Saving Leah

Leah

Leah's POV

I choke on the cloud of smoke enveloping the house. Master and his friends are relaxing in the living room with their cigarettes, basking the house in a horrid stench. I try in vain to brush away the veil of smoke as I open up the kitchen stove.

The kitchen timer rings angrily from the countertop. In my frantic manner, I end up knocking the clock into the stove. Distractedly yanking the food out, I manage to grab a handful of scorching metal.

I let out a yelp of pain, caught off by the searing contact. I shake my hand, trying to get rid of the pain. I quickly remember my task, causing me to thrust my hand back inside the oven to turn off the bothersome alarm.

I rush to the sink, running cold water over my hand. Angry blisters form and I bite my lip, trying to hold back the tears.

I'm not going to cry.

I'm not going to cry.

I jump as the kitchen door hits the wall behind it with a bang. "Leah." Master scowls at me, irked. I don't even have time to explain before he has his hand wrapped around my neck. I want to kick, but I refrain. I know things will get a lot worse if I fight back.

My head spins, my body already too weak for his rough handling. "Are you so worthless you can't even manage to make dinner?" He shakes me violently, finally dropping me.

The floor knocks the air out of my lungs, making me let out a soft squeak. I cower away, turning my back to him just in time for his foot to catch my side.

I gasp, sucking air back into my lungs greedily. Tears start to fall without my permission. I don't mean to cry. I know my tears are not welcome. Even with that knowledge though, my tears still leak freely.

I bow my head, trying to hide my tears from him. "Stupid whore," he sighs, his disappointment clear. My heart cracks a little with his comment. I want to correct him. I've been a very good girl—nothing close to a whore. I refrain though.

He halfheartedly kicks me one last time, seeming to have lost his interest already. I guess no interest of his is better than negative interest.

I tremble on the floor, staying there for a moment even after he is gone. My body aches, but I know I cannot afford to rest. I stand on trembling feet, quickly wiping my tears away, ashamed of how weak I am. My throat and hand still burns, but I know it will soon be the least of my worries if I don't finish dinner.

I subconsciously rub my stomach where he had kicked me, knowing it will bruise. My mind drifts for a moment and I find myself examining my arms and legs for the other multiple bruises he has left on me.

The laughter of the men in the living room snaps me back to reality quickly. I feel sick. I should be happy that they sound pleased, but I only shiver. I know all too well that their enjoyment will mean nothing but pain and humiliation for me.

As I set the last of their meals on the table, the loud and vile men my master calls friends, come in. I know I should regard them kindly, but their laughter and smiles speak nothing but cruelty to me.

I look down at the floor, praying they will leave me alone. I do not mind having to serve them when they do not taunt and poke at me, but those times are few and far between.

My hopes of an uneventful dinner are squashed when a hand slaps my bottom, groping me through my clothes.

I jump, but don't dare look up. Many times I have made the mistake of eye contact which ended up being a very bad decision for me.

"Good little bitch, isn't she?" Master's friends comments, making everyone laugh. Shame and embarrassment fill me with their name-calling. A part of me hopes for my master to agree with the statement though because although I don't like being called foul names, I am a good girl.

My heart falls at my master's words. "She's more useless than good." Everyone at the table chuckles again.

I can feel tears brim my eyes and I know what a crybaby I may look like to them. I can't help, but feel hurt and disappointed though. I worked so hard recently to be perfect. I cooked my master's favorite meals, made sure to keep everything clean and even made sure to pleasure him well even though I hated it. It hurts to know that my efforts have gone unnoticed, or rather unappreciated.

Master must see my disappointment in his answer because he quickly calls me over toward him. I fearfully obey just as any good submissive would. My body shakes for a reason unknown to me and I try desperately to stop it.

Yes, Master is rather rough with me at times, but I do not think he is mad now. On second thought... He is probably angry. He usually is.

I keep my eyes to the floor. I want to see if he is angry, but I do not want to be hit. Master pulls me into his lap, his rough hands holding my hip to him. "But you're not completely useless though. You do cook well. Don't you?"

My heart flutters with butterflies and I swoon as he kisses my cheek and pats my bottom, silently telling me to get off his lap. "Yes, Master," I reply, he hums.

I hear Master bid the last of his friends goodbye from my room. A mix between relief and anxiety floods me. I know tonight will probably not be a good one.

I gulp hard, wringing my hands aggressively, twisting and winding my fingers. I try to think of anything I can do so playtime won't be as bad tonight. I should know by now that the course of me and Master's playtime is not a reflection of my actions, but only his desires.

My heart jumps in my chest as I hear footsteps coming down the stairs to the basement. I scurry to the front of the steps, getting into my waiting position When Master comes into my room, I sit stoically on my knees.

I try to convince myself he will be gentle this time, but it doesn't help when the back of his hand roughly meets my cheek. I bite the inside of my mouth, trying to not crying out. I had expected him to play rough, but him deciding to slap me out of nowhere was unexpected.

Grabbing my chin, he directs my head up. I avert my eyes to anywhere besides his. He notices my efforts, stroking my cheek gently with the same hand he had hit me. "You can look at me, Honey," he taunts. He squats down so we are almost eye to eye, making me tremble even more than I already am.

I know better than to trust his words. His words are a trap, one that I know to look out for.

Master chuckles and stands, making his way over towards the punishment wall. It does not necessarily surprise me that he heads there first. Although I have not done anything to warrant a punishment, I know he is a sadist and simply likes to hurt me for his pleasure.

I am not sure if I have somehow upset him, but I do not ask. Whether or not I have broken a rule, he is going to hurt me. I can tell he is in a foul mood, one that often means he desires to cause me pain.

I want to cry and beg him not to hurt me, but I know I deserve it. If I didn't want to be punished, I should have been so good that he had no choice but to want to be sweet to me.

My hand still burns from touching the stove, but it is the least of my worries as Master grabs a leather belt off of the wall. He taunts me with it, snapping it in the air a few times before examining it.

He knows I'm paying attention to his every move. He lives to tease me, make me hang onto every word and action.

I squeeze my eyes closed tightly, trying to put myself somewhere else. "Come over here, Leah." I crack an eye open to see him pointing to the floor in front of him. Tears fall now at the sound of my name. He never uses my name unless he is going to beat me.

I crawl over to him, my muscles all tensed up already. I sit back on my haunches, waiting for more of his directions. "Clothes off too," he commands, flicking my baggy clothes.

I nod, knowing my only option is obedience. More tears slip down my cheeks, my deep fear of him taking over more of my body.

He luckily doesn't comment on my tears. I think he knows I am trying to be a good girl for him even though I can't.

He moves behind me with the belt in hand. The belt buckle jangles as he raises it above him and I cower into myself as it swishes through the air to come down onto me.