“Do you think I’ll tolerate that tone with Boone?”
“No, Sir.”
“Do you think it’s acceptable to sass one of your owners when he’s keeping you safe?”
“No, Sir.”
“Who owns this mouth?”
“You do, Sir. My owners do. Sir.”
“Who decides when you speak, and how?”
“My owners, Sir.”
The words came faster now. Desperate but precise. She wanted to get it right. Needed to.
Kenny’s voice went quieter. “You forget who you are when you get tired, whore?”
She sobbed. “No, Sir. Maybe! I don’t know, Sir!”
“Maybe we need to shove the butt-plug equivalent of a shock collar up your ass. Would that help you remember?”
Her mouth opened, but no words came, and she closed it.
He stood fast and she screamed at the strike that wrapped to the inside of her upper thigh.
“Answer.”
“No, Sir.” Her voice broke.
“No, Sir, we shouldn’t?” he asked, tone still mild. “Or no, Sir, you need even more than that to help you remember?”
She hesitated—
Another lash.
It coiled around her upper thigh again, a little higher, and bit deep into the crease.
Another scream. Louder and longer.
“Answer.”
“No, Sir, I didn’t forget. I mean… I did, but not really. I just… I let it slip. I forgot what I am, but not who I belong to.”
“But when things got hard, you gave yourself permission to lash out.”
Her voice was a whisper now. “Yes, Sir.”
He leaned over her back, his warmth brushing against the rawness in her ass, his breath near her ear.
“What do you want to say to Boone the next time you see him?”
“I’m sorry, Sir.”
“Not good enough.”
She choked. “I’m sorry I disrespected you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust that you were trying to help. I’m sorry I made you feel unappreciated.”
