Page 94 of His Pet

“I don’t care about other people in your class. I care about your results. I guess I’ll have to help you study again.”

“Oh god.” Justin sounds half aroused, half terrified. As he should be. I don’t tolerate failure. Last time I helped him study for a test, he couldn’t sit down for days. He aced it, though.

Justin hadn’t outright asked if he could go back to school, but I could tell he wanted it. He’s happy being my pet, but I noticed the way he lit up when he talked about his classes, so I arranged for him to go back to school.

He takes most classes remotely, only attending in person once every week or two. I drive him around whenever he needs to go, and he has to wear a tight leather choker to remind him who he belongs to. It also has a tracker. Not because I think he’d try to run, but for my own peace of mind. I get antsy when I don’t have eyes on my pet, and we agreed that putting cameras in his classrooms would be a little risky. Well, Justin said it and I reluctantly agreed. I don’t need to get in trouble with the cops so soon after they dropped all charges against me and issued a public apology.

My bag with toys is already packed in my car, so I grab Justin’s hand and lead him out. It’s early, but that just means I’ll have time to get Justin hot and bothered before the meeting. Then I’ll take my time discussing art with a potential client while my pet squirms at my feet.

***

Justin

I test the restraints, but they hold. Of course they do. This isn’t a fun kink club. This is Indulgence. I’m probably the only person here consenting to what’s being done to me. Not that anything is being done to me, other than a whole lot of teasing.

Cameron kissed me and touched me all over until his client arrived. I tried to get my arousal under control as Cameron and the client talked, but my evil Master kept turning on the vibrating plug in my ass. The client kept smirking at me, which didn’t help things.

No amount of prayer is going to save my soul, that’s for sure.

Now it’s even worse. I’m strapped down on my hands and knees, my ass on display. It's a workday afternoon, so the club is far from packed, but we’ve still attracted an audience.

Cameron pays no attention to the people watching. He’s moving behind me, setting up whatever instruments he’s going to use on me. I’m both excited and terrified, and the hungry stares of the onlookers prickle at my skin.

I gasp as strands of a flogger tickle my perineum. Cameron runs them through my crack, teasing. Then they disappear, only to come back with a sting. Left cheek, right cheek. Thighs. Balls. I moan at that. It doesn’t hurt yet, but that won’t last. Cameron’s just getting started.

He gets into a rhythm, spreading his strikes around my ass, thighs, and back, until my whole backside pleasantly tingles. I’m slowly sinking into that place where nothing matters when he pulls me out abruptly.

“A company pays 12,000 for a one-year insurance policy. After three months, what adjustment is required?”

I blink. Shake my head. It still makes no sense. “Huh?”

A hard strike, straight on my balls. I scream.

“A company pays 12,000 for a one-year insurance policy. After three months, what adjustment is required?” Cameron repeats.

I glance at him over my shoulder. He’s reading something from his phone. My Financial Accounting materials, probably. God, does he actually expect me to focus on schoolwork right now?

“Well?” he prompts. Setting the flogger aside, he teases my hole, his fingers brushing over my prostate. Too much. Not enough. “Come on, pet. You have a test in two weeks. I can’t let you fail that one too.”

I want to argue I didn’t fail the last one either, but words abandon me when he increases pressure on my P-spot. “I… Um…” This is impossible. What was the question again? Something about insurance policy and adjustment? I should know that.

My throbbing cock doesn’t make focusing easier. It strains against the cage, the pressure bordering on painful.

Insurance policy. Right. “You, um, you expense part of it and keep the rest as prepaid.” There. That should be right. I think. Actually, it’s difficult to think straight, but it sounds right.

Cameron smacks my balls. Lightly. Ish. I still cry out. “Give me exact numbers, pet. I thought you accountants loved your numbers.”

I do love numbers. When I’m not painfully aroused. What were the numbers again? I wish I had two brain cells to rub together. “12,000 for one year, that’s…” I trail off on a moan when Cameron starts on my prostate again. “3,000 insurance expense. 9,000 prepaid.”

“Good job, pet,” Cameron croons. His fingers pick up the pace, sliding back and forth and driving me crazy.

I whimper. “Please, Sir.” I desperately want him to take the cock cage off and let me come, but I know he won’t. We’re just getting started.

Just when I feel the beginnings of an orgasm gather at the base of my spine, that familiar tingle announcing I’m about to come, cage or not, Cameron stops. Groaning, I let my head fall down on the padded surface of the bench. My body is so primed on pleasure that it takes a few seconds before pain registers as Cameron starts flogging me again.

“Explain the purpose of depreciation.”

This is torture. “Depreciation.” I try to focus. “It’s, um.” Do I even know the answer? “Like, when you have something expensive. And you spread out the cost over time.”