(A.N. okay my second favorite chapter because it's just so damn dramatic!!! I hope you guys like it!!)
Gardening on the Dominant's grounds versus the Submissive's grounds, was like crossing enemy-lines, into dangerous territories. Not that the Dominants were our enemies... but back in our own academy there was a sense of comfort and safety. We were on our own land. It would be easy to slip away for a private moment because, in the Submissive's academy, a girl didn't need to be escorted everywhere.
The Dominant's academy had different expectations, however. There would be more formality, just as the Dominants liked it. Girls wouldn't be allowed to leave their dominant's side unless given permission. Even miss Lydia would be expected to be as perfectly obedient as the rest of us, because the professors were running the operation in their own territory.
It was unnerving, to say the least.
The day was cloudy; unlike the sunny day we had seen the day prior. This meant that I couldn't wear the overalls Clark had been so fond of, which worried me come the time the Submissives left their Academy to venture to the Dominant's academy. I was sure he would understand, but a part of me felt like I was disobeying him. So, I went with something as similar as possible; a forest-green jumpsuit, nearly identical to my overalls from the waist up. The main differences being that the straps didn't clasp; they tied, and I worked extra hard to tie them into pretty, pleasing, little bows.
Instead of cutting short like my overalls, they fell to my ankles with big pockets at my hips. The fabric was soft cotton and oh-so comfortable. I wore an off-white cotton shirt underneath, and paired some brown sandles and a green bandeau to complete the look.
In the mirror, I smiled; loving the earthy tones of my outfit. I could only hope that Clark would like it as well.
Outside, the senior submissives lined up as properly as we had on the days we visited the ampitheater for the pairings. Miss Lydia fretted over our appearances and postures before we began the steady trek across the field. Occasionally, the sun peeked out to bask us in a brief warmth, but it always ducked back behind a cluster of clouds, leaving us in a chilly, spring, shade.
In my head, I pictured us arriving before the Dominants had exited their school to join us, so I was a little surprised when we arrived to find the boys all lined up; long rows of tall, intimidating, doms who were awaiting the arrival of their subs. We weren't the only ones flustered by this; Miss Lydia didn't seem to know what to do with us, and how to smoothly transition each submissive from the line to their dominant.
Fortunately, one of the professors stepped forward and instructed the Dominants to call their Submissives. So, down the line the boys went, calling for their submissives who approached their dominants. Some were lifted and held, some dropped to their knees, some simply stood at the side; I already imagined that I would be kneeling in the grass at Clark's feet.
After a minute, I heard my name. Over the short distance between the line of the subs and the line of doms, Clark's baritone rumbled through my bones and I shivered in anticipation.
I stepped forward and found him quickly. At his side, I stopped, and he snapped his fingers at the ground. Silently, I obeyed, happy to kneel at his feet. As names continued to fill the air, Clark's fingers combed through my hair. I looked up at him, eager for his attention, but he wasn't looking at me; his eyes straight ahead. So, I looked ahead to, and watched quietly as each partner was paired. When I got tired of that, my eyes drifted down to idly tug at the laces on Clark's sneakers; my boredom at its peak. When I got tired of that, I leaned into Clark's leg and sighed.
"A sighing submissive is a bored submissive," I heard from above me. "Shall I give you something to do?"
I blinked, certain Headmaster Warren had said something similar, if not identical, to me recently.
I looked up at Clark whose eyes were no longer straight ahead.
"No, Master," I answered softly. "I'm sorry."
With a nod of his head, he looked forward once again. I straightened and his hand resumed its work through my hair.
Everyone spread out once the pairing was complete, and when Clark walked forward with no direction as to how to follow, I crawled along behind him. I felt nervous as I moved forward on hands and knees, but Clark hadn't told me to stand up, so surely that is what he wanted?
I followed him away from the other students. He found a bench out in the open and sat himself down before beckoning me forward. I obeyed, kneeling at his feet as he leaned forward; elbows on knees.
"I'd like to try something different today," he began, pausing, watching me intently. I waited patiently for him to finish, my eyes fixed on his. I gave him all of my attention, just how he liked.
It pleased him, and he rewarded my focus with a tender caress to my cheek with his knuckles.
"I don't want you to speak today," he told me. "Nor do I want you to walk."
I blinked. He wanted me to be a... pet? I opened my mouth to ask, but he spoke first.
"Yes, Katherine, it's exactly what you think. I want you to be a pet for the day."
I blushed beneath the intense discussion, picturing a day full of crawling and non-verbal communication. I might as well be a baby with a pacifier in my mouth. Would he have me do that too?
"Did..." I started to speak, but felt that perhaps I shouldn't.
"It's alright. Go ahead."
"Did I do something wrong...?"
"No," he answered firmly. "This is not a punishment, Katherine."
