Not deeming me worthy of an answer, he barks out, “Follow!” before moving to the back of the room where the strangeequipment is scattered. Not wanting to anger him, I hurry after him, water dripping from me all over the floor.
I catch up with him when he stops in front of a padded sawhorse with straps dangling from the legs. “Bend over,” the trainer orders, and, trembling both from fear and cold, I obey. With my wrists and ankles secured, I’m left bent over in an awkward position, my legs spread too wide for comfort, displaying my private parts for him to see and touch. Is he going to fuck me like this?
The pain comes unexpectedly, a sharp sting in a long line across my thighs. Another too-familiar sensation. Crying out, I instinctively yank on the restraints, but they hold fast. Another strike lands, then another, pain blooming higher on my thighs as he moves up toward my ass. “M-Master?” I sob, cold, confused and desperate for the pain to stop. “What did I do wrong?”
I obeyed him. I did what he wanted even after he decided to wake me up with a bucket of cold water. What could I have done to warrant punishment? Was it because I thought of escaping? He can’t know that, can he? I didn’t say anything aloud. Or did I? Perhaps I spoke in my sleep? He’s right to punish me, of course, but—
Wait, what am I thinking? He’s not right to punish me! He kidnapped and tortured me; he has no right to do anything to me! Where did that thought even come from?
“You think you did something wrong, Doll?” His voice stays flat, but I catch a flicker of emotion beneath the cold exterior. A hand lands on my ass next, kneading the burning stripes. “Tell me, Doll, who does this body belong to?”
Part of me wants to screamme, but another part remembers the correct answer.Your body is theirs to command.“You, Master.”
“Exactly.” As he rubs my aching ass, his fingers slip between my legs, caressing my pussy for the briefest moment. Before Ican even begin to enjoy the sensation, the fingers are gone and the cane returns with a familiar swish and sting. “Do I need a reason to hurt you, Doll?”
“N-no.” My voice breaks on a hiccuping sob. The trainer doesn’t need a reason to hurt me. He can do whatever he wants with me. Last night, he promised he’d hurt me after I slept, so I can’t say I wasn’t warned. “My b-body belongs to y-you, M-Master,” I say, resigning myself to my fate.
A small part of my mind is concerned about my lack of fight, but that part is easy to shut out. I don’t have the strength to deal with it. Giving up is easier. Perhaps if I’m good, the trainer will be nice to me again. A muffled voice in the back of my mind screams that it’s wrong, that I shouldn’t be thinking this, but it feels true. Unlike my mother, the trainer is actually capable of being gentle. Last night, I felt cared for, pampered even. I felt safe. If he’s going to be like that again after he’s hurt me, then the pain doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but making him happy.
As if sensing my decision, the trainer crouches by my side, wrapping my messy braid around his fist to tilt my head up. He wears a stern expression, but I can see something tender in his eyes. He’s trying to hide it, but he cares. The thought makes the corners of my mouth lift.
His eyes widen before he regains control, but that tenderness lingers in the way he looks at me. “You’re so fucking perfect, Doll. Relax into the strikes.”
“I know.” I already learned that through trial and error.
His brows draw together at my response but he doesn’t say anything, merely shakes his head as he stands up again and resumes caning me. I can tell he’s not using full force because with his strength, he’d easily split my skin, but as far as I can tell, I’m not bleeding. He strikes me at a measured pace, letting the pain from each strike sink in before moving up and adding another of what I’m sure are perfectly parallel lines on my skin.I still cry and sob because, despite my best efforts, the stinging pain is impossible to simply let go of, but I don’t yank on the restraints or beg him to stop. My body belongs to him, and if he wishes to hurt me, he’s entitled to do so.
“You’re doing well, Doll,” he says, his praise making me smile again. “This is your first lesson. A Master can do whatever he wants with your body. He doesn’t need a reason. If he wants to see you suffer, he will hurt you, and fuck, you hurt so beautifully. Cry for me more, Doll.”
I do. I cry a lot and, when he finally stops spanking me and starts rubbing a lotion into my abused skin, I cry some more, relieved that it’s over, that I made it through.
“You were amazing,” the trainer murmurs as he frees my legs. “Perfect. You’re the best Doll I’ve ever had down here.”
A slow smile spreads across my face. He thinks I’m perfect. The best Doll he’s had. I’ve never been called perfect or the best at anything. Something feels off about the thought—maybe being the best Doll isn’t something I should aspire to—but the feeling drifts away in the calm that settles over my mind now that it’s over. The trainer likes me. He will be good to me again. That’s all that matters. “Thank you, Master,” I say, my voice a little hoarse from the crying.
He helps me stand, his arms like an iron band around my chest to keep me from collapsing. It’s for the best because my legs are too wobbly to hold me, and it gives me the perfect excuse to snuggle against his firm chest. He smells good, and his skin is warm, a sharp contrast to my icy fingers.
At first, when he cups my cheek and makes me look at him, I worry I’ve offended him by touching him without permission, even though I don’t remember any rule against it, but he only gives me an appreciative smile. “So perfect,” he whispers, more to himself than to me, the tender emotion in his eyes giving way to sadness.
I frown, my own tears gathering again. Why is he sad? I don’t want him to be sad. I want him happy.
You want him dead. Focus!
No, I’m pretty sure I want him happy. Ignoring the intrusive thought, I reach for his cheek. He watches me cautiously but doesn’t stop me from caressing him. His beard is surprisingly soft against my palm. “Master? Is everything okay?” I want to ask him what made him so sad, but that would definitely be against the rules. Even this is pushing them but I can’t help myself. I would like to see his smile.
Sighing, he kisses the top of my head. “Everything is as it should be, Doll,” he says somberly. “Use the bathroom if you need to. We will continue our training soon.”
“Yes, Master.”
Chapter 13
Mikhail
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Why does she have to be so perfect? I’m so fucked.
