Kaylin let her eyes wander from the TV screen for a moment to survey the room. It was a mess. No, it was more than a mess. It was a natural disaster. So was the rest of the house. And there was nothing she could do about it.
Arrgh! This was so frustrating. It had been three weeks since her surgery and still she was not allowed to bend her leg. Keeping part of her body strapped into metal rods and immobilized -- you could almost make it sound erotic. But there was nothing erotic about spending three weeks hobbling from one chair to the other: sitting, and sitting, and lying down, and oh, more sitting.
Not being able to work was one thing. It was like a forced vacation, she could handle that. Being homebound for three weeks was frustrating, but manageable. Being stuck on crutches in the top half of a loft was harder -- bedroom, bathroom, small den; she could sleep, use the bathroom and keep herself mildly entertained. And that was about it.
It felt like she was slowly losing her mind. Mental patients with their blank stares -- this is where they started, she thought. Most days this past week she had completely given up on reading. It took a combination of her laptop, text messages and tv all at the same time to keep her entertained. And her keep mind off everything else, especially her knee.
She hated looking at it. She avoided it actually. The first time the doctor had unwrapped it to examine it, she thought she was going to burst into tears. Five ugly red slashes, skin pulled taught by black stitching. Three small, two hopelessly longer and deeper. There was no chance they would fade into relative obscurity the way she had hoped. Her skin collected trauma like jewels. Three weeks later and even the IV needle mark was still visible.
She had always thought scars and tattoos on other people were beautiful, but on herself? No. Secretly she imagined one day getting up the courage to have Master's initials branded on her skin but.... Instead these scars would always be here. A constant reminder of her weakness. An ugly reminder. Ugly as she felt. Forget sexy. Or even sex. What little they had since the surgery had been vanilla and boring. Every time he even suggested something more, she had gotten too nervous and asked him not to do it.
"Hey pretty girl, how are you feeling today?"
Pretty, ha, Kaylin thought. Pretty like a girl who can't bathe herself or wear anything other than pajama pants. "Fine."
Master looked tired from another long day at work. The old Kaylin would have been thrilled to have him home again. But now when he was home, she had to focus on keeping her mouth shut not to snap at him. Really focus. As if he had done anything wrong. On the contrary, he had been everything good and kind to her. There was no way she could have had this surgery without his support and she knew it.
Normally she prided herself on taking good care of her Master. Now it was he who had to take care of her. He had forbid her from even attempting the stairs when he wasn't home, so she was stuck upstairs. That meant no laundry, no dishes, no cleaning, no greeting him kneeling at the door with nothing but a collar and cuffs on. She wondered if she would ever be kneeling again. There was a chance she wouldn't be. She had said so to him once, but he just laughed it off and told her she couldn't think of the worst possible scenario. Even his optimism irritated her.
"Just fine?" he smiled at her and sat down on the other end of the sofa. She nodded. "Any special requests for dinner?"
She shrugged. Cooking for him, yes, another thing she hadn't been able to do for three weeks. She was about to say so when she caught him looking her body up and down.
"Oh stop it," she muttered. "I look like crap and you know it."
"I can look at you if I want," his voice was somewhere between playful and warning. She turned her head away.
"Seriously, I'm not in the mood.... I don't see why you would bother."
"Neither do I."
Startled, she looked up, expecting him to be teasing, some cruel joke at her expense. But there was nothing teasing in his expression. Only.... She looked away, ashamed. His eyes never left her face, and when he spoke his voice was very low.
"I'm disappointed in you."
The room seemed to spin. She panicked, her mind clutched at something, anything to defend herself.
"This isn't easy for me you know," she spat back at him. "I can't do anything. I can hardly even walk."
"Oh? And that somehow prevents you from brushing your hair?"
Kaylin's cheeks turned hot. Embarrassment burned through her, straight to anger.
"What should you care? You don't find me attractive. You don't even care about me!"
"Kaylin..." Now his voice was a definite warning, but she was too far gone to hear it.
"Just shut it! I know you don't, asshole. Go back downstairs. I'll eat granola for dinner. I don't need you to care about me!"
"Kaylin!" He was on his feet and across the few steps between them quicker than she could even think. He slapped her face with enough force that she hit the cushions behind her. She clutched at her cheek and stared up at him in shock. Towering over her, he looked furious. She knew she had gone too far. He grabbed a tangled mass of curls at the back of her head just as she opened her mouth to speak. Whatever she was going to say came out as a pained squeak as he pulled her head back.
