Help Wanted [*Complete*]

19

"Sir's punishments will always be for the betterment of the Submissive, no matter how ignominious, difficult or degrading the task."

When the elevator doors opened the penthouse was almost unrecognizable. There were black drapes set up in a fake room with a rack housing all the various demon masks. Past those heavy curtains the layout was the same, many of the pieces that were too large to move remained, like the massive glass and metal light fixture that took up most of the ceiling. Beyond that everything was so different it was disorienting, starting with the fact that grooms milled about in their unadorned masks. In the open spaces, various apparatuses were spread throughout with little carts beside them.

Mr. Emery refused to let go of my hand as we walked up to the Master bedroom. Once there he closed the door and stripped out of his white button down and gray slacks. Outside of the door tasteful classical music filtered through the air and only reached us in muted tones. He didn't let go of my hand until we entered the bathroom.

He didn't draw a bath but instead turned on the shower, my eyes were fixed to his cock which was so hard it curved back against his stomach and throbbed visibly.

"I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight."

"Of course, Sir." I bit my bottom lip as he stalked over to me.

I expected him to lift the flimsy fabric over my head as he did before, instead he gripped the neckline shredding the dress in two easily. I gasped, my eyes going wide my heart fluttering as my gaze met his. He knelt and grabbed the leather thongs of the sandals I wore and pulled them apart first one shoe then the other. After he took the pieces and threw them across the room.

"In the shower."

I turned and glanced back at him. Immediately he smacked the curve of my bottom making me jump.

"Now."

I complied. Stepping behind me he took a deep whiff of my scent before snatching up the white bath poof which he poured soap over. The look in his eyes made my spine tingle with anticipation. "I can't stand the smell of another man on you." He growled as he roughly washed me scrubbing my skin until it was reddened.

Despite the harsh treatment he gave the rest of me he was very careful with my nipples. He didn't use a cloth but instead lathered a different soap on his fingertips before rubbing it onto the sore tips. He was a dichotomy and I couldn't figure out which was the play versus what was real. It was the main problem I had with Mr. Emery he kept his emotions so close the majority of the time. As if they had a will of their own my hands went to my throat and rubbed the bruises.

Our gazes met and his hands fell to the side.

"I'm not going to do anything like that again."

Far be it from me to point out that most guys who beat their wives to death usually say that a few times.

Though I thought it I didn't say it. Instead I dropped my hands. Was one mistake going to color how I viewed the rest of our play? I wanted him to punish me but that fear of him going too far was far too real now.

"Can you blame me for not wanting to smell others on you?" he drew me back against him.

Unlike most guys whose erections would have wilted with that subtle reminder, Mr. Emery's remained strong as he pressed it against me. He wasn't just a Dominant, he was also a sadist so I expected as much. I wasn't going to run from the room screaming because I knew that my fear—no matter how subtle—gave him wood.