If Sir was any other man, I’d have stripped whatever clothes I had on and bared myself for their entertainment. But Sir didn’t want me like that, for whatever reason. Although, if he did, I think he’d be the only one ever to be gentle to avoid hurting me. I could deal with it if that weren’t the case.
I don’t know how long I knelt there on the floor. It could have been minutes or hours. I let my mind go blank and posture half lax, half on alert. A part of me that was trained to cater to every demand and was ready to move at a simple word from Sir.
My toes were pins and needles, and my legs ached like the rest of my body. Some places were worse than others, but I still didn’t move. I breathed. Sometimes, the breaths were deeper; other times, not so much.
Closing my eyes, tired of staring at the almost gray carpet under me, I let my ears track Sir. He was still in his office, muttering to himself. Occasionally, a clink of a glass against more glass or his desk reached me.
Otherwise, there were no other sounds. No phone calls. No cars outside. Nothing but my breathing and the quiet.
As time passed, my body grew tired and leaned more against the couch than keeping upright. My bladder was also demanding my attention, which I ignored. Same for the throbbing that started in my head and traveled elsewhere.
Shifting enough, I had both legs folded under me sideways and leaned my whole weight against the side of the couch.
Surely, if Sir wanted me elsewhere, he’d have told me. He didn’t want me, so being invisible was the best option.
I probably should have moved and gone into a better place that he couldn’t see, but that took too much energy. Instead, I ended up dozing where I was.
Eventually, Sir shuffled from his office. Instantly, the sleepy haze disappeared as I pushed myself to try to be in a perfect kneel. My body screamed as I jarred the broken ribs, and I could only grit my teeth and try to catch my breath.
Tears tried to cloud my vision as Sir all but ignored me, heading straight to the kitchen. I’d like to think that maybe he just didn’t see me here, but I highly doubt that. But on the other hand, if Sir wanted to give me his attention, I’d probably wish he wouldn’t.
I didn’t understand why I wanted to hide away, but at the same time be noticed. It messed up my mind. It made no sense, yet it was something I couldn’t really figure out which option had the stronger pull.
Sir nearly slammed the cupboards shut before water filled something. Then more muttering.
This wasn’t the Sir that I had gotten to know the past couple of weeks. This version of Sir scared me. It rattled the anxiety. I didn’t know what to expect from him today.
“Drink.” Sir sat a cup of water on the table.
With a shaking hand, I did as he told me, drinking all the contents before placing it back on the table as gently as I could. Only then did Sir take a seat, his leg brushing my shoulder.
“I don’t know what to do with you.” The confession was more whispered than anything andnot for me to reply. So I stayed kneeling, head down, and tried to appear relaxed when inside; I was anything but that. “You weren’t meant to be here, boy. I wasn’t to fucking keep you. Yet I did because I’m the stupidest person ever. And now, I can’t bear to let you go because when I did, you got hurt. All because of me.”
I tilted my head slightly, confused.
“I’m sorry,” he slurred, leaning back on the couch. I glanced up at the movement, seeing him staring up at the ceiling. “I never meant to hurt you.”
Was he drunk? Because that’s all I could think of as he muttered some, not making much sense to me one bit.
“Fuck. What am I going to do?” He had asked that a few times in several different ways.
“Let me serve you, Sir?” That was the only thing I could think of. I was here, so he may as well use me.
“Tell me how you’d do that.” Again, the words were slurred, but a hand reached out and tangled in the top of my hair. “You need a cut. Or something.”
Uh…what?
It took my mind way too long to tell him what I could do. I didn’t know the correct answer. It was just better if he told me what he wanted.
“I…I…could suck you. Or…uh…you can…use me as a toy. I can be your footstool. Or help you pee. Or just...sit right here.” Was that enough?
“Anything I want, you’d do.”
“Yes, Sir.” It wasn’t a question, but still, I answered.
He hummed, scooting his lower half down farther on the couch. “I’m…I think I’m drunk. Or close to it.”
Scooting forward, I ended up between his legs. My head leaned on one of his legs. Looking up at him, his hooded, drunkful gaze met mine.
