Dalton (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (5 page)

My body flashes with sweat as I try to accept the pain. I huff in more of the noxious odor trying to calm myself before I hyperventilate. I hang like a rag-doll enduring the pain. I learned long ago that if applied long enough the cigar deadens the nerves searing the pain away. Bruno improved his technique. He no longer leaves it longer than a few seconds in one spot. He stokes the end hotter by sucking a drag off the cigar before he applies it to my skin every time.

This time my punishment is harsh
er than the last. My last offens
e was an erection that came unbidden when they brought a couple in to touch while I watched. When my father noticed my fascination with the boy I was punished
with a whipping across my back. I didn’t ask to be gay. I cannot control my baser urges. My father sets me up in situations for me to fail s
o that he and his associates could
punish the gay out of me.

My
I
talian, head of organized crime
father feels that he’
s being pun
ished for his crimes by having as son that’s
gay. I believe
I’
m being punished by having a douche
-
bag for a father. We don’t agree to disagree. Instead he holds me while his muscle punishes the gay out of me.
My current
offens
e is my first kiss. I knew that I was being watched, but I just did it anyway. I leaned over and kissed my crush. A few seconds into the kiss, before it could turn into something
more, I was wrenched from his embrace and thrown into my father’s office. I wish I could tell them that no matter how much they punish me I can’t help what triggers me. I will avoid the contact as to not be punis
hed or learn to be more discreet
to ensure I don’t get caugh
t, but you cannot punish me for something that is the core of my personality
.
I scream as searing pain radiates across my chest. The cigar burns hotter as it’s applied to a previous burn. The burn from yesterday when my father said he needed to burn the pansy accent out of my voice. There isn’t a cell in my body that doesn’
t need punished. I’m too French. I’m
too much like my mother- not enough like Anthony Marconi- not anything like Anthony Marconi.
My small, pale body isn’t golden enough or brawny. I show no resemblance to the man that bought my mother’s virginity. I would hate him just for that, but not as much as I loathe my grandfather for it. The Italian father respects the French grandfather, but not the son. I’d love to burn the French out
of that
bastard. Maybe Bruno could help.
My body lulls in place, attached to the head that Tony grips in his fist. My mind disjoints from me and I no longer feel the pain of the burns. I lost count at twenty. The door slamming into the wall brings me into sharper focus.
My e
yes roll up six feet
and meet the light blue
gaze
of my Dad- not my douchebag spe
rm donor- Devlin Conrick, the one who takes care of me
.

“Enough,” growls the deep timber of his voice.
“Fine, Conrick, take my bastard spawn. I’ll see you in two weeks. Don’t be late
or I will get extra visitation,
”
Tony warns.
“No, he will not be coming back to your abuse.” His voice is vehement, just as it has been bi-weekly since my birth. I would love to b
elieve him, but we both know I’
ll be back until the bastard finally punishes the life out of me.
“You will bring my son back to me in two weeks or I will take action against everyone who resides at Kink. There is a lovely child who I can’t wait to get my hands on. It’s too bad that she isn’t mine unlike this freak.” He releases his hold on my hair when he hisses the word freak. I fall to the ground in a heap.

Strong arms scoop me off the dirty floor and press me to his broad chest. I inhale his familiar scent- the scent of home. I sigh in relief as I replace it with the putrid scent of my burnt flesh combined with the cloying scent of tobacco.
“This will end one day- I promise. I
t
can’t last forever.” He sounds
so
sure as
he strides out the office.
The sounds of illegal gambling drown
s
out what he says next.
“I have to die sometime,”
I whisper under my breath
knowing he can’t hear me. “It will end
with death.”
 

Chapter Three

I wake with the lingering effects of my memory. As always it sucks the life out of me. It makes me feel shame and regret. Hidden beneath the depress
ion is my smug attitude that I’
m the one that lives, that my Mast
er was avenged. I’m not sure I’
m stro
ng enough to live with what I’
ve done for the sake of her vengeance.
I scrub my face against my pillow
and brace myself for the pain that is coming. I lay on my stomach. I place my palms on the mattress and push. I
suck
in a pained breath as my rib protests my movement. I wish the memory would have stayed hidden. I a
l
way
s
thrash in my sleep when I remember. It’s not a wise thing when your body is broken. I silently count to three an
d lunge from the bed.
“Mother F
ucker!”
I hiss.
My hands find my side as I clench my teeth. If I hadn’t deserved it I would find Dexter and beat the living shit out of him. Who am I kidding, t
hat would just result in a
broken hand. I’m as weak as a baby. I’m pretty sure the Zeitler toddlers could kick my ass right now.

I scan the contents of my refrigerator. I decide on an energy drink for breakfast. I see the clock on the microwave- I guess it’s a mid-day snack. I can’t eat this late in the day. I usually eat breakfast and at the end of my night I will try to hold something down. No way can I eat so close to becoming Dalton Thompson. I usually retch up whatever I ate during the day.

