“Here’s how it’s going to go,Delta. You get one swing. If Iflinch, you can leave. But thenIget one… After that, you can go.”
“Nah, man. This is illegal.”
I chuckle. “Is it? Bitch,I am the law. I’m your judge. Your sentence. Your punishment.”
I cross to the far side of the room, ducking under a low beam. My fingertip trails through the dust caked on the old pillory. Too long since I’ve used it. Maybe today’s the day.
From the rich umber upholstered chest in the corner, I click the lock open with my rusted key, then lift the creaking lid. In the dim light of the little cell, the crop gleams as I rotate the handle. I smooth the leather between my palms, feeling it wake up.
“Or we can do it this way. Which do you prefer?”
His throat bobs. “I know who you are, Aiden Cardell. I’ve seen you fight underground.”
“Ah. So, you thought you’d be tough when you enteredmy houseuninvited. But the moment you don’t have your weapon, you try to squeeze out of the ramifications of your chosen actions.”
His body odor smells like ripe onions. I tap a crooked finger under his chin and lift it so his eyes can meet mine. The kid actuallytrembles.
“I think youwantme to use the crop on your plump, virgin ass. Is that it? You want me to hit you there?”
Breathless, he stutters, “N-No.”
“Put him in the pillory. Five hits and he’ll come. Watch.”
Tade chuckles silently and grabs the kid’s wrists, then shoves his head in before locking it securely. I stroke the leather repeatedly, not completely unaware of how excited I am. Pulse pounding, dick thickening…
Then, I imagineheragain.
And my face gets hot once more.
Tade’s already got the kid’s pants pooled at his ankles, theDeltasquirming like a hooked fish.
Before he moves back to his secure spot, Tade gives me his serious black eyes. “Five.”
It’s a warning. And he’s the only one I’ll listen to…and the only one who can stop me.
“Five,” I confirm. Then raise the handle in the air and let it fly against the soft flesh of the captive in front of me.
The scream rips out of him before the welt even blooms—angry red, racing up from the swell of his ass to the small of his back. My second strike sends him jerking forward, desperate to escape. Third lands on the trembling meat of his thighs. By the fourth, I catch his balls, and he vomits—only bile, thank fuck, though it barely masks the stink already clinging to this room.
The fifth should be the end.
But my cock is throbbing.
Friday night flashes through my mind—the sting of her slap, the heat of her spit, the desperate clench of her throat in my hand, her nails carving my skin. The want to give worse than I got. The deeper ache from scars she left where no one can see them.
I put all of it into the final blow—rage, hunger, restraint—branding it into his flesh until he spills onto the floor. Simpering moans leak from his lungs, and quivering thighs rock his entire body. All his cum spurts in waves until it seeps into his black Jordans.
I keep my zipper up with control.
Watching him come is almost enough.
Almost.
Instead, I toss Tade the crop and dust off my hands. “He’s free to go. Thanks.”
Tuesday: 4:05 a.m. — 60 push-ups
Penalty for the heating vent clicking allnight. No sleep. No silence. Only a metallic tick-tick that rattled my skull until the only thing I could do was burn it out of my muscles.