Page 16 of Cry Baby
Biggie shook his head violently and yanked harder on the metal.
“No—stop!” he screamed, trying to get off the floor.
I pushed him down onto the ground and kept my foot on his cock. He fought me at first, but the chain snapped tight and jerked him back.
Mistress watched me calmly. “Quiet him down. I have a migraine from the squawking,” she said.
I grabbed the plastic bag from the table. Biggie saw it and started screaming louder.
I pulled it over his head before Natalie decided to punish me instead.
The sound cut off instantly into frantic muffled gasps, and I smiled at my Mistress. Despite my best efforts, I always felt a jolt of pride when she gave me that goddamn look. Ever since she’d snatched me away when I was nine years old. The smiles from Natalie made something in my dead heart swell.
She had two dimples and four points that shone in her muddy eyes.
Biggie’s hands clawed at the air, breaking my spell of counting each gleam in her irises. His chest heaved, and I sighed, getting back to the task at hand.
“Careful, Cry Baby,” she scolded. “He still needs to breathe! Do not end play time so soon.”
I counted to calm myself.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
The bag in my hand was yanked off, and all the joy from earlier was gone from Natalie. She looked angry.
Biggie collapsed forward, coughing violently, sucking in air like it was water in a desert.
“What a mess, Cry Baby. You break them too easily. Don’t you understand you need to ebb and flow? It is like blood. An art that pumps with each strike.”
I watched her mouth, counting the glimpses of her teeth.
“Cry Baby! You need to pay attention. Ugh, you are hopeless. Look. Follow my lead.”
She pointed to Biggie and the mixture.
“Paint.”
I dipped my hands into the thick mixture, and it slid between my fingers like wet clay.
Perfect.
Biggie tried to crawl away, and I dragged him back by the hair.
“Hold still,” I muttered, entranced by the thick coating.
I pressed my hand flat against his chest and let the dark mixture spread across his skin. He flinched like I’d burned him, and Mistress tilted her head, studying.
“Continue.”
I did.
Across his arms.
