Alpha Male Romance(12)

It didn't, however, mean that I wasn't enjoying watching Alan secure Melanie's wrists and ankles to the bench. Her breasts hung over the edge, her ass in the air, legs spread. As I watched, he walked around to the front of the bench and leaned down. Melanie made a small, whimpering sound, and then he straightened, revealing a pair of silver clamps now hanging from her nipples.

My own hardened, throbbed, in both sympathy and anticipation. Tanner had told me to watch. That he wanted me to imagine what it would be like if he did any of those things to me. So I was thinking about it. Focusing on it. Imagining how it would feel to have those little metal teeth digging into my flesh. How it would feel to be bent over like that, unable to do anything except wait to see what he’d do next.

I jumped at the loud crack of Alan snapping a crop against his hand.

“Now, where do you suppose he's going to use that?” Tanner asked, his hand sliding up my arm and around to the back of my neck. His fingers kneaded the tight muscles there as he continued to talk. “You think he's going to use it on her ass or her cunt?”

A shiver ran through me even as Alan brought the crop down on Melanie's ass. Tanner’s fingers kept up their firm pressure, working through all of the knots in my neck as we watched Alan turn Melanie's ass a deep shade of red.

“I bet that'll be nice and hot against his skin when he fucks her,” Tanner murmured. He brushed his knuckles against the side of my breast. “You want me to use the crop or flogger on you when we get back to my place?”

My body tightened as I gave the proper response. “Whatever you want, Sir.”

“Good girl.” He kissed my temple. “Now watch. I think he'll start on her pussy next.”





Chapter Six





Xavier





I grinned as I told another joke, this one dirtier than the last. If my mom heard me saying any of these things, she'd wash my mouth out with soap. Probably beat my ass too. But it made my friends laugh, and that was all I cared about right now. These guys were my only friends, the only ones who hadn't made fun of me for coming to school in ratty hand-me-down clothes. They didn't question my stories about why I had a black eye, or any of the bruises, the sprained wrists and elbows, my dislocated shoulder.

I pushed those thoughts away. I was having fun with my buddies. We'd had a great game. Beat the shit out of the other team. I snickered. I'd said a bad word. Some of my friends said it and worse. Sometimes they said damn and fuck. Bobby Ringwalt said 'cunt' the other day, and I pretended to know what it meant. I'd heard Dad call Mom that, but he called her a lot of things. Some of them were bad words. Some of them I didn't understand either. I didn't want to ask anyone so I let them think I was cool and knew what they were saying.

My steps got slower, my feet heavier with every inch I moved closer to the building. I kept the smile on my face, but it felt fake. Probably because it was. Before, I'd been laughing and joking with my friends, but now I was just pretending to smile. I wasn't even really listening to what they were saying anymore.

No, I was straining my ears for something else. Straining to find out if it was safe to go home.

Safe.

Now that was almost a joke.

Except it wasn't funny.

We stopped at Bobby's building first and shot the bull for a bit until his older sister came down and yelled at him to come up for dinner. We all watched her go. I was just starting to appreciate watching a girl walk away. I wasn't really sure what it meant yet, but I was pretty sure that when I was a little older, I'd want to spend more time with Bobby's sister than with him.

My building was next, and I was torn between wanting to linger downstairs and being scared my sister would come down and start talking. Madison was only six. She didn't know when to keep her mouth shut. She got in a lot of trouble for that.

So I didn't stay. I grinned my fake grin and told my buddies that my mom would tan my hide if I was late for dinner. They grinned back and crossed the street to the building where Grady and Jimmy lived.

I trudged up the stairs alone, thankful that no boys my age lived in my building. If one had, he would've wanted to walk together, talk. And if he'd lived on my floor or above, he would've wanted to come to the door. Maybe try to sneak in, see if what my mom was cooking was better than what he had waiting for him.

I heard them as soon as I stepped off the landing. My gut felt like I'd gotten punched, but not because I didn't expect it. More like I'd been hoping that this time would be different. That this time, when I got home after Dad, I wouldn't know he was here because of the yelling. I'd actually have to walk inside and see him sitting at the table to know he was there.

But that was too much to ask. No matter what Father Bailey told us in catechism, miracles weren't real. My damn father was proof of that.