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As he sifted through the closet, he said, “Were you supposed to touch yourself?”
“No, Sir, but—”
“Do you really want to make this worse by making up excuses?”
She sealed her mouth shut and stared down at the ground. Her eyes watered. Guilt twisted in chest, made worse by the feeling of euphoric afterglow that she’d stolen and hadn’t asked him for. She’d disappointed him. She should have followed the rules. It wasn’t like there were that many. And he probably would have pleasured her eventually, if she’d just waited. What would he do to her now? She was too afraid to look up to find out.
A moment later, she heard the bed creak under his weight. “Come here, slave.”
The word made her shudder with anticipation, fear, and deep arousal. She hesitated a moment, not wanting to go to him while he was irritated, and not sure whether she should walk or crawl. Taking a guess, she crawled to him, trying not to let her tears fall. She should take her punishment like the tough girl she was and not be a baby about it.
Once she reached his feet, she stopped and knelt, still staring at the ground.
He placed something under her chin, then pushed her head up with it. As her head tilted up, she saw it was a thick wooden cane. A shiver ran through her. Was that what he was going to use to punish her?
Afraid, she couldn’t stop the tears anymore.
“Do you think you deserve to be punished?” he asked, placing the cane across his legs.
Sobbing now, she nodded, trying to keep her gaze on him, though her vision was blurry. Maybe he’d see her regret and change his mind. Could she take a cane on her skin? He hadn’t used anything more than his hand yet and even that had hurt.
After he watched her a long moment, he took her hair in a gentle grip and leaned down so his face was inches from hers. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I won’t give you more than you can handle.”
She tried to nod but he was still holding her hair.
“Do you trust your Master?”
Master? She hiccupped once, then calmed her shaky breaths. He’d never called himself that before. But the title felt right. There was no question that he’d mastered her.
She’d displeased him and as her Master, he had the right to punish her. Through her fear, there was a sense of safety there. She trusted him to take care of her. But that cane looked so evil. Did he even know how much she could take? Woul
d he break her—unintentionally?
“I . . . I trust you . . .” At the last second, she added, “Master.” She hoped her trembling voice didn’t give away her doubt.
He didn’t say anything for a moment and when she raised her eyes to his, he was grinning. At the chance to punish her?
“I like hearing that word coming from your beautiful mouth,” he admitted.
She gave him a shaky smile. Couldn’t they be friends now?
His smile faded and he traded it for a grim frown. “Get on the bed.”
Her shoulders drooped, her chest filling with dread. Slowly, she rose, then climbed up on the bed.
“Forehead on the bed, ass in the air,” he ordered.
She obeyed, feeling so open and vulnerable this way. Everything was on display and he was holding a wooden stick. She started to cry again.
It whooshed through the air once . . . twice. She squeezed her eyes shut, mentally preparing herself for the pain.
Nothing happened. Her chest tightened, waiting. Was this part of the torture? If so, it was especially cruel.
Still nothing. She dared to open her eyes. Had he left?
No. She could see his shadow against the wall where her head was turned. He was just standing there, staring, still holding that damned stick.
“Master?” she squeaked.
