When Silas woke, he’d use her as usual, plus provide his personal statement, and she was basically terrified to find out what that would be, but she knew she’d get through it, whatever he chose. There was a note he’d have a one-time punishment for her when he arrived home from work that evening.
Also, four days of kneeling on rice at midday. She winced, but kept reading.
The next item said she would not eat from a dog bowl again, but she would stand in a corner for mealtimes, and would eat by herself when the men were finished. A tear finally ran down her cheek at that, because she understood they didn’t want to pretend everything was okay until it was actually okay.
Lines, five hundred per day, half in the morning and half at night. To continue indefinitely:Kenny, Silas, and Boone own this cunt.
And finally, a separate apology letter to all three men, a minimum of seven hundred and fifty words for each letter, but it could be longer. Without him outlining it, she figured she’d be apologizing to all three for the orgasm: to Kenny and Silas for being dishonest, and to Boone for disrespecting him and his space.
A note that denial training would continue, with the addition of the Jennings gag for all sessions, and that this was the only permanent change.
A long-term reminder not to lie.Fuck.
What would she know to do, once she read it through? She looked back through it, understood what he wanted, and said, “Which corner, Sir?”
He aimed her at one that would put her back to them while they ate. She wouldn’t even see them in her peripheral vision.
“Boone didn’t put the devices in me, Sir.” Only the huge damned non-vibrating plug, and nothing in her pussy.
“We’re exploring other programming options.”
She nodded and walked to the corner. Clasped her fingers behind her head when told to, and stared at the ninety-degree angle.
When they left, she ate breakfast by herself and then started on the lines first, wearing her dress to Kenny’s office, closing the door and taking it off, and then sitting at the conference table to writeKenny, Silas, and Boone own this cuntover and over.
When Silas texted her he was awake, she went to him, bent over to be assfucked, though she wasn’t sure his heart was really in it, and then followed him into his bathroom, heart in her throat.
She was terrified of what the sadist had planned, but she just wanted him to stop looking so sad.Whateverhe needed to do, she’d accept.
He reached into the medicine cabinet, took out a brand-new bar of soap, and held it out so she could see the brand — an old-fashioned one. Lye soap.
Her stomach dropped.
Not because it would taste bad, she could handle that, but because the sadist who knew a thousand ways to make her scream, had chosen this instead — an act that would taste horrible and burn, but was more about making a statement than hurting her. She’d truly wounded him, and it made her heart hurt. It stripped her bare, like nothing could ever scrub her clean.
“I know saying I’m sorry isn’t enough, Sir, but I truly regret my actions, and I’m sorry I hurt you.”
He ran it under the water until it was foamy and said, “Open.”
She obeyed.
He pressed it into her mouth, not just between her lips, but deep. Ran the bar across her teeth like a brush, coating her gums, her tongue. He ran his soapy fingers to the back of her throat until she gagged, and he didn’t stop. Used one hand tohold her jaw steady and the other to scrub the lies from her mouth.
And God, it burned.
The bitterness hit first, sharp and disgusting, but beneath it came heat, like fire ants under and on her tongue, like the inside of her mouth had been scraped raw and filled with an acid peroxide.
“You could’ve told us the truth,” he said quietly. “You didn’t trust us to forgive you.”
She’d truly wounded him, and it made her heart hurt.
She would’ve welcomed welts and bruises, but this left her raw and crumbling, filth in her mouth and shame in her bones, no soap strong enough to erase what she’d done.
She whimpered. Tears already slipping from her eyes.
Drool leaked from the corners of her mouth, thick and foamy, and she couldn’t stop it.
She wanted to spit. Her body screamed its need to reject the poison, the burn — but she couldn’t. That was the point.
