Page 8 of Hearts Etched in Glass (The Afton Adders #2)
I am Not Okay, Jelly Roll
Outside of Lockham hides a hidden manor that delights in many forbidden activities. Different perversions and fantasies come to life, for even these things would cause The Afton Adder massage girls to blush or run in horror.
Rounding the steel, spiral staircase I approach the room where I will meet my Master.
I have never seen his face. I do not know his name.
He is completely anonymous to me, other than from the feel of his touch, the sting of his palm and the roughness of his voice.
Following regular procedures that I agreed to, I enter the room, shedding my garments, and place the blindfold over my eyes.
Then I kneel on the ground facing the fireplace, awaiting his presence.
I still haven’t understood why I am, the way I am.
Maybe I feel like I deserve the punishment, the lashings and harassment. To be degraded for being the abhorrent creature that I am. To want such filthy debauchery.
The word catches in my mind, as I follow it back to my night with Tilly and Bobby.
It was something I could not have imagined would happen in any lifetime.
The taste of Bobby’s skin, the excitement in Tilly’s eyes almost beckoning for more of us.
Though I anticipate they will have regretted our interaction by now.
It is a far-fetched dream, but the dream is comforting to imagine during my dark, depressing nights.
I’ve always loved Bobby but never told him.
We don’t have relationships like that in Lockham and I doubt Bobby would ever be attracted to me in that manner because he is infatuated with Tilly.
When I was young, I thought he may have possibly had the same affection, when offered to practice snogging.
But that was a fleeting moment of childish discovery.
Still, I photographed every single second of that experience into my memory, so I could hold it in my heart.
Until the day I die. The vortex of images grows in my mind.
As I think of Tilly laying bare, Bobby’s hot breath, how I yearn for both of them.
My heart begs to be theirs, but I am not of their plan.
Maybe in another life we may come together and be one, but this is not of destiny’s choosing.
A single, sorrowful tear slides down my lonely cheek.
Tilly and Bobby’s bright faces shine behind my eyelids but are quickly removed as I feel a slap across my face.
The sting spreads up towards my temple as my ear rings.
“Did you not hear me? You filthy boy!” my Master yells. I didn’t even recognize that he was in the room, let alone trying to speak to me.
“I did not know our scene had begun,” I say, then another slap hits my face as a tooth cuts into my lip and I feel the metallic taste on my tongue.
“Did I say you could speak? No! Insolent, pathetic moron. As soon as I enter the room the scene begins. Clearly you are distracted, why?” I can hear his footsteps recede, and I hear his heavy belt buckle hit the floor.
I swallow hard, fighting my urge to tell him about Tilly and Bobby, for they are sacred, they are mine and I do not want him tainting my beautiful memory of them.
I deserve the pain. I deserve torture, but that memory does not deserve any affiliation with it.
His large palm grasps my chin as he spits in my face, the remnants of alcohol stained within it.
“You dare defy me?” His voice is venomous, causing my skin to prickle, for the last time he was this intoxicated and had spoken to me in that tone, I could not walk afterwards.
So, I think of something to reply, “I want something I can’t have,” I reply in a shaky voice, my nails digging into my upper thighs.
The brute force of his foot comes down, stomping on top of my hands. “You will not give yourself pain, that is my job and of course you will never have the things you want. For you are perverted. A cretin. A botched abortion.”
I wince at his words, though I like some degradation he always takes it too far, but this is all I know. I’m too scared to seek out any comfort or approach anyone for the kind of things I need to satisfy the dark desires that call to me .
“You don’t deserve anything nice,” Master says through gritted teeth and then kicks me onto the ground.
The side of my head hits the floor roughly, causing my brain to feel dizzy.
Numbness and tingling shoot down my limbs in the most uncomfortable manner.
I reach for my blindfold but am met with hot wax at the back of my hand, causing me to yelp in agony.
The next several seconds are rough.
I thought I utilized my safe word. I believe I stated it multiple times. I most definitely broke character and shouted it, because of the pain.
Though, before I realize it, I’ve passed out and awoken in the room alone.
My eyelashes have crusted over from crying.
My muscles ache from the tension and strain.
Turning my head to the side, I assess the room.
It appears to be the same. The fire has died out, my clothes are where they had last been and I’m laying with just a sheet over my body.
Only a note and a tall glass of water may be found on the side table.
I reach for the note, every ounce of my shoulders screaming with tension as I feel something pulling at my lower body.
Marcus ,
You failed, yet again. The next time we meet I expect you to have more resiliency and not pathetically show yourself in such a vulnerable state.
- Master
I crumble up the note as anguish and hatred erupt in my chest. I need to stop this terrible relationship, but I can’t.
A sob escapes my throat before I have the chance to swallow it. I bring my hands to my face and feel the tightness again in my lower body.
Everyone has someone, but me .
What is wrong with me ?
The pulling finally irritates me enough that I reach to my backside and find melted wax encased over my ass. I punch the pillow as I let out a scream of frustration. Then I begin to clean myself in the small, adjacent washroom.
Once I leave the chamber and walk down the hallway, passing the pleasurable sounds and heady voices. I spy a man leaving through one of the black doors across from me.
It is Kenneth Afton .
He peers up, face lit with recognition once he spots me, then turns his head in questioning.
Fear twists in my abdomen as he approaches.
His stature is larger than any of the Afton brothers, very demanding and daunting, especially when he wears his three piece black suit and onyx bolero hat.
He is a hateful creature and now he is gaining on me.
His arm reaches out to grasp my shoulder.
I unwillingly wince at the contact as he narrows his eyes, assessing me.
“Are you well?” he says with such concern.
Kenneth is never concerned about anyone but himself.
I nod like a proud soldier, but do not mutter a word for his kindness makes my heart break.
His face is unreadable, but he definitely doesn't believe my lie.
“I’ll take you home, alright?” He nods, clutching a pack of cigarettes and then offers one to me.
Then we march alongside one another in silence, as we both try to forget we have ever seen each other in the house of debauchery and sin.