Buy My Soul (Sixty Days 2)

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered, and I hated it. I hated how her title for me had retreated to basic instructions in the aftermath.

I imagine that’s why the words burst forth from my mouth before I could stop them.

“So it’s sir again now?”

Her eyes didn’t falter in their eagerness. “I thought sir was what I was supposed to call you…”

“I did say that, yes.”

I hated how it felt as though she was looking right inside me. She held back for long seconds as I stared down at her, my hands surprisingly useless to know what the fuck they should be doing.

“Master felt right back then…” she said. “You are my master in this place, right? Is master ok?”

In this place. That’s when I felt a whole fresh fucking pang in my gut. In every fucking place. That’s what I wanted. I wanted to be her master in every fucking place this world had to offer. In every fucking breath she took. In every movement her sweet little body made in this lifetime.

I wanted the girl to be mine.

Utterly mine.

Not some Polish oil baron’s, or some aristocrat’s with an inheritance the size of a small country.

Not some cunt of a royal’s, or some tech guru’s from the far east.

And sure as fuck not Drake’s.

“Master is indeed ok,” I told her and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good. I really wanted to be good for you. I really wanted to give a good show.”

“Can you sit up?” I asked, but my arms were already reaching out for her, easing underneath to lift her slowly to sitting.

She grimaced all the while I moved her, her body no doubt reeling from the beating she’d taken now her brain was falling back into itself. It took just a few seconds before the come down hit hard and she started with the shivers. Her teeth were chattering while she tried to maintain a subservient smile, and I felt like an utter cunt for pushing her so hard on only day two.

I never felt like an utter cunt for pushing anyone on any fucking day. This was a first. Another fucking first.

“We’ll get you warm,” I told her. “You’ll feel better when hot water loosens you up.”

She nodded. “Please, sir, master… whatever.” The innocence in her tiny shrug made me smile.

A genuine smile.

How I hated the feel of it on my face. Exposed. As exposed as the girl below me.

“Whatever will do just fine for the moment,” I muttered, and got to my feet as carefully as possible while pulling her with me.

Her legs wouldn’t hold her when I attempted to let her stand. Tiptoes pained too hard. Muscles too weak from the strain. She didn’t need to tell me, I knew it. I felt it. In her flinches, in her eyes, in her shudders.

Lifting her into my arms felt horribly natural. And the wrap of her arms around my shoulders for stability was horribly enjoyable on my part.

She weighed virtually nothing in my arms. Carrying her across the landing and into my personal suite was easy. Nice, even.

I dropped her gently onto the toilet seat in the bathroom and tugged her stockings clean off before I started the bath running. I scoured the products on the shelf, pleased to find some kind of luxurious bath foam amongst the bottles. I dumped a generous amount under the flow and checked the temperature. Hot, but not too hot.

“Did I really do ok?” she asked, and I heard her teeth still chattering.

“Yes, you really did,” I answered. “I’m sure the viewers enjoyed the performance.”

There was an additional vulnerability to her in this comedown headspace. I could feel it. Feel the heightened innocence in light of her filthy submission. It allowed the words to flow easily from her side of the bathroom, her voice much lighter than I would have anticipated, running free and unbarred.

“I’m glad,” she told me. “I forgot… at points… I mean almost forgot… forgot it was a show… forgot I was there for the viewers…” Her pause was intoxicating. I couldn’t hold back from spinning to face her. “I was just hoping I was good enough… I wanted to be good enough…”

I should have pushed her to elaborate. To explain more about her motivations for forgetting she was there for the viewing public. Insisted that she confirm she was as caught up in me as I’d become caught up in her. That it was me she was determined to be good enough for. But I couldn’t.

I just couldn’t.

My steel walls of dissociation wouldn’t let me. Wouldn’t risk it. Wouldn’t take the chance of what crazy mutterings would deliver themselves back across the bathroom in return.

Instead I returned my attention to the filling bath, checking the temperature again as the bubbles rose higher.

“How is the pain?” I asked once the water was at a sufficient depth.