Loud, punishing slaps echoed behind him, each one punctuated by Seth’s cries.
Bryson walked faster.
But the damage was done.
His mind had already betrayed him—Seth, bent over his knee, his ass flushed red. Bryson’s fingers stretching him open, teasing, tormenting, his perfect freckled face wet with tears.
Then—
Buzz.
His wristband vibrated.
Fuck.
She would know now.
The monitors sent daily reports. But they had quickly learned that they also sent her real-time alerts when arousal was detected.
Another control tactic. Another way to keep them humiliated. Isolated.
No sex. No touching. No release.
Not without her permission.
Seth and Kaydon sometimes got to partake.
Bryson, never.
Four months.
Four fucking months.
Bryson tensed his jaw, forcing the thoughts away.
He needed to run.
He needed to fucking move.
Eric was in the kitchen, reading the newspaper, of all things. Bryson couldn’t believe Kaydon was suggesting he learn from him. He was so old.
“I’m going for a run.”
Eric didn’t look up from what he was doing. “Again? That’s the fourth time this week, and it’s only Wednesday.”
“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business,”Bryson said, slamming the double glass doors behind him.
He would get in trouble for the disrespect, but frankly he didn’t care. These days punishments were his only source of physical contact and, oddly, he had started to crave them, the pain becoming a much-needed distraction.
Running brought his heart rate up—one of the many reasons he had to alert Eric beforehand.
The backyard was a carefully curated illusion.
Fenced for privacy. Contained for control.
Like the house itself, the grounds were pristine. Well-manicured, simplistic. A pool stretched beyond the back porch, leading into a small wooded area. Everything designed to look natural, but it wasn’t.
Nothing here was real.