Page 45 of Regressive

“You don’t like it? You don’t want to do it?”

I brush her hair off her cheek. “No, Imogene, I want it too much. So much it scares me. The things I want to do to you. How I fantasize about treating you. It can’t be right.”

My brain hurts. My arms and legs ache. My stomach churns.

‘She called Serendee a cult.’

Camille Sanders Montgomery is notorious for being a lot of things, but I’ve seen the records, the history and foundation of her work building Serendee. At one point she was a believer and hearing that she has used that term to describe us rocks my foundation. If someone like that can change her mind, what does that mean for the rest of us?

Imogene shifts next to me, lifting up the covers and sliding her legs in next to mine. It’s an act of softness, tenderness and it’s in direct opposition of how we treat one another. She must know it, because her limbs remain tense as our bodies draw together, like two magnets. She tucks against my side, pulling my arm around her shoulders. Unsure of what else to do, I rest my other hand on her belly.

“What if she’s right?” I ask. “What if we’re just being manipulated and controlled?”

It’s the thing Rex has fought with his father about for years, but even he’s too under his thumb to really leave.

“Then our whole lives are a lie,” Imogene says, pressing her lips against my collarbone. “But what’s worse? Living the lie or breaking free?” She sits up. “What would you rather do? Pretend nothing is wrong and keep living this life or go out there? Live in the secular world with their noise and dirty streets and crime? Maybe it’s just the price we have to pay?”

She leans toward me, her tits round and full. I cup one with my hand, running my thumb over the nipple. I’ve only touched her like this once without inflicting Correction—pain. And there’s a disconnect between my mind and body. She grabs my hand and places it over her breast, applying pressure.

“Make me pay, Levi,” she says, grinding against my thigh. My cock swells. “Help me reconcile my actions.”

She wants it hard. She wants pain with her pleasure. It’s mixed up and confusing, but in the darkness of this room, it doesn’t have to belong to anyone but us. Anex may have made this monster, but I’m the one releasing it from its cage.

“Are you sure?” I ask, because I feel the same pull.

“Yes.” She nods, taking my hand and pushing it between her legs. It’s hot. Wet. Ready. “I’ve been a very bad girl.”

I rise up, shifting from the unsure, insecure man who doesn’t know what to do with a woman in a bed, to the one that understand this specific language. This desire.

I already know what I want to do to her. I’ve been waiting for her to return. I knew she would. It was a matter ofwhen, notif.

“Lay back,” I tell her, and she arranges herself on the bed, head on the pillow. Opening the drawer on the bedside table, I pull out the hard, heavy object. The handle nestles in my palm. Imogene watches me with wide, worried eyes, a line creasing her forehead. I lick my bottom lip.

“What’s that for?” she asks, a tremble in her voice when she sees the knife.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

She nods. “Yes.”

In all the times we’ve been together I’ve never fully exposed myself to Imogene. I’ve kept on my clothes unless I’ve caved, spilling my cum on her back. She’s been so honest with me, that I feel compelled. I hook my thumbs in my shorts and lower them, revealing myself.

I show her what I’ve been hiding all this time.

Her eyes dart my erection first, taking in my manhood, but then they slide to the side, to the flesh next to my hip. I don’t look, ashamed of the wrath I’ve taken out on myself. She sits up, her fingers darting out. They touch the scarred skin, gentle and cool.

“You did this?” she asks, eyes darting to the blade in my hand. “With that?”

“Yes.” Something feral unwinds in my chest, years of secret punishments. The only person that knows is Anex. “I’m allowed to do my own Corrections, as long as I log them in my journal.”

She runs her thumb over the puckered skin, some scars run over time and time again. There are dozens, one for every Lapse, for every Regressive thought, for each Indulgence and every time I could Be Better and wasn’t.

For every urge of pleasure, every ejaculation, every lingering desire I have after giving Imogene Corrections.

She’s speechless, but I see the worry in her eyes. The pity. I swallow back my emotions and ask, “Do you trust me?”

Her nod is hesitant, but she doesn’t run. Too bad, that’s a game for another day.

“The normal way we’d do this is for me to give you a Correction for every Lapse.” I unsheathe the blade, the silver glinting in the moonlight. “But this is about us. About release. I want you to tell me when you’ve had enough. When you’re close… okay?”

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