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I flinch away from the tray, fingers curling back in my lap to hide that they’re shaking. “I don’t know-” I stop myself. I don't know what you want from me.
“Eat with the spoon.”
He offers me the spoon. I take it with a trembling hand, heart in my throat. My stomach quivers and churns with fear. Things only get worse when I try to scoop the oatmeal. I don’t know if I’m out of practice or just shaking too hard, but my first attempt fails, a dollop of oatmeal dropping onto the tray before it can reach my mouth. Fuck.
I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing it wouldn’t be smart to apologize. Not until I’ve been given permission.
Or maybe not knowing that. This master is clearly different, after all.
“I’m sorry, Master."
“Don’t be. It’s - you’re fine. Here, let me.” He takes the spoon from my hand and fills it with another scoop of oatmeal. His lips purse as he blows on it before he leans forward, the spoon coming toward me. My stomach turns for a whole flurry of new reasons as he feeds me the first bite.
Tears burn my eyes as the taste explodes on my tongue. It’s fucking good. Even without any extras on top, it’s so fucking good.
Is that brown sugar?
My god.
I practically dive forward for the second bite. And the third. The fourth. It isn’t until the fifth that Master chuckles. “Slow down, little one. You’ll hurt your stomach.”
“S-sorry, Master.”
“No, no, you’re fine. Just slow down a bit.”
I nod before accepting the next bite. We go on in silence for a while before he's scooping up the last of it and saying, “There’s a party tomorrow.”
I nearly miss the spoon. My eyes flick to his nervously, but his expression gives nothing away. Since I don’t have permission to talk or a reason to apologize, I stay quiet.
“I’ll be busy the rest of today and all day tomorrow. My friend is going to check on you. He’s done so a few times now, but you’ve always been asleep or out of it. Do you remember him?”
The oatmeal in my stomach suddenly feels like a rock. “I - yes. I think so, Master.”
“His name is Nathan. He’s my best friend and I trust him completely. He will not touch you sexually or hurt you in any way. I promise.”
Yeah, right.
I press my hand to the center of my stomach, fighting the urge to throw up.
“Will I-" I stop myself, my heart racing as I realize I just spoke out of turn. I bring a trembling hand up to my lips. Don’t throw up. He won’t ever feed you again if you throw up.
"Finish your question," Master orders.
I swallow twice before feeling confident enough to speak without vomiting or crying. "I - I don't have a question, Master. That was a mistake. I'm very sorry."
Master is quiet for a long moment. Then he grips my chin between a finger and his thumb and forces me to look into his eyes. He doesn't look angry, but that doesn't mean anything. I’ve been hurt plenty of times by a man with a blank - or even happy - expression.
"Were you wondering if you'd be coming to the party?"
Yes.
But… "That's not my place, Master. Y-you'll tell me what I need to know."
Master frowns, his eyebrows pulling together. "It's perfectly reasonable for you to want to know what you'll be doing."
But it's not. Because I don’t belong to myself. Is this a trick? Should I correct him? No, I definitely shouldn't do that. If I’m not already in trouble now, I’d certainly be then.
Master sighs and drops his hand. "You won't be coming to the party. There are too many things I need to worry about during it. I wouldn't be able to look after you properly. And you're still healing."
