I stalk out of the room, knowing I have time to erase the tape later. Hermes will not be here until tomorrow, and I have all night. I need to make sure my Pet is taken care of. I need to ensure she’s not in there blaming herself for my swift departure.
I slide my hand onto the keypad and enter the room. It’s quiet, and I walk slowly over to the closet.
“Pet,” I say. Her head peeks out of the furry cocoon and wet, red-rimmed eyes stare at me. She’s filled with remorse, and hate, and sadness. I can see it all in her gaze.
“I need you.” No answer. My anger rises inside of me, but I already fucked up once. I need to do this right. “Come here,” I command in my best authoritative voice.
She unwraps herself and crawls on her hands and knees to my feet the way I taught her. She’s the most perfect slave I’ve ever trained.
As far as submissives go, she’s terrible at it. Too strong-willed, though she does enter subspace naturally and without too much coercion. She follows instruction well enough—likely due to years of rigorous ballet training—but she’s a brat. She needs discipline daily. An older man might find her too much to handle, but for me, she’s perfect. Just naughty enough to earn a spanking we’ll both enjoy.
Right now, though? It appears I’m the one who needs disciplinary action.
I see the hurt in her eyes. The uncertainty. I did that. I changed the game without letting her know the rules. I reach out to tuck her hair behind her ear. She flinches as though I might strike her.
“Shh. I’m not mad at you, Pet.” I asses her body, the colorful artwork of bruises and welts.My artwork. She’s a masterpiece. “Are you hurt?”
She clears her throat, swallows hard. “No, Sir.”
I trail a finger over her soft cheek. She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts. “Are you okay?”
“No, Sir,” she says on a sob.
“Shh. On your feet, little one.” She rises, and I slide my hand around her waist and pinch her ass. She doesn’t gasp, doesn’t squeak. She doesn’t so much as make a sound.
I produce the blindfold from my pocket and let it dangle from my hands. Like a good little Pet, she closes her eyes, and waits. I wrap it around her head, and tie it off, and then I lead her from the room, down the hall, and into the bathroom. I run the bath and help her into it. I don’t get in behind her because I’ve already overstepped the mark today, and I don’t need another reason to lose my shit.
“Did I do something wrong, Sir?”
“No, Pet. I did.”
And I don’t have the heart to tell her why. I don’t know what makes her different from the others. Every slave I’ve trained, I’ve told them of their fate, to torment and terrify them with it, but not her. Not my Pet. Perhaps it’s the amnesia, or the fact that I might be losing my edge. Twice now, I’ve overstepped boundaries I swore I would never cross. Twice, I’ve let a submissive get the better of me.
I don’t know the reason why. I don’t have the answers, but it’s different with her, just as it was with the last. I need it to not be different. I’d never had any disillusions about what I do, who I am, orwhatI am. But Pet makes me reconsider all these things, and in turn it makes that kiss the worst kind of betrayal. A betrayal to both of us.
I cannot let it happen again.