Then, why? I wanted to ask. But I refrained; offering a tentative nod instead. My anxieties stirred awake inside, and I averted my attention to the ground where my nervous hands tugged at the grass around my knees.
"Katherine..." Clark coaxed gently from above, and I returned my eyes to his. "I need your focus on me." The tips of his fingers smoothed up and down my arm as if he could sense my stress. "I know that you have reservations for what I have in mind today. I have kept them in mind, and I don't intend on applying the parts of Pet Play that you don't like. For example... I will not have you play fetch for me. Nor will I make you eat from a dish; I imagine you wouldn't overly enjoy that..." he trailed off, implying an additional question to his comment which I answered with a vigorous shake of my head.
No. No dishes.
"We will commence our usual relationship before the day is over. Don't worry, Katherine." He cupped my jaw in his palm. "This isn't indefinite."
I nodded my understanding, too infatuated with his handsome face and steady voice to do anything but. He smiled, briefly, before tugging at one of the soft cotton bows that held my overalls in place. He didn't say anything about my change of outfit, but he didn't seem to mind.
Clark wore the same pair of jeans he had worn the day before, and beneath a grey hoodie, he sported a black t-shirt. If the sun popped out, he would be perfectly comfortable if he shed his outer layers.
"Come, Katherine," he rose to his feet. "Let's get dirty."
At a freshly dug up garden bed, several pots of baby pink roses waited to be transferred to the ground. On hands and knees, Clark rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie and I waited quietly beside him, hoping to God that he wouldn't ask me to dig up the hole for him like a dog.
"Katherine, please pass that shovel," he said, instead, and with a sigh of relief, I picked up the hand-held garden shovel and passed it his way. With a shake of his head, he took the shovel from me and put it back where I had just retrieved it.
"Again, Katherine," he instructed, and confused, I slowly moved to obey; reaching for the shovel once again. His next words stopped me however:
"With your mouth this time, please."
I looked at him, desperate, but he waited patiently, and didn't speak again until I reluctantly tipped forward and closed my teeth around the shovel's handle. Gingerly, I passed it across the short distance between us, and dropped it in his hand.
"Thank you, Katherine."
I blushed as he ran his hand gently down the back of my head before turning back to his work. While his back was turned, I did a cursory glance around to see if anyone had witnessed my embarrassing behavior. To my relief, no one was looking my way. Except for one person who offered a charming wave and a wink.
Dawson.
I looked away quickly, but a swift peek would confirm that he was approaching to speak to his friend—my dominant—Clark. Behind him trailed his project submissive, a stunningly beautiful brunette who looked downright miserable.
"Clark," Dawson began once he was near. "One of the landscapers has wildly decided to move one of the four hundred pound solid stone garden benches over three feet; we need another hand." He waved Clark up, and with a sigh, Clark stood and followed Dawson. I moved to stand as well, but Clark shook his head silently at me. With a defeated sigh, I followed on hands and knees.
A sneaky smile tugged at Dawson's mouth, and I had the sudden urge to bite him. After all, that's what an irritated pet would do, right?
What was worst, however, was the look that Dawson's submissive bestowed on me. It was something between a sneer of disgust and a glare of absolute contempt. What I did to earn such a glower, I didn't know. But I didn't want to bite her; I wanted to cower from her.
"Come, Katherine," Clark ordered sternly when I had fallen behind, and with a snap of his fingers he demanded I return to his side. I rushed to do his bidding, applying as much distance between myself and Dawson's submissive as possible.
The further I crawled, the angrier I felt. Why? Because I could literally feel the grass stains ruining my perfect jumpsuit!
When Dawson patted my head in passing, I huffed, infuriated, when normally I think I would smile because I liked Dawson. Not this time, however. The itch to bite returned.
Under a tree, where the stone bench stood under another tree about a stone's throw away, Clark stopped and ordered me to sit with another snap of his fingers. I reluctantly obeyed. When Dawson ordered his submissive to her knees to wait properly for him, he put her right next to me, and I felt wary at being left alone with her.
"Stay," Clark told me, leaning down to speak low in my ear. "And be good." And then he and Dawson were walking away, exchanging conversation along the way to the bench where several boys waited to help lift the heavy thing elsewhere.
I didn't speak, just as Clark instructed. But, the silence between the other girl and I was deafening, and I shifted in discomfort.
"So, you're Clark's sub..." she drawled, her tone unkind, and I offered a brief nod, not wishing to engage in conversation with someone who made me so nervous. "I'm shocked."
Narrowing my eyes, I looked her way.
"Why?" I asked, giving in.
"I thought he'd prefer more of a challenge," she answered all holier-than-thou as if she were the obvious and better choice for Clark. "I stalled on choosing any Dominant so that he would choose me."
I fumed at her words, a jealous rage boiling inside my heart. "How do you know him?"
