Year Five of the Addergoole School, immediately after Catch of the Day
He managed to get a little bit of sleep; the floor was hard, but he was tired, and, once an eternity or two went by without Allyse dragging him out of his hidey-hole, the exhaustion took over, and he dozed off .
“There you are.” It was so quiet as to barely wake him up, more of a purr than an exclamation. “That was fun.”
He sat up slowly, trying to collect his thoughts. “I... ohh.”
“You did, you did. And now it’s time to go home. But we can do that again sometime.”
"Again... what? No..." He clambered to his feet, shaking his head.
She stood, too. Allyse. She was between him and the door, her eyes shining eerily in the dim light. “At least once or twice.”
"No, I... just want to go home..."
“Home,” she agreed. “Come on.” She grabbed his wrist.
She meant... "Wait, no, no. My home, not yours."
“My home is your home now. You agreed to be mine, remember?”
"Yes, but I didn't mean it like that."
“Meant or not, that’s what it means.” Her grip on his wrist was implacable. “You’re mine now. Come on.” She tugged on his arm and began walking.
She had a stupidly strong grip. He wriggled and pulled and twisted, trying to ignore the way his feet were following her of their own volition, but, even though she didn’t seem to be putting forth any effort, he couldn’t break her grip. “Let me go.” Hey, it was worth a try.
“No.” She was smiling again; her smile was a bit scary. “I caught you fair and square, and I’m going to keep you. At least for this year,” she added thoughtfully. “I’ll probably have to let you go when I graduate.”
“Oh.” Oh shit. “I meant, my wrist. You can tell me what to do,” he pointed out logically. “You don’t have to hold on like that.”
“Oh.” She looked at her hand around his wrist as if just realizing she was holding him. “Well, I guess I could let go of your arm. But you ran away.”
“Suddenly ending up mind-controlled can freak a guy out.” His voice wasn’t squeaking on “mind-controlled.” It really wasn’t.
“Really?” She made a face, although she hadn’t let go of his arm yet. “All right,” she nodded slowly. “I can see that. And it was fun, chasing you down, so I can’t really be mad at you for that.”
“Good?” he offered. And then, because he had been replaying the scene in his head. “My bag, with my stuff?”
“Your bag? Where is it?”
“Back where I was…” hiding “…sleeping.” He pointed with his free arm.
“We could leave it there,” she offered offhandedly. “Show you not to run away.”
My stuff. He eyed her nervously. “You said it was fun, though,” he countered.
“Yeah.” She nodded slowly. “All right, we can go back and get your stuff. But then we’re going right back to my room, and no whining about it.”
He gulped. That shouldn’t sound as ominous as it did. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Ma’am.” She turned around and headed back down the stairs. “I’m not sure I like that.”
“I’m sorry?” He was, actually. He didn’t want her unhappy. She was scary enough happy.
“Hrmm. What should I have you call me?” She kept walking as she mused, and she still hadn’t let go of his arm, so he kept following.
“Aviv called me mistress, but that was always kind of silly. We were kind of young, back then.”
“Besides, I don’t think that sort of thing is necessary, do you?”
“No?” Just let him get his stuff, gods. He still wasn’t sure what was happening, but he was beginning to get a pretty good idea, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Worse yet, he wasn’t sure that he didn’t like it.
She paused outside the doorway. “In here, right?” He nodded wordlessly, not sure what was going on. “All right, go get your bag and come right back out.” She released his arm.
The mixed sense of dread and curiosity spurred him as much as her order; he was back out in the hall in a matter of seconds, waiting for her next directive. The nerves were holding off exhaustion, but the combination was making him a little bit loopy. “My lady?” He bowed over the bag.
She chuckled throatily. “Hardly a lady.” She started ambling back towards the dorm floor; not wanting her to drag him along, Finnegan followed. “I think… I think between you and me, you can call me Allyse, and everything can be kind of informal, okay?”
“Okay?” He waited for the but, watching her sidelong.