"Now you listen to me. I am sick and tired of your little pity party. Night after night, I come up here to find you looking a mess, wasting another day on cheap television and free porn, and feeling sorry for yourself. It's disgraceful, and disrespectful to me."
"Master I... " looking up, his eyes seemed to pierce right through her. Her words died on her lips. He let go of her hair, but she didn't move. Her head stayed tipped back right where it was.
"I did not train you to be so weak. I'm disgusted with you."
His words hit her even harder than his slap had. She closed her eyes and felt the tears spill forward. All her anger fell away to pieces, leaving only shame. She felt her bottom lip tremble, and a sob catch in her throat. What was wrong with her? Everything was awful, and now she had let him down. Her hand reached out for him limply, but he stepped back. She felt worse.
"Stop crying," his voice was stern. "Get up and go use the bathroom. Strip out of those clothes. Then come into the bedroom."
He left. He didn't help her up, he didn't walk her to the bathroom, he just left. She wanted to throw something at him and she wanted curl up and cry her eyes out. But neither would have brought him back. In the bathroom she spent a few minutes staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her face looked puffy and red, and she couldn't stop her little hiccups of crying. She tried smoothing her hair back and splashing water on her face but nothing seemed to help.
The few steps to the bedroom were filled with dread. She wished he hadn't ordered her to be naked. There was nothing to hide behind now; she felt exposed and vulnerable. He waited patiently as she hobbled across the room on her crutches and climbed on top of the bed. She tried to read the expression on his face, but it was blank. She felt desperate for his touch, some reassurance of his love. Why did he have to make this so hard?
"First of all, you're going to take a punishment for talking to me like that in the den."
"I can't take -- "
"You will keep your mouth shut and you will take it," he said firmly. He took a step towards her and she shrunk back in the bed. "You will lie there and trust me to punish you without hurting your leg. You're aware that I know what I'm doing. The only reason you couldn't do this is if you didn't trust me. Is that the case?"
"N-no Sir."
She bit her lip. Trust him? She wanted to, oh she wanted to. But since the surgery they hadn't done anything like this. He stepped closer, close enough for her to touch him. It always comforted her to touch him when she was about to be punished, and he didn't deny her. She always felt it was a sign that he did this out of love. She reached out and touched his leg tentatively. Somehow her heart seemed to quiet, even just slightly.
As she was so focused on touching him, she hardly realized what he was doing. The feel of leather sliding over her wrists and being fastened around her tight was soft and familiar. It wasn't until she heard the clink of metal on metal that she realized he had her hands raised up over her head and chained to the bed. And in her distraction of this discovery he had moved to her ankles. She froze when he gently lifted her legs, and moved them to be spread open wide. He worked quickly. Soon enough they too were cuffed and chained to the bed in this position.
Just as quick as the quiet had come to her, it flew away. She couldn't close her legs, or even move them. She felt panic rise within her. She would not be able to block his blows or defend herself. All her control was gone. She was completely exposed, he could do whatever he wanted. Hurt her, really damage her. Emotions were pushing forward yet again, threatening to break through. She was about to tell him she couldn't handle this when he spoke.
"If you don't trust me, you'll have to tell me and I'll let you out right now.... But if you do trust me, you'll have to swallow your fear and get through it."
She swallowed. Of course he would make this a test of her trust. She could feel herself trembling and she tried to breathe. It was easier when she looked at him. Their eyes met and she knew he would take care of her. Her lips pressed together. She refused to tell him to stop. He smiled at her and fastened a blindfold over her eyes. Now she was completely at his mercy.
"My silly kitten," he murmured. "I can't believe you would say don't care about you. Do you really think so little of me?"
She felt too overwhelmed to answer. A warm hand pressed against her skin at her collarbone, just beneath her throat. She wondered if he could feel her heartbeat. And then his hand slid slowly down, between her breasts and over her belly. She felt an ache grow inside her for more of him as his hand slipped over her hip and settled on the top of her thigh. Even before she could miss the warmth of him when he withdrew, she heard the sharp whistle of the crop cutting through the air and the crack as it hit her chest.
"You will never, ever speak so callously of me again!" His voice boomed over her gasp of pain. He raised the crop and hit her again, and a third time. She gasped each time, trying to adjust to the sudden assault. Then the leather pressed against her skin. He drew a slow figure eight over her chest, from nipple to nipple, back and forth and back again.
"You've been acting like a baby. Your knee will heal, there's nothing to be so childish about." A hint of edge in his voice told her it was better to keep quiet. "Tell me what is really bothering you."
