That would be so embarrassing it'd kill me. I'd die on the spot.
Ethan keeps going. His voice drops, and that makes my pulse spike. "This bad boy attitude? Ends now." CRACK. "I'll spank you as many times as it takes. Every single time you need it. Every fuckingdayif I have to." CRACK. "I won't let you waste yourself. Not when you'remineto correct." CRACK. "You understand me?" CRACK. “This troublemaker attitude is going to get youexactlywhat you deserve.” CRACK.
I bite the pillow to keep from outright screaming. I can taste the tears. Everything’s weirdly dissociative, as if I’m watching this happen to someone else. I hug the pillow tighter, and my arms are trembling almost as much as my legs. I tell myself that I won’t cry, but who am I fucking kidding? Iamgoing to cry. There’s no denying it. I glance over to Jack, but my vision is a blur from the tears. At least, the guys aren’t laughing. If they were, I’d lose it completely. Ethan’s breathing is steady, like this is a workout for him, and I realize the only thing I really hear in the whole room is my own gasps and the dry thud of the belt meeting my poor ass.
The next words out of Ethan’s mouth are even worse than the spanking. “Breathe. You’re doing good, rookie,” he says, and my brain stops fucking working.
I just die. I’m dead right there on the spot, bury me.
Now I’m not even bothering to hide the tears, just letting them soak the cheap fabric beneath me. I can’t catch my breath, and there is a sound in my throat I don’t recognize, a kind of keening that I hope doesn’t belong to me, likeIIIIIGHHHHHPFFFFF. He waits for me to get control, not saying a word, until I finally manage to stop sobbing long enough to breathe. My face is burning, not just from embarrassment but from the heat of crying and the strain of holding back.
Suddenly, the bed dips as he leans over me, and I tense, expecting another blow, but instead I feel his hand resting on my back, reassuring. It’s such a fucked up thing to be comforted by the same person who's hurting you, and I can’t make sense of the reaction in my brain. I want to tell him to fuck off in the same way I want to tell him to never leave, because I enjoy the feeling of his palm, and I enjoy feeling him close. Maybe that’s why so many people get off on spankings. I get it now. I’m humiliated and furious and, even worse, so fucking turned on.
He waits again until I stop trembling too much and, finally, without saying anything more, he gives one last lash, the hardest of all, making me twitch. I feel him drop the belt on the bed and he starts rubbing my back. His hand is huge, feels like a board, heavy, delicious. His thumb drags slowly across my spine, and my whole body shivers under him. I pray he thinks it's from the pain. And as much as I hate this guy more than anyone in the world at that moment, I kind of like feeling the weight of his hand comforting me, and when he stops, I want to tell him to keep going.
You made me become this mess, you created this monster, you keep going, you fucker.
I try to wipe away the tears on the pillow before I lift my face because this has already been humiliating enough. I get up, trying to act as if nothing has happened, but there is no way. This has shaken my world, and I’ve never felt this way before. He said he’s going to look after me or something, that he won’t let me throw my life away. Or have I gone mad, misunderstood everything? This isn’t the first time that I’ve made up stuff in my mind. I’m my own biggest gaslighter.
And, besides all of that, there’s the tiny problem, or not that tiny, thank you very much, that my dick is so hard it hurts. I desperately need to go somewhere to jerk off. I already know what I'll think about: his voice saying 'You're mine to correct,' and the weight of his hand pressing into my back. My ass is onfire, and it gets worse when I squeeze into my tight white briefs and pull up my sweatpants, the heat radiating through me.
Everyone in the room is silent and still watching us, but having finished his thing, Ethan pockets the weed, grabs his belt, buckles up, and flops back on his bed with a book like nothing happened. It’s fucking infuriating.
"Next time, I'll pick Griff," I say, sitting on the bed, wincing as I do. Ethan scoffs at that, and I want to punch him. “What the fuck was that?” I try to force myself to pretend things are normal, even though they are NOT normal. It’s never been less normal than this. Ever. In my entire life. I’m still shivering and I need to cumnow.
"It'd be way worse with Griff. Trust me, after the first time you get sentenced to hard labor under the sun, you'll pick a spanking any time," Jack says, giving me a pitying look. I don't want him looking at me like that; it feels again like I’m gonna hurl any second. I really, really, really want to vomit. Feel the sweet relief after I do, the horror of the act while it happens, the anticipation before it happens. I can’t wait to have some time to go vomit.
"Does he spank you guys, too?" I ask, nodding toward Ethan.
"I'm right here, you know?" he calls out from his bed. "And no. I'm not their leader, but I can still report stuff to their leaders or to Griff."
"I got thrashed pretty bad in the first few months," Jack shares, "but you kinda get used to how things are around here and stop screwing up so much. After some months, your leader usually leaves you alone, even though they're still your leader forever, until you or they leave."
"Funny, I never got used to things here," Harry says. “Rules are optional, in my opinion.”
"Sure, your leader doesn't give a damn about you," Ethanthrows at Harry, harshly. "Don't think I'm gonna be like that, Liam. I'm responsible for you, yourownerhere, and I'm not gonna let you screw up."
I look at Jack and Harry, speechless, because I have no clue how to respond to that. I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. It feels like a madhouse, and everyone seems to think what Ethan is saying and doing is normal. And why is my heart racing so fast?
Then, before I can even get my head around it all, we hear the door unlock, and it’s swung open by a guard. The guards wear the same blue uniforms as cops, and one of them is standing there saying, "Quiet time's over, let’s go."
I glance at the boys, confused, but they all stand up, hands behind their backs, eyes downcast, and line up to leave. Obviously, I follow suit, with Ethan waiting for me to get in line before stepping in behind me, and my heart skips a beat at how he waits for me, or I’ve gone insane, which I’m a hundred percent starting to believe.
We are led out in line with the other guys, all of them with hands behind their backs, to the yard in the center of the blocks, where we can break from the line.
Then Ethan and Miles split from us, leaving just Jack and Harry with me.
My ass throbs like a son of a bitch, but the second his back turns, that ache in my chest hits harder than the one on my skin; I miss him already, stupid as it sounds. I want to tell him not to go, not leave me alone, not after what he did.
What the actual fuck is happening to me?!
"Where'd they go?" I ask.
"Miles has to serve detention, and Ethan does some admin work before exercise time since he's got that leader role," Jackexplains. "Have you picked what sport you're doing yet?"
"Yeah, Griff roped me into his MMA training team."
"Oh, cool! Ethan and I are in that," Jack says, getting excited. "It's really fun. Griff tries to get everybody into his team, it’s hilarious. You should join us, Harry."
