Do you know what that is?”
She nodded. He raised a brow, surprised by that.
“A knife was involved,” he continued.
Claire's breath stopped. The panic began to rise up, pushing away the arousal she'd fought with herself over only moments before.
“Claire. Breathe.” It was a command. “I would never do that to you. It was a game both of us wanted to play at the time. But it was too much for her. She got scared and used her safeword. I was caught up in the moment and didn't stop immediately. She freaked out. When I let her go, she grabbed the knife and gave me this souvenir.” He gestured to the scar.
“But I don't get a safeword,” Claire said.
“We're not playing a game. You're mine. You know why we're here.”
Her words came back to her like a slap in the face. Only he didn't say them with anger or the same malice. But he was right. She did know why they were here. Because she'd slipped up, made a mistake, and let her prey escape to become the predator now holding her captive.
“Have you decided which one of us is wielding the whip today?” Ari asked gently.
It was such a mockery to pretend this was a choice. It wasn't a choice when she couldn't choose either thing. Would you rather have your arm cut off or your leg? Neither, thanks.
But between these two impossible choices, deep down she knew there was one she could make. Even though it was the most confusing option.
Claire took a long shaky breath and met his gaze again. He knew the choice she'd made. She could see the recognition in his eyes. He nodded at her. It was the barest sign of approval, and it caused something to flip low in her stomach. And then the arousal was stronger than the fear again. She couldn't decide which of those feelings she wanted to be in control. Both of them were overwhelming. Both of them caused her shame.
She put the whip in her mouth and crawled carefully across the floor to him, stopping on her knees between his spread legs. Her hands shook as she laid the whip across his thighs. All the while her mind screamed What are you doing? Run. Run. You have to try!
But she couldn't run. A man with this much money had some type of security. She'd never get past it. He was faster than her. He was stronger than her. She couldn't run. She'd barely been able to crawl. And all she could think was that running would only make it worse.
She flinched when he bent closer. But he only touched her hair, petting her like the good dog he obviously thought she was.
“Good girl,” he murmured.
“Master, p-please don't hurt me.” If only she could stop this stammering, this tremble that came to her voice.
Ari touched the side of her cheek. “It will hurt, but I won't damage you. Now go back over to the St. Andrew's Cross, and stretch your arms and legs out for me.”
He took her hands in his to help her stand. Then she turned and walked like a robot over to the giant X-shaped contraption he was going to tie her to.
Run. Run. Run. Run. Run.
But she didn't. She couldn't. Where could she go? If she had to go to another family function where they treated her like a stranger and told her she looked fabulous, she was going to die. If she had to work up the will to leave her apartment again by herself, she was going to die. What did it even matter at this point if Ari killed her? Wasn't she already dead? What was she so afraid of? What could he possibly do to her that hadn't already been done?
It should make her brave. Strong.
But she just wanted to be safe. She'd somehow forgotten her nudity in the midst of everything. There were so many bigger things now than her lack of clothing. Besides, she'd kept him naked in a cell, shivering while she blasted air conditioning on him. This was fair. It was fitting and appropriate. She couldn't bring herself to be indignant about it. She'd done the same to him. Worse.
At least he'd given her a warm bed and a fire roaring in the fireplace. He hadn't left her cold.
She stood facing the giant X and spread her legs and reached her arms out over her head.
&nbs
p; Then he was next to her, binding her arms and legs while she cried.
“Shhhh,” he said, stroking her back. “You will be fine. Everything will be okay.”
Why would he say that to her if it wasn't true? But how could it possibly ever be true?
He wrapped another strap around her waist at the center point of the X, securing her further. She could only whimper as he made escape even more impossible.
“This is to keep you safe. If you're squirming, you could get hurt.”
Hurt. He was about to whip her. Of course she was going to get hurt. But she knew what he meant.
You know why we're here.
Had she been concerned he would get hurt when she'd used a similar whip on him? No. He'd had to protect himself with his own force of will not to move so the whip wouldn't cause even more damage than she'd intentionally delivered. That thought made her shudder.
Ari stroked her back again. He ran his fingers through her hair, then he was wrapping an elastic hair band around first the hair on one side, then the other, making low pigtails. She didn't know where he'd gotten the hair bands. Were they in his pocket?
“We don't want your hair in the way,” he said as he pulled the secured hair forward over her shoulders.
“How many lashes?” he asked.
“Ten, Master.”
“And you will count them?”
“Yes, Master.”
He pressed a kiss to the middle of her shoulder blades, just below her neck. “Good girl.”
She wished she could squeeze her thighs together, but such a thing was impossible in her current position. She was too vulnerable to him, and that twisted thing inside her mind responded with even more excitement. He would see it. He would know. It was too shameful for him to know this was turning her on. What in the fuck was wrong with her?
Without warning, the whip came down across her back leaving a sharp stinging burn in its wake. “One,” she said through her tears.
He was right, it hurt. But she'd been whipped before, and even though it was only the first strike, this time was different than the basement. The next few lashes confirmed it. She could feel his control in each strike. This was definitely not the same man.
