Page 8 of Better Run
I jump when he comes back through the door. He’s holding a wooden board. No, a paddle. With some sort of cutout in it. He unlocks my cuff, and I immediately dart towards the door. He snatches me up by the hair and yanks hard so I fall with my upper body on the bed.
“Fuck you.” A tear leaks down my face from the sharp pain on my scalp. He doesn’t let up. I fight anyway. “Let me go!”
“I told you the rules. This is on you, kitten.”
I fight harder, desperation filling me. He holds me down easily. He puts his head by my ear and takes a deep breath. He then yanks my pants down.
Oh fuck. I had resolved myself to death, but not rape. Real panic takes over for the first time since waking up here despite my struggle to keep it down. I kick and scratch and hit.
“Three hits for attacking me, kitten.”
Thwack. A sharp pain explodes across my ass and then blossoms into burning. I lay there stunned. It hurts deeply. Then there’s something, a hand, massaging the spot.
“There you go. You want to act like a bad girl, you'll have to take it like a bad girl.”
Did he just…spank me?
Thwack. It comes again and I wasn’t ready. It hurts more than the last time. Despite myself I let out a small sound of pain and start fighting again.
His hand returns, massaging the burning pain, his other hand still deeply rooted in my hair.
“Push your ass up, and I’ll think you like it, dirty girl.”
“Stop! Let me g—”
THWACK. I screech, the pain becoming a haze in my mind. The hand is back again, massaging buzzing tingles of pleasure through my ass.
“You sound so good screaming for me.”
More tears leak from my eyes, and I hate myself for it. I tell myself it’s because of the sharp hold on my hair.
“All done. You fight me again, and it’ll be five.” He releases my hair and leans in. I turn my face away from him. Shame burns through me and also something else. Something…fiercer.
With horror, I realize I’m pressing my thighs together. I stop. What the fuck is wrong with me?
The man gathers the paddle and re-chains me to the bed.
I stare at him, trying to tuck all that fear back in. “What’s your name?”
He looks at me, and I’m suddenly aware of my puffy eyes. I look away, feeling calming anger start to creep in again.
“You can call me Sir.”
Like fuck I will. I don’t say anything.
He smiles. “You’re going to be fun to break.”
***
I don’t sleep. It's been dark for a few hours. Shame and embarrassment keep filling my head. I push them out.
He didn’t kill me. He has some sick perversion for hurting women. I’m almost more afraid now than I was before. I think back to all the times he’s had a chance to hurt me and hasn’t. This is some kind of game to him. I’ve heard of Doms asking their Subs to call them sir before. But that was always consensual.
My ass burns and I have to shift to keep my weight off of it. He only hit the right side, making laying on my left side difficult with the little slack I have with the cuff. I imagine him sleeping peacefully, not bothered at all that I’m in pain and a prisoner. His chest rose and fell.
That goddamned piece of shit.
The anger is back. I want him to pay. All the rules say are no running and no hurting him. He’s stuck to his promises so far. He hasn’t done anything until I break a rule. And instead of getting angry, he gets off when I do. So I need to figure out how to break his cool demeanor without breaking a rule. Angry people make mistakes. But they also hurt people. But, what’s to say he isn’t going to break his stupid rules and hurt me anyway?
