He grasped my arm, pulling me towards him.“For god’s sake, Scott!”“You know how to stop me,” he breathed, pushing on the small of my back. �...�But you don’t really want to, do you?”He lifted my skirt up, exposing my panties.“I think five for every missed call,” he mused. “That’s what – twenty? An even number.”His palm cracked down against my ass before I could protest. The first slap didn’t sting much but as he got into it, each stroke felt more painful. His hand moved fast. Once he’d delivered. I am a sick, twisted fuck.And Peter owns me. It's weird but he does.We park at the river and he gets out. I sit on the hood of the car."What the rule?" he asks; his tone has no humor."No running, no jumping, no swimming." He owns me and I owe him. I owe him everything. "Dude, I'm sorry."He tilts his head, "For what?"I shrug and shake my head, "I don't know. I just know I did something to piss you off an' I'm sorry."He points to me, "That." What?" That. That insincere bullshit you do." What?". More

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