It was common for the Holmes to have dinner together. Not that Paris had a problem with it since the table was about ten metres long and he was far away from his Father and Mother, was still locked in her room.
The only problem he had, was when Sebastian felt it was alright to actually talk to him during dinner because he had really hoped they had both entered a vow of silence by now.
But it was Sebastian Holmes. He never kept to anything.
"I called your school today."
He paused. That was new. His Father never cared to check on his school activities, unless the school called him themselves.
Which also meant, what ever he was about say would not be pleasant to Paris' ears. "And your grades are... Still quite remarkable."
But, Paris mentally added.
"But this girl, this— ." Sebastian wiped his mouth with a napkin and put back his cutlery in place. "This Parker girl. She is still the best student, and you're number two."
Paris felt the veins on his forehead began to appear, but he said nothing.
"Asides from the fact that she's... Well, you know —."
He decided to help him. "Black?"
"That's not the word I was looking for but she's that. She's also a girl." Sebastian replied, as if saying that particular word offended him. "It makes no sense for you to be beneath her."
Paris tried to keep his voice even as he said, "I am not beneath her."
"Your school grading ranks beg to differ." Sebastian said. For a man who claimed to be too busy for his family, he was following up on his son too much. "Or perhaps, the reason why you're still behind is because of this sport you play. What is it? Football?"
There was no way anyone in the world could make that mistake. The old bastard was just trying to piss him off. "Basketball."
"A dying sport, but yes. You spend so much time practicing it, instead of actually focusing your grades."
"I should spend most of my time, trying to..." He looked at him, so the man could see the smug look on his face. "Beat a girl?"
Sebastian, of course, had zero shame. "Now, you make it sound like a horrible thing. Besides, high school is coming to an end, Paris. Your test would soon begin. The best thing you can do for yourself is making sure your grades are so good, you could possibly get a scholarship."
Scholarship?
That was utterly ridiculous. His Father could afford to pay for his college fees and ten other people, but no, he had to do the Holmes Family Test.
The Holmes Test was something that had been done in the past though when it was his turn, his Father felt it was necessary to restart the tradition.
When a boy reached adulthood, he was sent out of the house and to the world, so he could learn how to survive on his own.
Paris couldn't exactly see what the point for that was. His Family had managed to stay rich enough to last ten more generations but Sebastian liked pushing him to the edge.
Perhaps, he'd liked to see the boy jump off a cliff one day.
"Besides," The man continued. "Law school isn't that cheap to survive all on your own—."
And perhaps, Paris would like to see the old man have a heart attack. "Have you ever considered that maybe, I do not want to be a lawyer?"
"Have you ever considered that you being disowned wouldn't cause the world to end?" His Father snapped, then when he realized for a second that this same boy was the only surviving heir of his family name, he added in a more understanding tone. (Though it killed him to do this). "Alright. If you don't want to be a lawyer, what else do you want?"
Paris smiled, resting back on his chair. "I suppose I'd love to go into the world of acting."
Sebastian scoffed. "You're joking. Do you want to wait tables for the rest of your life? Because that's where you're heading."
The smile on his face vanished. "You don't even think I could be more than what you plan for me. I can survive well enough without you."
"Don't let your stupid pride get the best of you. Just because you're dating the Minister's daughter doesn't change the fact that one slip up of yours would cause to regret your whole life's choices."
"But the difference is, I'm not you."
Sebastian Holmes stood, his hands slamming the table. "Say one more word, and you'd regret it."
And his son, knew it wasn't an empty threat.
Still, he felt a little bit glad that he managed to get some sort of reaction from his Father. Standing, he pushed back his chair and walked out of the dining hall and up the stairs.
The bastard always succeeded in making him feel like a piece of shit. Like it was his fault that Zephyr wasn't here and he wasn't Zephyr. Not like it mattered anyway, Paris could barely remember him.
Reaching the hallway, his eyes moved down to the farthest room. The door was mostly shut, and it was rare for the owner to leave that room.
He walked into it.