I fetch Thompson’s identity and head into the bathroom to start my night. I stare longingly at the shower stall. I can’t get my bindings wet by taking a shower. Times like these I wished I had a bathtub. I could call my Dad and have him rebind me, but I don’t want to be coddled.

I give myself a poor excuse of a sponge-bath out of the sink. I avoid all the bruising and broken skin.
Unbidden Sebastian pops into my thoughts. I hate it when the memories surface. I try to forget and it’s like getting hit with a semi.
Sebastian- my submissive, sweet, and compl
etely straight, lifelong friend- my first kiss. I miss him
like crazy, but it’s best if I’
m not in his presence. He’
ll do anything for me and I feed off it.
He’
s safer in Vegas. My thoughts veer from innocent dark, brown eyes to ones that resemble water and twinkle with mischief.

My cock greets me for the first time in a long while. I stare down in awe as he swells at the thoughts rolling through my mind. I test him by touching him lightly with a fingertip. I arch a brow when he doesn’t deflate. It’s been almost a year since he
’s
enjoyed my touch.
I reach down and grip him tightly- painfully. I moan a sigh of relief at the pleasure that radiates from my groin. I close my eyes and recall two different men as my hand picks up a brutal pace. Within seconds my head flops back and I howl a cry of release.

A laugh bubbles up my throat when I see the mess I
’ve
created on my sink and even the vanity mirror.
“Fuck, thanks for staying hard for me. I guess you’re telling me what you want.
Leave it to me to find two unavailable men wanting. Sorry, but
it’s
girls for you. If you get hard for me again we can pretend Sebby is with us.”

I stare at myself through
the s
pooge spattered mirror. I’
m fucking insane. I run a hand though my chin-length hair. I
’ve
always preferred it long. But I cut it to this length after years of havi
ng it used for my restraint. I’
m safe now, but I still don’t grow it longer.
I pull it back and fasten it at the nape of my neck. I glare at the offending mass of bland, brown hair and stifle a sigh. I adjust the wig until Font’s hair is completely covered. I place the left contact in my eye cov
er
ing the
brilliant green with a muted brown and repeat the process with the right. I gaze into the mirror and a stranger looks impassively back.

I smooth concealer underneath my eyes cov
er
ing the bruise-like bags. No mat
ter how much sleep I have they’re still there. It’
s a part o
f me. I don’
t cover them out of vanity, rather one more part of Font that is concealed. Lastly, I cover my lips with the tan cream. Just as the dark circles, my lip
s are an unnatural shade of red-
it’s just me.
Overtop of my boxers I pull on a pair of baggy jeans. If I were Font, I’d wear skinny jeans, but
Dalton doesn’t wear those. He’
s a thirty-four year old drab asshole. I gingerly pull on a black thermal shirt effectively coving all the markings on my body. I pull a t-shirt over it to cover and add a jacket for ad
ded balk. It would be strange if
Thompson appeared emaciated. I layer to cover my slight build.
I huff in several breaths storing Font to the back of my mind and bringing Dalton Thompson to the fore.
You are Dalton Thompson, a thirty-four year old retired FBI agent. You are antagonistic and belligerent.
I repeat the mantra several times over. I was given this identity when I went into w
itness protection three
years ago. I was hidden in plain sight. My enemies wouldn’t believe me capable of hiding as an agent.
Sometimes I hate my mother. The acts I’ve committed in her name are heinous. I love her with every cell in my body. I tha
nk her for giving me life. She’
s a strong and formidable woman, but she
’s
allowed one monstrous act to change her life and to shape mine. She
endured an hour of distress
while I’ve endured a lifetime
of
cleaning up her messes. She is a victim, but an even better victimizer. No matter what I’ve been through I’ve never called myself a victim. The sins of the father shall be visited upon the son- except I
sin for my mother because of my father
, because of her father
. I love her, but I hate her. Mostly, I resent her.
I glare at my reflection. I allow all the hate and pain and shame to infuse my soul. Font hides in the depths of my mind as Thompson erupts in a wave of
unadulterated
hatred and disgust.

Chapter
Four

I unleash my anger on the first target I find. Daniel Whittenhower III is stalking down the hallway to our classroom.
“Niel, how’s it feel to be a pedophile?” I t
aunt him because that’
s what Thompson does.
“What?” He asks in shock. I’ve never targeted him or his uncl
e with my hate. Actually, they we
re my intended targets. I’ve left them alone because I know they aren’t the guilty parties. Well, Niel is guilty, but not for feeding information to his aunt.  
“Ava,” is my answer
.
She
;
s
guilty as well. But I’
m fond of the pair of idiots. They
’re
ingenious and have taken my sister in. The three
of them are such a bad idea, but I wait with amusement to see what they will accompl
ish. I actually respect the brats
.
“Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that, asshole.” Niel rushes me and my hand flares out and grips his neck. I flash him my eyes. I hold him in check with my will. I may be g
ay and small and beaten, but I’
m a strong dominant- Switch or not. I was raised in this lif
estyle from birth. A fledgling M
aster is nothing for me. He could beat me with his stocky body, but my eyes will freeze him in his place.