"He runs. I hunt. I've given him permission to run whenever he wants—it makes it more interesting if I don't know when it'll be," Skinner improvises wildly.
Saunders stares at him for a moment, and then nods. "I'll accept that. However, he chose an unfortunate time to play. And he was well and truly caught in a trap this evening, so he's failed. As community rules have been broken, we'll need to see him punished."
"In what way, 'punished'?" Skinner asks warily, and I cross my fingers behind my back. Not the Zone, please not the Zone.
"A public whipping." Saunders smiles at me. "Thirty strokes seem acceptable."
Thirty? I want to choke.
"You can administer the strokes yourself if you like, Mr. Skinner. After breakfast tomorrow morning in the library. Or, if you prefer, I'm sure there will be no shortage of volunteers to perform the punishment. I know that Matt takes particular pleasure in such things. It's entirely up to you. I don't care who does it, only that it is done, and that the other subs see that it is done. Runaway slaves are very much discouraged in this establishment, Mr. Skinner."
"I can believe that," Skinner murmurs. "And if I refuse to allow this punishment to take place?"
"You can if you wish," Saunders shrugs, "but if you do, then the matter will be taken out of your hands and we will have to remove Fox forcibly to the Zone in order to oversee the punishment ourselves."
Skinner's eyes meet mine and he sighs again and rubs a weary hand over his forehead. "It would seem that I don't have a choice," he says.
"I'm glad we're agreed, then." Saunders smiles. "Good night, Mr. Skinner. And to you, Fox." He shakes his head with exaggerated, sarcastic regret as he considers me, chuckling to himself, and then he turns on his heel and leaves, locking the door behind him again.
"You know," Skinner says carefully when we're alone, "I could have sworn that I sat in that chair only a few hours ago and made it very clear that you were not, under any circumstances, to try to escape."
"I can explain," I sigh, throwing myself down on the armchair in question. "There's another Arena session scheduled for tomorrow night. I thought you might not be fit enough. I thought it was worth the risk."
"And you didn't tell me about this little plan because...?" he prompts.
"I knew you wouldn't approve."
"And therefore?"
"You'd have stopped me."
"And if that had happened?"
"We wouldn't be in this mess." I bury my head in my knees.
"One of these days you'll follow my orders, and then we might just live to be old men and die in our beds." He comes over to me and ruffles my hair with a sigh. "Hey, come on." He kneels down beside me and wraps his arms around me. "You'll be okay." He kisses my head, holding me close.
"I fucking won't. I knew these bastards wouldn't be happy until they got to lay one of those damn whips on my bare ass. I'm fucking well up shit creek without a paddle."
"You're really scared of this, aren't you?" He tries to still my trembling with his warmth and strength, but I'm too damn afraid.
"Wouldn't you be?" I snap.
"You've faced mutants, taken gunshot wounds, been attacked and assaulted. This is no worse," he says soothingly. "Don't think about it."
"I can't do that. These people scare the shit out of me. They've looked for any excuse to beat me senseless ever since we've been here. They won't stop until they totally dominate and subdue me. I've never been more scared in my life."
"And you think that they'll have won if they finally get to hurt you the way they want to?" He takes my head between his hands and looks into my soul.
"I don't know if I'll be strong enough not to give in. Yes," I admit.
"So they might be able to force you into a submission you don't feel in your heart?"
"Yes."
"They can't. Whatever they say or do won't make any difference. You'll know the truth. I'll know the truth."
"What truth?" I ask him, still shivering. "I don't know the truth myself anymore. What truth will we know?"
"Only one." His dark eyes are like glinting spheres of pure jet. "That you belong to me."
"And what more do I need to know?" I whisper.
"Nothing. That's all that's important," he hisses fiercely.
"Then you have to..." I begin, closing my eyes, scarcely daring to ask.
"What?" He runs his thumbs down the side of my face.
"You know what. You can't let Matt or any of the others touch me. If I must be beaten down, if I must be subdued, then you've got to be the one who does it."
"I don't…I can’t…" he says, his tone strangulated.
"No. But you have to, anyway."
He gets up, thinking about it, and I watch as he paces around the room for a moment.
"Please. I won't submit to any of them. I can't. Please," I find myself saying softly. "If it has to happen, it has to be you."
"Why?" He comes back to me and stands in front of me, his hands on my shoulders.
"Because I trust you and I don't trust them. I don't want them hurting me."
"But it's okay if I do?" His big hands knead my neck, his expression distracted and disturbed.
"Yes. It's okay."
"Don't ask me to do this, Fox," he says wretchedly.
"You have to. Like you said, I'm yours. It's a two-way street, this responsibility, isn't it?"
His eyes snap up to meet mine, acknowledging the truth of what I've just said. "Of course," he murmurs softly.
We're silent for a long time. Maybe I've fucked him up by my request, but at least, selfish bastard that I am, I'm not as scared anymore. Don't ask me for my professional psychological evaluation. I know, you'd think that my psychology degree would be useful for something. Maybe it's just that having already submitted to him as my boss and as my lover, it makes it possible for me to endure this final humiliation at his hands in a way that would be unbearable from anyone else. I trust him, and besides, he'd never cross the line with me and truly hurt me in a way I couldn’t recover from.
"Have you ever, um, done anything like this before?" I ask him as it suddenly occurs to me that I know nothing about his previous sexual exploits.
"No. What the fuck sort of life do you think I've led?" he demands.
