Disclaimer: All characters, while revised are the property of Stephenie Meyer, author of The Twilight Saga. No infringement is intended. This story is about BDSM. If you are not 18 please go elsewhere. There will be some scenes in this story that will be dark and hard to read. If you are interested in BDSM please do proper research before partaking. If preformed without proper education it can be dangerous. THIS STORY IS NOT A MANUAL TO THE LIFE OF BDSM.
A/N: This story was inspired by arianawhitlock's Punishment. Go over to her profile and check out the story. The prequal, Delayed Gratification, is in the works and is awesome! You can find her and all of her works under my Favorites Lists.
Also much and many thanks to my wonderful beta Clglover . . . If you are interested in a different Bella pairing check out Run With Me and its in-progress sequel, Stay With Me.
That bastard was going to pay for what he's done. Who the hell did he think he was? Master or no- that was not how you treat the one who submitted themselves to you. I would have loved to see him try this shit on someone who knew better. He intentionally chose those who were already to low to know the difference, to know that a master's job was take care of his submissive. Being beaten beyond pleasurable pain is not the life. This is not S&M. This is abuse. This is rape. This is a crime.
His crying pulls me out of my internal rant. I sat on the side of my bed rubbing aloe vera gel and my own coca butter and moisturizing mixture on the sensitive skin of his back, ass, and torso.
You never use a flogger on the torso and chest as chastisement. Was he trying to cause internal bleeding and organ damage? Did he want to kill the already fragile, broken man beneath me?
The aloe speeds up the healing process and the cocoa butter helps with scaring, but really, there was no use. His wounds were so deep there were going to be scars. Perfect reminders of the hell he's endured. I wanted to beg him to go to the hospital but I knew he would refuse; too embarrassed.
"No! You're a doctor, please treat me here. I feel better when I'm with you," he says every time I try.
And I did. I rubbed my health balm all over his body. I let the cream heal him physically and hope my loving hands and soft touches healed his mind and soul; teach him how true devotion should feel. I was silently telling him, "I love you and I would never hurt you this way."
He had been there with me for an entire hour and his tears were not slowing down. His body was pushed far beyond it's limits and it was evident as with every flinch away from my touch. I knew that his skin hurt like hell, but my heart couldn't help but think that subconsciously he was afraid of anyone touching him. He ruined him and for that he must pay.
I finished rubbing the mixture on his skin and I just sat there, not knowing what to say. The silence was saddening.
"Do you have to go to work?" He asked me, his eyes facing away from me as he lies on this sore stomach.
"No. I'm off tonight," I said to him barely audible even to myself. Again silence. I saw him shiver and I know it was the cooling effect of the aloe vera gel. I stand to retrieve his favorite fleece blanket I kept across my couch. No matter what was going on, or how hot it was, he wrapped himself in my old alma mater blanket. He claimed it as his own. Even when we argued over him, he swaddled himself in the soft material. I knew how secure it made him and refused to take that away. As I stood to walk out, he addressed me again.
"Edward, will you lay with me? Hold me?" He said through sniffles and cracking voice.
"Of course, Seth." My voice sounded relieved yet irritated that he even felt he had to ask.
Countless times over the last seven months I've told him I would stay at this side, but then again, I tried to remember he was brainwashed to ask permission to breathe, let alone for affection. This time was even worst than before. He went beyond scaring his body. He went to far this time, doing the unthinkable. Oh yeah, that fucker was going to pay for what he had done.
I quickly ran to the living room and grabbed the blanket. As I approached the broken man before me I held back my tears. I had to remain strong for him. I gently wrapped his favorite piece of cloth around his near naked body and slid on my queen size bed on his right side.
Seth rolled onto his right side, noticeably flinching when he had to use the muscle in his arms and chest. When used properly a flogger could entice a being to an overwhelming orgasm, but when used as a tool of abuse, it was a bitch. The point was to be pushed, painfully pleasured, and then healed by adoring hands. Lacking in part left you sore and raw in all possible ways.
I lightly pressed against his back with my chest and draped my arm lightly over his waist, slowly increasing the weight. I loved spooning with him, more than I should have.
"Edward, I wish you were my master. You take care of me so well." His voice was heavy with exhaustion. Sore, beating, pulsating, and burning flesh wounds tend to weaken you.
"Sleep now, gorgeous," I respond.
Me? A Master? Definitely not. Despite, or because of (depending on where you stood), my position as head ER physician, I preferred the submissive role. I was a born masochist and was in a near-perfect Dom/Sub relationship. It was only physical with no hopes of ever being anything more than a means to a release, but it got one of the jobs done. No, I could never be his master but maybe I did need to be his savior. I loved taking care of him, I lived for it.
I thought over what I could do to save the beautiful creature along side me. As I contemplated my plans of revenge, I begin to place feather light kissed on his upper back below his neck, the only place not riddled with new and old scares.
I loved him and I knew I shouldn't. Maybe it was all the care. Maybe because he was so sexy, even when his tan skin showed the slightest redness from crying. What ever it was, I couldn't live with out him.
I didn't even know if he loved me. I mean really loved me. He told me I made him feel safe. He told me that no one ever really cared for him the way that I did. But I wasn't sure if it was real love. I didn't know if he loved me unconditionally. If he didn't love me as strongly as I loved him, he could leave on the first thing smoking, shinning, and new.
But to be fair, I didn't know if I loved him unequivocally either. We've only been in public together once and that resulted in an even more severe session with his Master. We've only argued about one thing: him. But was our connection built on anything other than a skewed perception of care?
I couldn't bring myself to ask him how he felt. I just laid there being his healer and listening to his breaths grow more and more deep, confirming he was finally resting.
I had to get past my fear. I wanted him to know how I really felt about him and needed to know how he felt about me. Soon it would be different between us. I couldn't continue as we were, pretending he didn't mean something more to me than just a close friend. I wanted to continue to be his healer, his savior, but I also wanted to be so much more. To be more I had to do more, beginning with getting Seth away from him.
I could no longer sit back and watch him destroy the man I loved. I would be whatever Seth needed me to be. I would hide him away. I would make him safe. I would be his Master if that was what it took to finally free him of this burden. Seth was my priority.