That would be ridiculous to imagine.
Repeatedly. In detail. Which I absolutely haven't done.
I raise my hand. "Question."
"Permission to ask. Also, asking permission, that's a good girl."
Internally, I roll my eyes. That's a good girl? What am I, a Labrador retriever? Should I wag my tail and fetch his slippers next? Maybe I'll get a treat if I manage to sit still for five whole minutes without questioning the patriarchy. Though honestly, if Giovanni's the one giving out the treats... No. Stop it, Emmaleen. Bad girl. See? I'm even scolding myself now. Stockholm syndrome speedrun, world record pace.
"Why are we bantering, Mr. Master? I thought you were here to teach me how to serve."
Even though I can't see it, I know he just raised an eyebrow. "Was that a challenge?"
"An honest question, nothing more."
"I don't believe you."
"Well, you're the one having a normal conversation with me. If you don't want me to have a normal conversation back, maybe you should stick to the script."
"Demerit times ten."
Wow, inflation hits even in BDSM school. What's next, bulk discount demerits? Buy ten get five free? I should ask if he accepts credit cards or if there's a payment plan available. "Sorry, sir, I maxed out my demerit card already this month. Can we reschedule my punishment for after payday?"
Okay. Okay. I see how this works. I don't even care about the demerits. I'm like ninety percent certain these consequences involve sucking Giovanni's dick or letting him bend me over a couch.
Not entirely terrible punishments.
And there I go again, turning this into a fantasy. My non-existent therapist would have a field day with this psychological mess.See? You actually want to be controlled!
No, what I want is to beseen. There's a difference between being dominated and being dominated by someone who actually sees you.
"You think you understand how this works?" The Master circles me again, his voice shifting to something colder, more clinical. "Mr. Bavga doesn't need to rely on something as obvious as sexual punishment. That would be beneath him."
Says the man with the obvious erection. Sure, Jan.
I mean, the entire reason I'm here is to make him admit he…
Do not say love. I wasn't going to say it. It's definitely not love.
Admit that he… enjoys me. Maybe even likes me. The way I enjoy him and like him back.
"Your posture is slipping," he observes, tapping the crop against my shoulder blade. "Back straight. From obedience, power. From loyalty, safety. From silence, survival. You'd do well to remember that motto."
Great, now I'm getting Mafia fortune cookies. What's next, my lucky numbers for the week?Your future holds great promise... if you can keep your knees together and your mouth shut.
"Ya know, you're making a huge mistake."
"How so?" I ask.
"You think this is a game. I know you think that you and Giovanni have a history. He told me about your first day on the job. The only day you managed to complete because you made terrible choices and ended up being brained by Rico LaRiccia less than twenty-four hours later, forcing Giovanni to assume responsibility for your care because you couldn’t seem to follow the rules.”
Wait. What? “What does that mean?”
“Clarify. Which part of what I said confused you?”
“I couldn’t seem tofollow the rules?”
“Giovanni hired you, did he not?”