Broken Submission

Empathy

Derek carried Amelia out of the private room, not wanting anything less than to feel all of her pressed against him. She snuggled into his chest, and he hugged her tighter as he thought about their conversation and the intimacy they had shared. He recognized a couple people who had watched their scene, and Derek caught a couple smirks as they passed. 

"Where do you want to be, baby?" Derek murmured into her hair. 

Amelia peeked up at him. "Do you maybe want to go get a drink?"

Hitching her higher into his arms with a hum of agreement, Derek headed toward the bar area. He propped himself onto one of the bar stools, balancing his sub on his lap. The bartender leaned over the bar, blond hair dragging through a ring of condensation on the wood. 

"What can I get you two?" she asked Derek.

"I'll take an old-fashioned," he said, "And a Long Island Iced Tea for the lady--"

"Um," Amelia tugged on his sleeve, and he looked down at her questioningly.

Arching a poignant brow, Amelia glanced down at her stomach.

"Oh shit," he huffed a laugh. "Okay, a Shirley Temple?" he asked.

When she nodded, he repeated her order for the bartender.

"I forgot you couldn't drink," he said once the woman left. Derek shook his head. "There's a lot to think about--"

The sound of a commotion interrupted his musing. They looked over, and Derek heard Amelia's gasp at what came through the doors. 

Freya strode through the crowd, and it parted like she held the staff of Moses. Charlie walked just behind her, wrists cuffed and head down. And Maverick...

The man wore a contraption that chained his ankles to his thighs, forcing him to walk on his hands and knees with his feet pointed upward. Another piece of the harness both blindfolded him and forced his chin to remain parallel to the ground. The only thing that gave him a sense of direction was the leash that led to Derek's sister's hand.

And while she stormed for effect, Derek could see how careful she was to give enough pressure on the leash to lead Maverick without jerking him around. The threesome came to a halt in the center of the room, Freya's eyes landing on Derek and Amelia at the bar.

"You two came out just in time," Freya declared.  She glanced to Charlie. "Unchain him."

"Yes, Mistress," Charlie murmured. They dropped to their knees beside Maverick and got to work trying to release the chains. 

While those two were busy, Freya quickly rearranged the space to her liking. A leather padded bar was placed nearby, along with a selection of punishment tools, paddles, floggers, and canes from what Derek could see.

When Charlie finished, both subs remained on the ground until Freya told them to stand.

"Charlie," Freya said. She stepped toward him and for a second they just stared into each other's eyes as she ran her fingers gently through his hair. "Bend over the bench."

Derek's eyebrow lifted, and he saw the same surprise on Amelia's face. Charlie had not been the one to share the inappropriate video. 

Maverick shifted in place, clearly barely restraining himself. Charlie walked over to the "bench" and laid themselves over the top in such a way that their bottom was high in the air, hands near the ankles. The high cut boy shorts they were wearing rode upward from the position, exposing a wide expanse of dark, creamy skin.

"Now Maverick, my little pain slut," Freya said, turning her hawkish gaze on her other sub, "you will choose what instrument you are going to use on Charlie."

"Ma'am?" Maverick stuttered, wide-eyed.

Freya pinched his chin between her fingers. "It wouldn't be a punishment to bend you over that bench," she told him. "You're an exhibitionist and a masochist. But..." she paused, "you have an overabundance of empathy and not a sadistic bone in your body. And Charlie here," she tilted her head, "does not share your inclinations toward public punishment. So, I am going to make you torture him," she said, deadly calm, "in order to torture you."

Maverick paled, his blue eyes over-bright. "Mistress, please--"

"Which. Tool."

The boy looked like he was hyperventilating. "A-a paddle?"

Nodding silently, Freya walked over to the row of tools and pulled a heavy wooden paddle out of the lineup. Derek didn't miss the way that her hand squeezed Charlie's bicep as she passed, the tension visibly draining from the prostrate boy.

Freya then placed the paddle in her sub's hand and led him over to where Charlie waited. 

"If you half-ass it," she warned, "I will double the count."

Maverick gulped, and Charlie tensed. "Mistress, please let me take their place--"

"No," Freya said, voice stern. "Maverick, begin."

Face drawn, Maverick raised the paddle. He glanced toward his Mistress once more, a plea in his eyes. Seeing her answer, he took a deep breath and swung.

"One."