“I find it refreshing just how receptive you are to their dominance,” he says. “Once a week, we will talk in person for twohours. I will discuss anything relevant with your partners. I will never put my hands on you.”
“Because you don’t want to?” I ask.
“Because I don’t have permission, Alania. “Your partners are far softer than I would have been.”
“What would you do then?” I ask. “How would you punish me?”
“I’d tie you to a bed and fill your holes with a fuck machine,” he says coolly. “I’d turn it on high and whip you like Edward did. After that, I’d fuck your throat. You’d stay on that machine. I’d give you a reason to hate me.”
“You are a sadist,” I say with a frown.
“Interesting, but we all know the thought of someone you trust brutalizing you makes your cunt weep,” Dr. Torres says. “All of my suggestions will go to your partners. If you need correction, I will tell them, and you will be punished right there in my office.”
“Can I go home?” I ask.
“You can. You have a mild concussion, so make sure you are taking it easy. If symptoms persist or worsen, have one of them call me.”
“You’re a psychiatrist,” I say.
“I also went to medical school, Alania. Before this, I had intended to be a surgeon,” he says.
“Did you fail?” I ask.
“No,” he laughs. “My fiancée killed herself after I left her when she got pregnant by her ex. I wanted to help people, so I went in a different direction.”
“Oh…”
“What day?” he asks me.
“Uh…” I say.
“Friday is fine. One?” Brent asks. “One or all of us will take her.”
“One works great,” he says. “See you then, Alania.”
“Mhmm,” I sigh.
Chapter Thirty Six
Alania
One Week Later
I’ve spent the lastweek being doted on. When the adrenaline wore off from the wreck, I crashed. Again, I suppose. I was mentally and physically exhausted. Between the horrific migraine and the heart-wrenching grief, I just wanted to rest. I still got up, ate, showered, and did all the normal things, I just did so in my own time.
I went to my first therapy session, and we spent the entire two hours talking about music and books. Why? I don’t fucking know, but it was refreshing to have a normal conversation for a change. I was there for the summary he gave the guys, and Dr. Torres told them that it took me a while to relax and open up, but I was trying. He went on to explain that I was guarded, and he suspected it was because I was anticipating him doing something sexual. When he didn’t, I relaxed.
Today we have a council meeting, but it’s taking place at the school. Nothing as far as our dynamic has changed, but they are stricter with me. We ended up talking more in-depth, and we agreed I needed structure and guidance. The truth is, I’ve never lived life without it. Over the last week, with this new structure, I have been more relaxed than I have been in a long time. We follow the same general rules as we did at the Dove Institute, but only with the three guys. I only submit to them.
All three men have fucked me every day, but they’re being gentle and doing what they can to avoid triggering a headache. Once I get one, I’m down for a while. I miss the violent fucking though. Soon, I hope.
“Ready?” Raul asks as he walks into the bathroom.
“I think the cut on my cheek is going to scar,” I pout.
“That’s hot,” he says, leaning into me and kissing my neck. “You are beautiful with or without scars, baby. Personally, I love them. Gives me a line to follow with my tongue.”
“Are you a dog?” I ask with a laugh. “You can’t lick my cheek.”
