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Weston figured he should be feeling something, and the emotions were there, but they were fuzzy, as if they were music playing in a neighbor’s yard, only barely audible. With everything muted, that slimy black voice was able to speak loud enough to turn Weston’s thoughts into something ugly and selfish.
Did Father know how Weston felt about Rose? Did the two of them lie in bed together and laugh at him?
Some perverse part of Weston wanted to see this, wanted to let the sight of her happily submitting to his father kill his feelings for her.
Her hands were bound together behind her back with white nylon rope. A doubled strand was looped around her throat and tied to a cabinet handle on the other side of the island. If she tried to stand up, she’d choke herself.
In the reflection on shiny dishwasher door he could see her legs and butt. There was a red line across the back of her thighs and a thin trickle of blood sliding down the back of her leg.
Weston’s gaze whipped to Rose’s face. Her eyes were open, staring into the distance in fixed horror. There was blood on her mouth where she’d bitten into her lip in an effort to keep quiet.
The cane—Weston recognized it, but had never seen Elroy use it on Pet—landed again, this time across her ass. Immediately a white line appeared that then darkened to an angry pink in the next breath.
The third blow landed on the skin where her thighs met her butt—the sensitive “sit spot”.
“Keep your spankings to the fleshy part of the ass. Be gentle with the sit spot—the skin is stretched when a woman is bent like this and it’s highly sensitive. Only one or two strikes to this area unless you need to make a point.”
Those had been Elroy’s instructions.
Rose gasped, choking on the blood that filled her mouth, and she started to retch, blood spattering out of her mouth onto the counter.
“I’m sorry, Master, I’m sorry! Please, no more. Please! I’ll be good. I’ll obey! No more, please!” Her words tumbled over one another. Her whole body was shivering, as if she were freezing cold.
Weston leapt forward, shoving his father back. This wasn’t submission—Dad was beating Rose.
Elroy looked at Weston with cold eyes. There was no anger there, only calculation.
“What the hell are you doing, Dad?”
“I’m correcting her behavior.”
“Correcting what?”
“A submissive should always greet a Dom naked and on her knees. You’re a Dom, and she should respect and greet you as such.”
“No. I don’t want that. Not from her.”
“Don’t confuse her. Rose needs to learn.”
Weston opened his mouth to snarl at his parent, but the cold gleam in Elroy’s eyes stopped him.
Think. You have to think before you say anything to him.
Weston stepped firmly between Rose and Elroy. “You don’t treat your submissive like this—the rope on her neck is dangerous, you broke the skin, and you didn’t double check her safe word before you started. You taught me those rules.”
Elroy almost smiled. “Ah, but she’s not my submissive. She’s not allowed a safe word. I’m training her.”
Weston took a protective half step back toward Rose. “Training her?”
“The way I trained you. But the other side of the coin. She needs to learn her place. She was…resistant. She’s been fighting it.”
No safe word. Fighting it. Resistant.
God, no. No.
Weston felt physically ill at the realization of what his father’s words meant.
“You son of a bitch,” he snarled. He took a step forward but stopped. He didn’t want to get too far away from Rose.
