Page 258 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 2

Battle Of The Brats by Vivian Murdoch

Chapter One

Melody

The cool rasp of satin as it covers my eyes should be soothing. Any other time, it would have been. But not today. Not when I can hear Chelsea’s labored breath beside my ear, each gasp hanging heavy in the air as if it were my own.

And maybe it is. Maybe I’m finally going insane and this is the proof. God. Fucking Dr. Andrew would like that, wouldn’t he? Bitterness laces every punctuated breath as it propels from my lungs, filling the heavy silence.

Are the others of the society still here? Their eyes peeled as they watch the humiliation about to befall us? No doubt all of this was orchestrated by Andrew himself. Just a way to get back at me for the snafu between him and my sister.

Well, let him try. No matter what, I still stand by my actions and always will. My only regret is that Chastity could have been harmed by my negligence. That is what keeps me awake at night long after Master Jeremy thinks I am asleep.

This is different though. Try as I might to blame Andrew, unfortunately, this is all my fault. Well… not all. Next to me, the one I really want to lash out at continues to breathe—and now, they’re the deep even breaths of someone who feels they could do no wrong.

God. What was our fight even about? Now that I’m faced with the consequences of my actions, I can’t even remember what made me reach over and yank her hair like some errant high schooler. But it doesn’t matter. Whatever it was, I had reason.

My eyes burn as I force my memory back, past the harsh scowls of both my Master and hers. She made some comment—something snide, rude, and wholly Chelsea.

“I hear you, asshole,” she grumbles next to me, the surprising sound startling a jolt out of me.

My heart pounds in my chest as I listen in the darkness, trying to figure out exactly where she is. I knew she was here, her breathing proved that, but to hear her, to hear the vitriol dripping from her lips… it’s an entirely different thing. Her words are venomous, and in that moment, my heart hardens against her even more.

“Listen, skank,” I spit out, no longer caring about being nice or polite. “You’re the reason we’re in this mess.”

“If you just went somewhere else, none of this would be an issue,” she hisses. “No one said you had to kneel near me.”

“You think I chose to kneel next to you? I go where my Master tells me. Unlike you.”

A long pause hangs heavy in the air, and my ears strain as I try to listen, to drink in any information I can. Nothing, not even a breath. After several moments, I relax, thinking this is the end of it. As much as I hate confrontation, I hate it with Chelsea even more.

Our history makes everything between us strained and fractious, with just one match lighting the keg of animosity underneath us. In all honesty, it was stupid of Master Jeremy to put us together. Not that I’ll ever say that to his face.

My muscles unclench as the room remains silent, like a tomb, but deep down, I know it isn’t going to last. I feel more than hear Chelsea move beside me, and within moments, her fingers claw at me as she winds them around my neck. The pressure of her touch springs me into action, drawing from a latent well adrenaline I never knew existed.

All the anger I’ve kept stored inside explodes out of me into a flurry of movement. Enraged shrieks fly from my lips, filling the room and echoing off the walls. Lunging forward, I tackle Chelsea to the ground, my fingers digging into whatever soft tissue I can find.

Her breath matches my own—sharp haggard exhalations punctuated by our various grunts and groans. Darkness still surrounds me like a shroud, forcing me to fight by feel—a swipe of my hand here, a pinch of my fingers there.

We both become an entanglement of limbs as we writhe about, each of us desperate to find the high ground. Neither of us have caused massive injury yet, but that doesn’t keep us from trying. Eventually, the blindfolds fall away in our strife, dropping to the floor as we claw and scratch one another.

But it doesn’t make a difference. The lighting is so dim that I can still barely make out Chelsea’s body. Did they just leave us here after the botched initiation? I want so desperately to look around for my Master, but I know the moment I take any attention off Chelsea, she’ll use it to her advantage and get the upper hand.

I coil back, my body primed, when a loud, familiar voice booms out in the darkness. “You will cease this now.” It’s not Master Jeremy, but instead Dean Anderson.

Fuck. Out of everyone in The Society, he is the last person, aside from Master Jeremy, that I want to piss off. He steps forward, his shoes clacking against the polished wood in an inevitable cadence, drawing even closer to us. As he nears, the lights turn on, flooding the space, blinding me for a few moments.

As spots dance before my eyes, I glance about, hoping the figures looming are just figments of my imagination, but as they clear, the reality becomes all more apparent. Double fuck.

Gone is the naive idea that we would be alone while suffering this humiliation. Granted, we didn’t commit our atrocities in private either. Guilt assails me as I duck my head, unable to stare up at those incriminating holes in the masks. And here I am, far more worried about the embarrassment of my punishment, and thinking nothing about the embarrassment I brought to my Master or The Society as a whole.

Sneaking a glance over at Chelsea, I note the stubborn tilt to her head as she juts her chin high in the air. Not an inkling of remorse comes off of her. Fitting. Not only will she continue to be the brat, but no doubt she’ll fucking get away with it too.

Whereas, here I am, trying my best to act repentant to show how sorry I am, but that won’t get me anything. Knowing Master Jeremy, he’ll see right through this veneer, and I’ll be punished even worse. But why should I? It was he who forced me to kneel next to her. Shouldn’t the dominants have any repercussions for their own actions?

“This is all your fault, bitch,” the brat in question hisses at me, her eyes narrowed as she inches close again.

“Did I give either of you permission to speak?” Dean thunders, standing between us.

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