AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Close your mouth and swallow.”
I did as he commanded. It hurt but not as much as earlier. Anton massaged my throat and I leaned into the touch. Romero asked me earlier if I was familiar with the spray. Of course I was, like any decent singer. It worked wonders on sore throats and laryngitis; two things you couldn’t afford before a show. When he asked why I hadn’t used any, I gave him the runaround and he let the matter drop. Truth was, I didn’t know how Anton would feel about it. It wasn’t uncommon for masters to refuse painkillers to a pet they had personally punished.
“Open again.”
Anton repeated the process twice more. On the third time, when I swallowed, my discomfort became faint and distant.
“Sit on the bed,” Anton said while putting down the spray and picking up the ointment. After I complied, he approached and looked at my groin. “Are you sore?”
What do you think?I thought bitterly.
But I simply nodded. He gently pushed my shoulder backward, indicating for me to lie down. He lifted my skirt, exposing me to him. Noticing the bruise on my knee from when he had shoved me to the floor, he rubbed some ointment over it first. The effects were almost immediate, numbing the dull throbbing there. I always bruised easily. For a while, Marcus and I thought it might be some medical condition, but the doctors found nothing. My pale skin didn’t help either, making the slightest scratch look worse than it was.
Once done with my knee, Anton parted my legs and crouched in front of me. Lifting my head up to see what he was doing, I watched him spread some ointment on top of two fingers then carefully insert them into my swollen opening. The coldness of the cream, my raw insides, and the thickness of his fingers made me flinch.
Anton put his other hand on my thigh and caressed it with his thumb in a soothing motion. My eyes pricked, and I blinked away the tears. I wanted to hate him. I should hate him. It wasn’t right that I was this hungry for the slightest sign of caring. Just like it wasn’t right that I had been so brutally punished for something stupid I did years ago. I watched Anton gently slip his fingers in and out of me, coating my inner walls with the healing cream. This was the man I liked and wanted to see. The gentle, caring, careful Anton.
Why couldn’t he always be like this? Why did the men I like always end up hurting me?
He pulled his fingers out. “Better?”
I nodded, fearing my voice would betray the turmoil raging inside me.
“How is your rear?” he asked after lowering the front of my skirt.
I froze. The terror from last night creeping back in. Nothing ever scared me more than when he almost fucked my ass. I believed he would damage me beyond repair. Kill me even. Pictures of me lying in a pool of my own blood flashed in my head. I shuddered, goosebumps erupting all over my skin.
It didn’t happen. He stopped. You asked him, and he stopped.
He did stop.
That didn’t make anything that happened last night okay. But for me, it changed everything. Paul never stopped. Begging him only brought me greater punishment.
“Grace?”
Anton’s voice snapped me out of my daze. Yes, my ass did hurt. Nowhere near as bad as my vagina had, but it was sore, nonetheless. I could still feel the burn from when he ripped out the plug.
I considered saying no, not wanting Anton anywhere near my ass in case he decided to finish the job. However, nothing indicated he wanted revenge right now and I really didn’t like pain. It felt silly to punish myself further.
“Yes, a bit,” I whispered.
“Move up the bed and get on your hands and knees,” he said.
I did as ordered, my pulse rising. He applied a small pressure on my shoulders so my face rested on the mattress with my ass up. That position made my butt hurt. Then again, since last night, any position hurt. While eager for the relief the ointment would provide, I dreaded the moment Anton would insert his fingers into my tight hole.
As if sensing my growing panic, Anton’s calloused hand gently caressed my butt cheek in a circular motion to make me relax. His wet fingers touched my rosette, and I tensed up. He didn’t try to push his way in though. While still caressing my cheek, his fingers softly applied the cream around my inflamed opening, soothing it. With a slow, painstaking process, Anton eventually managed to slide a single finger inside me to coat my rear with the ointment.
When he finished, he wiped his hand on the hand towel and helped me back to my feet. He made me walk around the room to assess my level of discomfort. It wasn’t as magical as the throat spray, but I no longer walked as if a stick was stuck in my behind.
“In half an hour, have something to eat,” Anton said. “And before you go to sleep, we’ll put on a bit more ointment.”
“Yes, A... Thank you.”
I almost said his name but thankfully caught myself in time. After last night, I wasn’t sure where I stood. Should I call him Master? He only ever asked me to call him Anton, though.
He gave me a strange look then nodded. I watched his retreating back as he headed for the bathroom, wondering what thoughts were going through his mind. Did guilt drive him to take such thorough care of me? Did he fix me only to break me again later? Was yesterday enough punishment or was it only the first of many?
After washing his hands and putting away the spray and ointment, he quietly walked out of the room.