"By reputation mostly, but my parents are investors of the Vanidestine's Academies, so they're friends with Headmaster Warren. They say that Clark would make an excellent Dominant and they're working to arrange something between him and me."
The rotten girl looked down her nose at me, and I glared ferociously at her in return.
"Don't get all pouty about it," she snorted at my expression. "I know all about you and how you're being married off to some millionaire in the city. Oh, poor you," she mocked. "What a sad little life you're going to have, sleeping in piles of money."
"It's not like I want any of that," I growled.
"Doesn't matter." She shrugged. "That's the life you get. So, you can enjoy Clark for now; I appreciate the experience he's gaining with you. Although I doubt he's really getting the opportunity to be entirely himself."
"And why the hell would you think that?"
"Because he's a sadist, and you're just a sprite of a thing; so tiny with a babyface. You can't take what he has to give."
"You have no idea what I can take," I nearly yelled, but I forced myself to lower my voice to avoid Clark and the others from overhearing. The brunette monster next to me just laughed.
"Well, I imagine he's holding back. After all, everyone knows you're the Headmaster's favorite. So, Clark can't exactly take his sadistic tendencies out on you like he would me. Headmaster Warren would flip out if he saw his beautiful little student all bruised up."
"I have plenty of bruises."
"You mean those adorable little hickies on your neck?" She scoffed.
"And these!" I held up my wrists so she could see the marks the ropes left behind. She leaned forward to assess behind narrowed eyes. She even touched the skin with her cold fingers before leaning back with a huff.
"Those are alright, I suppose. Your skin is so pale though; anything will leave a mark on you. That's why you're not much of a challenge. See my skin color? It's called olive," she announced proudly with a smug smile. "It's not so easy to bruise. He'll have to bite harder, hit harder, squeeze harder... And I won't whine through it like you probably do. I'll love every second of it, and he'll love that about me."
"Shut up!" I screeched, the idea of this olive-skinned giraffe with Clark making my stomach churn.
She just laughed, egging me on further, and with great rage, I dug my nails into the hard ground, produced a fist full of dirt, and threw it right at her smug, olive-skinned face.
I felt victorious as she sputtered and smacked dirt from her mouth, but it was short-lived when she bellowed loud enough for everyone within a one-mile radius to hear:
"BITCH!"
Mortified, I looked towards Clark and Dawson, who had heard the loud profanity, and were already on their way back in long, concerned strides. To my relief, Clark looked more concerned than angry, and Dawson looked angry more than concerned.
Ha! I wanted to laugh at the mean girl for getting herself in trouble but I wouldn't dare. Not while she still wore the dirt I threw all over her face.
"What the hell is going on here!" Clark growled as he approached.
"Bridgette, what the hell happened to you?" Dawson dropped in front of his submissive, swiping crumbs of dirt from her cheeks.
"She threw dirt at me!" The whore—Bridgette—whined, going from evil to pouty within 0.2 milliseconds. "I didn't do anything! I was asking about Clark and she got all angry and threw dirt at my face!"
The girl worked up a solid tear and I could do little else but gape stupidly at the display that Dawson bought without hesitation. The anger on his face was gone and it was replaced with concern and confusion as he turned to me. I could see the cranks in his brain turning, because what little he knew of me, said that I wasn't a confrontational person.
But he was the least of my concerns right now.
I turned my attention to Clark who looked very unhappy; his furrowed brow and scowling mouth removing all rage from my insides.
"Speak," he clipped, and I jumped beneath his tone.
"I...I...she was being mean, I..."
Get yourself together! My brain cried. You didn't do anything wrong! This was all her!
"I confessed that I had a little crush on Clark, and she just lost her shit..." Bridgette was carrying on in the background, leaning into her dominant and feigning fear.
"Katherine, is that true?"
"Y-yes, but she was being mean!" I shifted forward on my knees, closer to Clark, imploring him to believe me. "She said..." I started to tell Clark everything Bridgette had said to me, verbatim, but it sounded so petulant—the he-said-she-said argument—that I felt that I stood a better chance discussing it in private with Clark, instead of here, with a growing audience of students, and Bridgette, who would counter everything I had to say.
"Is everything alright over here?" A new voice entered the conversation, and as I looked up, I spotted the only person that could make this situation worse than it already was.
It was Clark's science professor.
"No, sir," Dawson and Clark answered almost simultaneously, standing to their feet and nearly shielding Bridgette and me from the unkind man.
"Nonsense, it certainly doesn't sound like everything is alright. I heard the profanity. Such foul language from a submissive..." The professor leaned around Clark to narrow his eyes at both of us; clearly unaware of who had shouted the bad word.
"We're not sure what happened," Dawson explained firmly. "But we're getting to the bottom of it."
"Well," the professor puffed out his chest and brought himself to his full height. "Allow me to help."
Our feud forgotten, Bridgette and I exchanged a petrified glance, our faces pale. Above us, Clark and Dawson did the same.