“Around Cay and Sima… just try to keep your head down for a bit, okay? Don’t act too familiar around them and it won’t get messy.” She didn’t seem entirely certain about that, which made Finnegan a bit nervous, but he just nodded.
“Okay,” she echoed, smirking faintly. “Look, I know this seems strange and uncomfortable, but, believe me, this isn’t the end of the world. If you can get past the idea of a woman - women - being stronger than you, being in charge, we’ll do all right.”
Believe me. He found he did, and nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said again. Hesitantly, he added, “you can tell me what do to.” It didn’t seem fair. “Why does that work?”
“Because you’re mine. Quiet for a moment.” She opened the door to her suite and led him - a very quiet him - through the living room.
“Found your little lamb, did you?” the blonde sneered. “Going to share him?”
Share…? They were all pretty women, but in an amazingly scary way. Finnegan said nothing, quietly.
“Not yet, Cay.” He didn’t miss the “yet,” and wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about that. “Give me a chance to break him in properly first.”
“I suppose,” she drawled lazily. “Well? Are you going to show him the ropes in the living room?”
Break him in. Ropes. Finnegan wondered if he held still enough, if they would ignore him. This could either be very, very fun, or very very painful… or, possibly, some combination of the two. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to find out which.
“I can handle him,” Allyse answered. She didn’t sound pleased. “Come on, Finnegan. This way.”
Yes, please. He followed her into what he assumed was her room, looking around at the wide space curiously. It didn’t look like a girl’s room, except for the collection of wide bowls and glass globes on her desk. It looked like a soldier’s barracks. A barracks with a sharp, upset woman standing inches away from him, stepping closer, setting her hands on his hips. He barely remembered to breathe.
“You can talk now. The rooms are soundproofed.”
What had he been going to… oh, yes. “You keep saying that I’m yours, but clearly it means something to you that I didn’t mean. I mean, I’m grateful for you saving me, I owe you one, but the rest of this is kind of crazy.”
Annnnd she was smiling. He was pretty sure that wasn’t a good thing in this situation. “The bitch of the Law is,” she explained, while she reached for the button of his jeans, “it doesn’t care what you meant.”
“Hey, um.” He made a token effort to stop her, and she slapped away his hands. “The Law?”
“Ask Professor Drake, if you’re interested. Later. You’re staying in here for the rest of tonight. Every night, for that matter. The Law,” she paused to push his pants and boxers to his ankles, “it’s the thing that makes promises promises, that binds us all to the will of long-dead gods. And it’s why you end up doing what I tell you to. Take your shirt off.”
He was no longer surprised to find himself taking his shirt off, but it was still strange and not all that comfortable. “So the Law… this Law means I do what you say, because I belong to you?”
“Exactly, very good,” she nodded. She was taking her own shirt off, revealing more muscles than Finnegan had ever seen on a woman. On her, it looked good, but he was momentarily distracted from her body by the strange feeling of well-being her praise sent through him. Hunh.
He reached for her pants, not wanting to get slapped away again. “That’s it,” she smiled. “Good boy.”
The rush of pleasure was like a shot of tequila followed by a sugar shot. So very condescending, and so very nice. “Arf,” he complained, even as he peeled her jeans slowly off of her.
“If you want to be a puppy,” she warned him, “I’ll treat you like a puppy. Or you can act like a man, and I’ll treat you like a man. Which would you prefer?”
It didn’t seem like the time to point out that she was the one talking to him like a dog. “I can act like a man.” Being treated like a puppy sounded like it wouldn’t be all that fun in the long run.
“Good.” It wasn’t quite the rush this time, but it still felt very nice.
“So…” Concentrating was getting harder, and it wasn’t the only thing doing so, as she stepped out of her pants and he tried for her shirt. “This belonging to you. Is it temporary?” Did he want it to be?
She kissed the side of his neck like a benediction. “I get you for a year.” She didn’t wear a bra… she was now wearing nothing except a tiny pair of blue panties.
“A year.” She didn’t slap him away as he reached for her hips again. “I can live with that.”
Copyright © 2009-2011 Lyn Thorne-Alder with Elasmo. All rights reserved.
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