In the past, Paris remembered always seeing his Mother sleeping and never fully awake, and when she was, she was so drugged that she couldn't remember him.
But with the years, she had stopped fighting Sebastian and instead, gave in to him. It meant him having a chance to see her awake.
Today, she was sitting on her wheelchair, staring outside the glass window. Her pale skin looked a little bit more alive, though it didn't count for much, but it felt nice to see her awake.
"Mom," The voice he used to speak with her, was a voice he never used for anyone else. Because she was different, because she was Mom. "Are you— How are you feeling?"
"The garden looks beautiful from here." Elise Holmes voice was incredibly soft that her speaking made it sound like she was whispering. In truth, Paris found it a talent that he could hear her more this days. "They're taking care of it quite well."
He walked up to her and rested his hands on her shoulder. Even through the layer of cloth she was wearing, she still felt cold. "Not as you would, of course."
The smile on her face stayed. "Who would have thought? The one thing I thought I was good at, wasn't actually my talent after all."
That wasn't true. Sebastian had probably drummed it into her head and made her think that. It was her specialty anyway. "I'm sure you have many talents, Mom. You just haven't been given the chance to... explore them all yet." Then for good measure, he added, "Maybe, if you decided you would leave Father—."
"It's depressing how we keep going on this same topic everytime you realize I'm strong enough to actually conversate with you." Her voice still held no power in them. Just something as soft as the wind. Brushing across your face on a summer day. "I'd like to talk about school, if you will. Do you have a girlfriend? Do you watch porn, my love?"
He couldn't help the smile that came to his face. "That's not what anyone should talk about."
She turned around to look at him. "But I barely know you."
"You do." He touched her cheek. "I'm still the same boy you used to make origami for whenever you felt I was sad."
"Well, now he isn't six anymore. Is he?"
"I still like origami though."
Elise turned away, her posture returned. There was something so poise about her lately. Or maybe it was just the fact she had given up on her fate. He'd like to think it was the former. "Maybe you should bring one for me. When you can."
"Would you like that?"
"I would."
Sebastian made it look like Elise was a complete fool, but that wasn't true. Sure, she didn't have the exact mental prowess and manipulation his Father wanted from a woman but she had the ability to make anyone around her feel better.
And of course, her ability to change a topic was still left undefeated.
"Well," He walked to the wall beside the window and rested his back it, facing her now with a smile. "There is a girl."
"Oh?" She asked. Her dull grey eyes showed some excitement. "Is she your girlfriend?"
"No." Paris blurted out, and in the same speed, continued. "At least not yet, but she will be."
"A girl who failed to fall for the Holmes charm? I like her already."
Paris rolled his eyes but his smile grew. "I'm not marrying her, Mother."
"You should if she's the reason you're smiling like this." Her smile wavered a bit. "You don't smile anymore."
"I don't have a reason to, do I?"
"Being alive is a good reason."
You're alive, Mom. Are you happy? "What's the point if you're alive and aren't happy?"
And as if she had read his mind, Elise said. "You think I'm not happy, and yes, sometimes I'm not, but you make me happy. This little moments, I cherish it with my entire life. And one day, you'd realize the same thing. The little things, matter."
~
Alex didn't come.
He couldn't fucking believe he found himself on a roof, when it was fucking freezing but no one could put any fucking blame on him.
For example, he hadn't been able to sleep.
And it was clearly her fault that he didn't. He stayed up all night trying to understand this whole BDSM, Femdom thing which was completely... Completely crazy and disgusting.
Pegging? It was just an excuse for a gay person to not out himself, which was even more disgusting than actually being gay.
In fact, Paris knew if she tried any weird shit with him, he'd call her out for it immediately.
Yeah, it made sense now. He was here just to see how fucked up it was in real life and then, he'd cut her off like the psycho she is. Yes, that was exactly why she was here.
"Fuck." It was so fucking cold. Was this some weird kink of her? Or was she just an ass. "Such an actual sadistic b —."
"I wouldn't complete that sentence if I were you, Sherlock."
