Page 22 of The Boss' Pet

It hurts. I can tell he likes the fact that it hurts, too.

“Easy, pet,” he purrs. “Relax. Breathe.”

It hurts to breathe. Every time I inhale, it makes the cane lines flare into fresh life. I shiver as he raises that terrible implement again. I hear a short swish and then a sharp crack. Fresh pain ripples through me, a cold shock that leaves no part of me unaffected. This stroke is worse than either of the two before it, because it lands right at the very sensitive crevice where my cheeks meet my thighs.

“Fuck!” I curse at the top of my lungs and squirm as hard as I am capable of squirming. It does me no good. Marcus is much stronger than I am, and he is more than capable of keeping me in place.

“Let me go! You’re a psycho!”

“There’s my feisty pet,” he says. “Rediscovered your bravery, have you?”

It’s not bravery. It’s desperation. I don’t like being caned. I don’t like pain. I don’t like punishment. I’ve bitten off so much more than I can chew. I can’t believe I ever had the nerve to think I could walk into this man’s world and somehow survive. He is clearly going to ruin me in every way imaginable.

“Please let me go. I’m sorry I met you. I mean, I’m sorry…”

He gives a light chuckle. “Tongue-tied are we? Perhaps you should be tied in another way. That might help calm you…”

The sound I make when he says that is something between begging for mercy and cursing at the top of my lungs.

“Easy, pet,” he says, shifting his grasp to the back of my neck. It’s soothing, mostly because he’s stopped hitting me with the cane. “You’re more sensitive than I thought you would be after all that bravado today. Then again, I suppose you did run away after a little spanking. There’s no chance of repeating that today, is there?”

I whimper and squirm, three horrible hot lines still burning their way through my flesh. He is toying with me, enjoying how quickly I have given up. It is impossible to resist him.

“You’re hurting me. And you’re scaring me.”

“I know. You deserve to feel a little fear, and as for the pain, three strokes of this cane is nothing. You will take much more than that over time.”

“Well, I can’t, unless you want to end me completely,” I sniff. This little interlude of words is feeling like a real mercy. I am so sore, and I am very sorry for myself. I have been ripped out of my world and thrown into an alternate reality.

I may have always suspected that the ultra-rich play by their own rules and answer to nobody, but it is something else to discover that it is true, and that I am stuck in the middle of it.

“Such a dramatic little pet,” Marcus says, rubbing my scalp gently with the tips of his fingers. “I told you that I would make you regret your earlier behavior. Do you regret it yet?”

“Yes!” I say the word so quickly I almost trip over it. “Yes, I regret it, and I’m sorry, and please can I go home? I’ve seen enough.”

“I will need some kind of demonstration of your proper chastisement,” Marcus says. “Come down off that bench, but do it on your hands and knees. My pets crawl beside me.”

I don’t like that plural that slipped in there.

“Pets? How many women are you dragging through this sick ritual?”

Marcus

She’s jealous. That is very telling, and rather adorable.

Of course I’m not going to tell her that she’s the only woman I’m playing with, even though that is true. The unfortunate incident Earnest referred to has left an unpleasant taste in my mouth when it comes to playing with those who have surrendered to the Embassy. I decided that I was only going to entertain women I picked myself, and I was going to make absolutely sure I knew everything there was to know about them.

That’s why I’ve been so careful about Charlie. That’s why I’ve had her laptop hacked, and why my assistant has been going through her emails to highlight any areas of concern, and why I’ve had a full background worked up. I know as much about this half-caned woman in front of me as I can know.

“Off the bench and on your knees,” I repeat the order.

“I’m not going to play your little sex games,” she says, now apparently convinced that she is not the only woman in my life.

It’s not an entirely strange conclusion to draw. It’s assumed that most men of my ilk have more women than fingers. Sometimes, that’s true. Other times, it’s not. It depends how much a guy has to lose by allowing a string of women to have intimate access to him. More than one of us has been taken down by a siren sent by an enemy.

“Do as you are told, or I will give you another three strokes of that cane,” I promise her. “Your impudence and resistance will not be tolerated.”

She turns her head and looks up at me with a pouty expression. She wants reassurance. I hesitate to give it to her, because I want her obedience at all and any costs. But perhaps that’s not fair. Perhaps if I want loyalty, I will have to demonstrate some of it.

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