Chapter Three
Now
Earlier, after ending our phone call with Ward, I ordered Liam to go upstairs, strip, and lie face-up and spread-eagled on our bed.
When I reach our bedroom, that’s exactly how I find him.
Imagine, the Master can be given an order and he’ll follow it.
I don’t want to punish Liam—
Correction, that’s a lie.
Itotallywant to punish Liam. But not with a beating, which I’m sure he’d accept and thank me for and gladly take if it means working his way back into my good graces.
No, a beating would be aneasypunishment for him to stoically endure.
I want to reallyhurthim, because I need to teach him a lesson that will be forever imprinted on his very soul, one that he’ll never forget.
Yet I don’t want to harm him in the process. He’s had enough of that, thanks to Ward.
Think about it this way—if you break a bone, they have to set it and it hurts like fuck, right? If you don’t set it properly the first time, it has to be broken again and reset.
Liam’s already been broken once, and it wasn’t set correctly. Now, it’s time to rebreak and set this goddamned thing once and for all so it can properly heal.
The pity is that we’re here at the townhouse in DC instead of at our much larger home in Massachusetts. There we have our main kinky collection, including restraints, implements, and accessories.
Here in DC, we usually make do, because we don’t want to take any risks that might earn us the bad kind of attention.
Like fucking married people we aren’t actually married to in a goddamned hideaway office in the Capitol.
We do, however, have rope. I mean, there are probably very few politicians living in DC who don’t have at least a pair of cheesy handcuffs and an extra sleep mask in their nightstand.
I grab four of the shorty coils of black jute and make quick work of securely tying Liam’s wrists and ankles to the four corners of the bed. I do this without speaking or making eye contact with him, because I don’t want to start screaming again.
Or crying.
Because I’m a motherfucker on a mission.
Then I grab his briefs, from where they ended up on the floor inside his trousers, and wad them up in my hand. “Open.”
He does, knowing exactly what’s coming next, because he’s damn well done it to me enough times.
Into his mouth they go, an impromptu gag.
His cock is hard, too. It’s been hard the entire time I tied him up. I reach down and flick the head of it, making him wince and yelp, but I grin. “Yeah, not so much fun, is it, asshole?”
I lean in close, now staring him in the eyes. “No safeword rights, either. Obviously, I’m not going to gut two US senators in our damned bedroom. But I’m driving this bus, and it’s going to back all over you two fuckers numerous times before I’m satisfied. Understand?”
He nods.
I lightly smack his cheek. “Good boy. Because if I’m not satisfied, I can walk away after lighting the match and burn the whole goddamned thing down behind me.”
On that ominous note, I head downstairs. If he has trouble, he knows he can spit out the briefs and yell for me, but I have other things to prepare.
From the one-car garage that’s empty except for some boxes and tubs of Christmas ornaments, I grab a roll of plastic wrap that was left over from when we first moved in here. It’s on a convenient handle and everything.
Yes, the sadist has used this on me, too, and I carry it and a roll of duct tape out to the living room. I’m not exactly sure what I’ll be using yet, but I want to have…options.