His head snapped back and his feet on their own accord marched to her, his words coming out in an angry growl. "Where the fuck have you been ?"
Alex Parker stood at the door to the roof, one of her extremely big shirts on and cargo pants, except the difference now was, her shirt wasn't buttoned so he could see the tattoo in between her collarbones, the black bra that brought her breasts out and the bikini she was wearing peeked out of her pants.
And her braids. She had it in an upright ponytail, two long ones over her face with her round glasses on and her lips glossed. "You really are itching for a punishment. Aside from the fact you actually came at 5:02am, you're raising your voice at me. Where's the compliant boy that was ready to do anything to be my pet?"
Paris was trying his best to find a place on her body to focus on. From the abs to the tattoo and the boobs and the lips —. "Your boyfriend."
Fuck, he literally just whimpered the words out.
"Then earn it, Slave." When she saw the reaction on his face, she gave a nod. "Follow me."
They turned around, walking down the stairs with him trying to understand why he was following her like a damn puppy even though he was ready to scream that he wasn't anyone's slave.
They kept walking till they reached the secluded classroom hall and he heard himself asking, "How'd you know I was two minutes late?"
She didn't bother to turn around. "Time exists."
She was deliberately trying to ignore him. Paris didn't do well with being ignored. "Parker."
She ignored him.
Bitch.
When they got to his class, she walked in first, ordering him to shut the door, which he did (on his own terms. Not hers.) before she walked to the white board. "Sit on a chair."
Paris turned, staring around the class. It was exactly like their class, except it was darker and they were no windows. The class just had one bulb and it was barely lit. "What? A teacher and student scene? Real classic."
As he finished his round and turned to her, he found her sharp eyes on his. "Sit. I won't repeat myself."
Just because her glare felt like it was cutting through his skin, he obeyed.
"Now," She turned around, taking up a marker and writing the word 'RULES ' on the board before facing him. "Since you weren't aware of the rules before, I'd let your past behavior slide but after this, I won't. So if you have anything to say now, spit it out."
Paris folded his hands. "Would I get to fuck you?"
He had expected a smile. Or something close to a smirk. All he was met with was a completely cold expression on her face.
Where was the chick that was all playful yesterday?
"I doubt you'd be good enough to be rewarded with more than your head in between my thighs," He tried not to imagine that and failed.
How could he? He could literally see her thong! Now he was imagining all of it. Did that make him pervert? If he wanted to be buried under her badly right now?
"Already acting like a bitch in heat." That snapped him out of his thoughts, causing a smile to come on her face as she continued, "The first rule, you're nothing to me. Not a friend, not an acquaintance. Just a slave that I use to gain pleasure. In other words, whatever I do with you, is solely for my gain."
Well, it's my dick, bitch. But he didn't dare say it.
"You're not allowed to curse during a session with me, unless you're permitted to." Then her eyes moved across his body. "Though I doubt you'd be permitted anything."
"You're to refer to me as Mistress and nothing else."
"Thought that other kid called you Mommy." He wanted it sound like an insult. He did, but somehow, it came out like he was disappointed.
Why in fuck's name would he want to call her that?!
That... That was insane.
From the distance, he watched her eyes flare, her next words hitting him like blocks of ice. "And do not interrupt me when I'm speaking or speak unless you're spoken to or asked a question. I demand respect from a lowlife like you."
His dick throbbed.
"Disobedience would not be tolerated. Neither would lies." She set the marker down. "If any of this happens, adequate punishment would take place."
"Like what?" He wanted to see that fire again. He liked it. He wanted to burn in it. "A spank in the ass?"
The fire didn't come. "There are more effective ways to torture someone."
Wait. Did she just say torture?
"And lastly,"
Alex began to walk to him. It was slow, letting his eyes move through her body and face all at once before she was close enough, her body hunched over the desk as her breath fanned his face. "You belong to me. Not just your dick but your whole being. I understand that this must be hard for someone like you with testosterone levels as high as the heavens, so you can leave now."
