I got a little closer to his face. Close enough that, for a moment, my breath stuttered in my chest. But my voice was steady. “So sorry about my manners, Master. I’ll go get your beer at once, Master.” Sarcasm dripped from my voice. I couldn’t help it, and one last sassy retort fought its way past my lips, “Oh, yeah, and fuck you, Master.”
I didn’t want to linger around and see what came from that last sentence. With my jaw clenched tight, I dropped to my knees, then placed my palms against the floor. So many drunk, stumbling people; I’d be lucky if I didn’t get my fingers stomped on. I could imagine the weird looks I’d get, the laughter at my expense, how everyone would be looking down at me. My stomach knotted up and my pussy clenched, my arousal basking in the humiliation.
Behind me, I heard that infuriating voice speak again, “Rudeness carries consequences, Jessica. Hurry up.”
I shuffled forward, tapping at people’s legs to make them move for me. My short skirt wasn’t ideal for crawling in: bent over on my hands and knees, the hem was tugged up high enough that anyone could easily see my ass and, if they looked close enough, they would definitely be getting a peek at my pussy too.
Consequences...discipline...I knew something had to be coming. I’d pushed and pushed, determined to see Manson reach the edge of his patience. There was beast in him, beyond the calm; it was vicious and dangerous and I wanted nothing more than to draw it out. I’d seen it that day he’d gotten expelled, when he’d finally pulled a knife on the assholes who had poked at him for years. That was the beast I wanted, that was the Manson I had to experience. I couldn’t fully explain the desire, not yet. But maybe once it was fulfilled, I’d understand.
I reached the cooler and knelt next to it. I was blushing, breathless, my stomach in knots. Maybe if I dunked my whole head in the cooler it would go away, or maybe it would just shock some sense into me. I plunged my hand into the cold, watery ice and pulled out a beer. The bottle was freezing cold, the glass dripping. I could hold it in my hand as I crawled...maybe grip the cap with my teeth...tuck it in my bra? How the hell was I supposed to crawl and carry his beer?
“Fuck this,” I whispered, and stood up. I snatched a bottle opener from the counter, popped the cap, and took a long, much-needed drink. The cold, bitter liquid slid down my throat and soothed my tension.
He’d punish me for this. I had no doubt. Whatever “consequences” and “discipline” meant to him, I was about to find out.
You know you want it. The evil little voice chuckled in my head. He’ll punish you for breaking the rules of the game, for being a bad, disobedient girl. He’ll punish you in front of everyone, make you cry…
I shook myself. Chills had gone over my arms at the thought, all the muscles in my lower abdomen throbbing. My pussy was one thing - horny betraying bitch! - but now my own brain was turning against me. Thoughts of Manson shaking his head in disappointment, calling me a bad girl, telling me to bend over his knee-
No, no, no. Stop. Bad thoughts, bad thoughts! I’d start dripping again if I wasn’t careful.
Walking back to Manson on my own two feet, instead of crawling, felt much naughtier than it should have. He was right where I’d left him, laughing over something a girl with dyed blue hair had said to him. She was pretty: shorter than me but gorgeously curvy, ripped fishnets beneath her gray plaid skirt, her breasts practically bursting out of her tight white blouse. A surprising pang of jealousy shot through me, even though she walked away as I approached.
“I thought I gave you an order, Jess,” Manson said, a smile playing around his mouth as I walked up beside him. “Found your feet awfully quick.”
I’d taken another swig of the beer. But as he scolded me, I smiled, brought the bottle back to my lips, and spat the mouthful of beer back in. Then I shoved it into his hands. “Oh right, sorry. I forgot about the whole “no drinking” thing. Forgot about crawling too.” I shrugged. “Oopsie.”
Manson’s smile seemed frozen on his face. It was unnerving, and suddenly I wondered if this was really a good idea. I was upholding my end of the dare - but only barely. How long could he possibly tolerate this from me? Would he just walk away, calling the whole thing off? Or could he actually “handle me,” as he’d claimed.
Manson took a sip of beer and my stomach turned. I’d spit in that bottle and it didn’t even phase him. “Oh, Jess. Jess, Jess, Jess. I get it. I do. And don’t worry: this’ll get handled properly.”
I frowned in complete confusion. “What...what do you get? What do you mean handled…?”
“This bratty behavior over every little order can’t continue,” he said, almost sadly. “Trust me, it’s funny as hell to watch you struggle with yourself and try to save your pride by cursing and acting angry, but…” He shrugged. “But it really defeats the purpose of the game. I need to see better obedience from you and, well...I think there’s only one way to get it.”
I shuffled my feet nervously. Could anyone else hear the conversation? Was anyone watching me get scolded like a naughty kid? I told myself that no one was, but the idea was still there, gnawing at my pride. I lowered my voice, suddenly self-conscious. “Look, I’m...sorry...okay? I’m sorry. Doing this is weird and-”
“You’re doing it willingly, Jess,” he said gently. “I’m not going to accept any of the excuses you come up with for being such a brat. I won’t tolerate that behavior.”
He said it so sweetly, but my heart began to pound. He really meant it. He was actually going to punish me for this. My eyes darted around, looking for an escape...until I realized there was no escape. I wanted this. I’d willingly fought with him every step of the way and now…
I was going to let him punish me.
“I need you to be a good, obedient girl for me,” he said, as my eyes grew wider and my heart thumped harder, and my breath began to come in quick, shallow bursts. “That was the deal you agreed to. I think you want to be good for me, Jess.” He reached out, and his fingers brushed softly, slowly, along my chin. His touch was cool, and goosebumps prickled up my back.
This was it: the exact thing I’d wanted...feared...hoped for? I wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this. My inhibitions were crushing me. Was I really going to let freakshow Manson Reed punish me? What did that mean? What did his punishment entail? I didn’t dare ask; I could hardly even speak.
“You don’t know that,” I whispered. “You don’t know anything about me...maybe I just like being a bitch to you. Maybe I…” His touch turned into a grip. He held my chin, and tipped my face up slightly. His gaze felt like fingers probing deep inside me.
“I know enough, Jess. I know you’re so careful with how everyone perceives you. I know you don’t like to let that better-than-thou mask slip for even a second. I know you’ll keep it up even if it means denying yourself something you want, if that something happens to not fit the cool social conventions of the in-crowd.”
I gulped, viciously biting down on the inside of my cheek. The fact that he was right made not snapping back some derogatory remark even harder. Anger and haughtiness were my shields. Without them, my defenses were thin, at best.