Make Me Learn

13 - Responsibility

It was probably placebo, but I could have sworn my arse still hurt when I sat down at my desk in Classics on Monday morning. It had been two days, and he hadn't left any marks, so of course it was likely psychological. And fair enough, really, considering how intense the experience had been.

It was hard to focus on Ms Picket's voice when the scene played over and over behind my eyes like an endless reel of film. Louis had showed me the row of toys hanging on the wall, introduced me to each one. Let me hold them, leather against my palm. Ridings crops. Floggers. Paddles.

"Do you have your homework?" Ms Picket asked me.

I thrust my hand into my rucksack. "I actually do," I said, handing the sheet to her, triumphantly. I'd done it yesterday afternoon, to distract from my racing thoughts for a few hours.

"What a pleasant surprise," she said, taking it from me.

As soon as she turned away, I was daydreaming again. Thinking about what it was like to be bent over the edge of the bed, ass exposed, waiting with caught breath for the sharp sting that Louis would inflict. We'd worked up to it so gradually, the hits starting gentle, each only slightly harder than the last. He said it was to find my limits, so I knew for the future. So I could be safe.

I'd never thought to do that with Orion. I'd never known you needed to. In porn they just fucking went for it, whether the sub liked it or not. Cold sweat sprung on the back of my neck. I hadn't even realised how much damage I'd done at the time. Abuser, a little voice whispered. My knuckles were white from gripping the belt I'd struck him with. Hadn't he told me to do that? He said it was supposed to be hard. He said it was supposed to hurt. Did I even want to do it?

"I do appreciate your homework, Damon," Ms Picket said, "but it doesn't excuse you from the rest of the lesson."

I blinked, flexing my hands to loosen the tight fists I'd balled them into. "What?"

"You seemed rather lost in thought. Unless you'd like to share your daydreams with the class, I'd suggest at least trying to concentrate," she said.

Imagine the looks on their faces if I told them I was in a BDSM relationship with a model four years older than me.

"Was just thinking about..." I glanced at the whiteboard. "Zeus."

"Right." She looked annoyed, but I could see the betrayal of a smile on the corner of her lips. Briskly, she turned away to continue the lesson.

I tried to concentrate, really. But sitting on the same arse that Louis had marked with red lines only days before was incredibly distracting. At one point, he'd made me count the strikes. There was something deeply humiliating about it - narrating your own pain. He said he liked to use it as a punishment, and I could see why. It was torturous. Did that make me a fucking freak for relishing the sensation?

The classroom door banged open. I jumped, steamy thoughts ripped away.

"Damon?" Ms Jensen said, squinting into the room.

Fuck. I knew my muddy fight with Jackson would catch me up sooner or later. I swept my things into my bag and slunk to the door, looking straight ahead to avoid the nosy stares of my classmates. Ms Jensen led me to her office. I sat down heavily opposite her desk, folding my arms.

"First of all," she said, "are you okay? Did you have to go to hospital on Thursday?"

She was asking about my fighting wounds. "I'm fine," I said. Louis had displaced most of the pain by now.

"Are you sure? Your neck looks rather ugly."

I touched the bruised finger-marks with a scowl. "Yeah, that's because a fucking massive rugby player tried to choke me to death."