Who did she think she was? He was Paris Holmes. If anyone was to back out, it'd be her. "I told you I want you. I'm not backing out."
"But I do not want you. Which means you have a lot of happying to make me." Then she leaned in closer. "And I know exactly how to break someone like you."
"What—?"
There was a sharp sting on his face and before he could think twice about it, her hand was on his tie, pulling him to her face as she said in that same low, demeaning voice she had used before. "That's no way to talk around your new owner, Slave. Didn't you learn what I said earlier?"
The pain in the sting, for some reason, sent a signal to his dick and the word flew out of his lips. "Sorry."
"Sorry what?"
Don't say it. Don't say it. "Sorry, Mistress."
Fuck.
A small smile broke out of her face and his whole body seemed pleased to see that he had caused it. Which made no fucking sense, and he was about to tell her to fuck off so he could stop this whole shit until she said, "Good boy."
A warm feeling exploded in his chest at those words, his brain now shutting off completely, leaving his dick in complete control.
"Now," She moved back, "Pull down your pants."
Paris did, her eyes following every single movement which felt like little needles pricking his skin. It was supposed to hurt, but it didn't.
It made his whole body feel like it was on fire.
When it was down, Alex walked back to him and knelt. At first, he thought she was about to give him head, and he relaxed for a second.
Until he saw that she had, in a second, tied his hands together. "What the f—?"
Another slap. "Do you have something to say, Slave?"
Yes, actually. You're a bitch, this is insane, untie me right fucking now!
"No, Mistress."
Paris couldn't believe those words came out of his mouth and when he realized she wasn't going to praise him again, the urge to beg filled his entire being.
But he didn't. He wasn't going to let one single shred of his dignity go.
Alex stood now, loosening his tie before turning around him and placing it around his eyes.
Paris' world suddenly turned dark and he could feel his blood begin to bubble as she bent to his ear and whispered. "Now, take your cock out of your boxer, and touch yourself."
"What? Just that?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted it, but to his surprise, he heard her laugh.
"Don't sound so disappointed. Do it."
Paris tried his best not to be as he brought out his near hard cock. His still freezing hands moving on it. Except now it felt different.
It was like she was looking at him from every corner. As if trying to get the perfect angle to watch him fuck himself.
And that switched something in him.
Whether it was to prove his fucking ability or just be called a good boy again, his hands began to work their magic, gasps leaving his lips as he moved them.
Yet, when she spoke, she didn't sound satisfied. "Faster."
For some reason, he remembered the fact he always seemed to disappoint the people around him, but disappointing her seemed like the worst of all.
Like it was a grave sin.
So he did.
And fuck, it felt good.
His breath began to grow heavier as he thrusted his hips into his hand, his head now thrown back in pleasure as he said, "Oh fuck, Mistress, I'm going to cum. I going to —."
"Stop."
Paris heard it, but he couldn't. He was already so close, so —.
An hiss left his lips as a hand grabbed his hair and forced him to look up. It hurt, fuck it did, but his dick pulsed at it for some reason. "Oh, you dirty slut. Didn't you hear me when I said stop? Or you just wanna be punished like the whore you are?"
Fuck, she was disappointed. He didn't want her disappointed. "I was just trying to —."
Another slap.
But on his dick this time.
And for someone like him, whose hands had on their own, obeyed her, the slight contact had him whimpering.
"I told you, this belongs to me. So if you have to cum, you'd have to do so on my terms." Then she roughly tugged his head up, causing him to stand before pushing him face down to the desk. "Spread your legs, bitch."
Paris did so, and yet, a sliver of fear flowed through his body. Or was it excitement, perhaps? He had no idea. He wasn't thinking straight anymore. "Are you about to spank me, Mistress?"
She didn't give an answer for that. Instead, she said, "For someone who talks a big game, guess who's butt naked and leaking precum?"
Fuck you. Of course, he didn't say it out loud.
"Would you like that though?" She was bent on his back, her soft chest pressing into it as she whispered into his ears, nibbling and licking it at the same time while her hands massaged his ass softly. "Would you like to be spanked so hard that when you sit, you'd remember how helpless you are right now? With your ass so hot and red and pretty looking?"
