Black Elm College | 18+

Chapter 6: Elsie

When I wake up the following morning, the bruising is even worse both on my ass and my forearms. I can barely sit up on the moist bed without gasping and spasming and I can't begin to imagine what sitting for hours on hard cheap chairs will feel like.

I rub my eyes with my palms, sighing. Gathering my courage, I stand up, grab some cloth and head to the bathroom.

Yesterday, after I finished the plate and almost threw up multiple times, I was given a lecture about how I need to eat properly and take care of myself for half an hour. Then, for five minutes, Tim went on and on about how respecting other doms was important. Honestly, after him telling me he wished I had been bullied, I nodded along gazing at my plate without listening and once in my bed, had to listen to my favorite playlists for hours before cooling down.

I can't stand him.

In the bathroom, I dress and gather my messy blond hair into a high ponytail, looking way better than I feel. I made sure to choose the only boxer shorts I own as underwear to limit the friction but walking is still really uncomfortable. It's not even 8 in the morning and this is already a bad day. I wash my face, change the bandages on my hands and reluctantly head to the kitchen. That's when I come face to face with the devil, scrolling on his smartphone, frowning at his screen.

I make a B-line so I am as far from him as possible, turn around and open the fridge.

"Good morning." Wow, is it summer? His tone is less icy than usual.

"Good morning." I mumble. He can stick his "Sir." up his ass.

I grab a bottle of orange juice, an apple from the counter and a glass before heading to the table, more specifically to the farthest stool from Lucifer.

Even if I lower myself slowly on the seat, the sting is unbearable. I stand back up faster than ever, biting my lower lip and clenching my fists at the residual ache. And I hate myself because I made it so obvious, Timothy sets his phone on the table and looks at me with an unreadable expression... almost smugly.

He stands up and gestures for me to join him. That's the last thing I want to do but I know better than make him wait for now.

He wears cream baggy pants and a black hoodie, his messy hair making him even more handsome. I can see his defined muscles even through the fabric, inches from me and smell the masculine fragrance of his perfume.

He goes around me. I watch him squat behind me, grasping my jeans with both hands. Those dark blue eyes study my face, looking for permission. I just narrow my eyes, confused. When I don't answer, he explains.

"I need to check the bruising."

"I don't know, I wouldn't want you running away." Like two minutes after he spanked me. I would, actually but...

He sends me an annoyed look. "Watch the attitude."

Well checking the bruising can only be for my benefit so if he can do anything about it... "Yes, you can." I say, not looking at him.

He drags my pants down and I suddenly remember the boxer shorts, groaning internally. That doesn't deter him and he just looks at me, silently asking if he can drag down my underwear.

I internally groan some more. The problem is that I don't have time at all to go put some normal underwear, come back and then put back the boxer shorts but I cannot decline anything that will help make the classes less like torture sessions. I think about it for two seconds then nod. "Yes." I've never been very modest anyway.

He pulls down my underwear and I squeeze my eyes shut, my legs nearly buckling at the friction. I manage to stay upright, taking a deep breath and hear him curse under his breath for a split second. I look at his eyes, a little wide for someone so expressionless all the time.