Oh fuck, with the way she was sounding, and her hands on his...
No. No, he wasn't going to give into that shit. Paris managed to clear his throat and reply. (He thought he sounded bold, but it came out quite the opposite.) "I don't want that, Mistress."
There was a sharp sting on his ass and he gasped, her voice harsher now. "What you want isn't any of my concern, Slave, but if I were you, spanking would have at least, gotten you to cum."
It didn't even feel nice! "You won't let me —."
"No."
He was about to ask why she wouldn't when he realized she had raised his shirt you and was running something slender and cold down his back.
Leather.
She was holding leather.
"It's a riding crop." She said, as if she was reading his mind. "I'm not sure you've ever been hit with one."
Paris couldn't help himself when he spoke. The sarcasm in his tone clearly visible. "Thought you said you weren't spanking my ass, Mistress."
"I'm not spanking your ass. I'm spanking your balls."
She was —.
What?
He felt her hands open his butt wider. "I could have finger fucked you now. With how tight you are, shitting would hurt, but the asshole is a sacred place for me so instead. I'd leave it for something else."
She's psychotic. Definitely, there has to be a screw loose somewhere. "What are you —."
A loud gasp left his lips as the crop hit his balls, the handle hitting the crack between his butt.
It stung, but not as badly as he thought it would.
"You say you aren't interested in ass play, but your hole is clenching right now. As if it'd do anything for something to be shoved inside it."
"What do you expect when you hit so fucking weak?"
Another whack had him groaning. It hurt this time, as fuck but his whole body, if it had been on fire before, now felt like hell. And he loved it.
He had never felt as hot as he did right now. In every possible meaning of the word.
"What did I say about cursing?" Then her hand wrapped itself around his balls.
He thought she would squeeze it, as a punishment, but instead, she fondled them gently, and the fact they were cold was doing something to him. "That's very disrespectful."
Then she bent, her words low again. "Your hole would probably be so hot as well right now, just as your balls are. My tongue on it would feel so good, wouldn't it? Letting it soothe the burn you're feeling right now. Flickering and circling the tiny shit."
Paris heard himself moan. "Oh, God —."
And then all of a sudden, her hands was off him, and so was her body. "But that would never happen."
If he could move, which he couldn't, thanks to the fact his brain was still on sleep mode, he'd have stopped her from going away, but all he could do was say, "W-What?"
He heard her set the crop on a desk and the tie was ripped from his face, causing him to blink for a few times so he could adjust his eyes to it before he spotted her buttoning her shirt.
God, was he supposed to concentrate now that he has seen what she looked like under those hideous things?
"Where are you going?" Then much to his dismay, heard himself add. "Mistress?"
"Don't call me that anymore." Alex was smiling, the one who was with him before completely gone. Like they were two different people. "You're disrespectful, arrogant, egoistic, dirty mouther and a liar. Which is the worst because you keep lying to yourself and I can't stand that. BDSM is about trust. I could break you at the point you're in right now but I have too much self respect for that. Plus, if you're looking for someone to try experimenting on, as I said, it isn't me. So when you're done, dress up and get the fuck out. I don't want to set my eyes on you again."
That was the longest she had ever said to him.
And it was a fucking rejection?!
"Wait!" Shit. The ropes didn't want to fucking come off. "You can't leave ne like—."
Alex wasn't even looking at him anymore. All she did was take up her bag, muttering to herself. "Can't believe he's still trying to give orders. Wouldn't even let me fuck his ass. The nerve." And when she was done, walked out of the room.
Leaving him butt naked, hard and still fucking tied.
And it made no sense, because his dick was supposed to take the rejection, and lessen, but it didn't.
Instead, it seemed more excited that she had spoken to him that way.
Fuck.
Fuck!
‡
Does the author know what It's writing? No. Does It have an ending for this book? Yes. Does It feel like it might never complete it? Fuck, yeah.