Saving Leah

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Leah

Leah’s POV

I choke on the suffocating cloud of smoke enveloping the house.

Master and his friends are relaxing in the living room with their cigarettes, basking the house in a horrid stench.

I try in vain to brush away the bothersome veil of smoke which tickles my throat as I opened up the rusty kitchen stove.

The kitchen timer rings angrily from the counter top, putting me in even more of a hurry. In my frantic manner, while both trying to remove Master’s dinner and turn off the troublesome clock, I end up knocking the clock into the stove.

Yanking the food out, I managed to miss the clock, and grab a handful of scorching hot metal.

I let out a yelp of pain, caught off by the searing contact. I shake my hand, trying to get ride of the pain before remembering the task at hand, causing me to thrust my hand back inside the oven to turn off the blaring alarm.

I rush over towards the sink and ran cold water over my hand. Angry blisters form and I bit my lip to try and hold back the tears.

I’m not going to cry.

I’m not going to cry.

I jump as the kitchen door hits the wall behind it with a bang. “What the hell!” My Master inquires, irked with me for a reason unknown.

I don't even have time to respond to his angry inquiry before he has his hand wrapped around my neck, cutting off my oxygen supply. I want to kick, but I refrain. My head spins, already dizzy due to the heavy smoke in the house. “Are you so worthless you can’t even manage to make dinner?” He fumes, shaking me violently, not caring in the slightest that he was hurting me.

He tosses me on the floor with ease, my scrawny body hurling down to the floor with little resistance. My body hits the floor knocking the air out of my lungs making me let out a soft squeak. I cower away, turning my back to him just in time for his foot to catch my side.

I gasp, sucking air back into my lungs greedily. tears start to trickle, unable to hold in my tears anymore. I didn’t mean to cry, I knew my tears were not welcome.

I bow my head, trying to hide the tears from him. “Stupid whore,” he sighs, his disappointment clear. My heart cracks a little with his comment and I refrain from telling him I am not stupid at all.

He halfheartedly kicks me one last time before going back into the living room, seeming lost his interest already. I guess no interest of his is better than negative interest.

I don't wait long to get up and wipe off my tears. My scalp and hand still burns, but I know it will soon be the least of my worries if I don’t finish dinner. Once my Master is out of sight, I get off the floor and begin serving dinner.

I subconsciously rub my stomach where he had kicked me knowing it most certainly left a bruise.

From the kitchen I can hear my Master and his friends’ laughter. I should be happy that he sounds pleased, but I only shiver, knowing all too well their enjoyment would mean nothing but pain for me.


As I set the last of their meals on the table, the loud and vial men my Master calls friends, come in. I know I should regard them kindly, but their laughing and smiles speak nothing but cruelly to me.

I look down at the floor beneath me, praying they would leave me alone. I do not mind having to serve them when they do not taunt and poke at me.

My hopes of an uneventful dinner are squashed though when a hand slapped my butt before groping me.

I jump, but don't dare look up. I have played this game many times. I know all they want is a very specific reaction from me and it doesn't involve looking at them.

Many times I have made the mistake of eye contact which ended up being a very bad decision for me.

“Good little bitch isn’t she?” One of Master’s friends comments, making my Master laugh.

Shame and embarrassment fill me with their name calling, but a part of me hoped for my Master to agree with the statement. My heart fell though at my Master’s words, “More useless than good,” he grumbles, making everyone at the table chuckle.

I could feel tears brim my eyes.

I had worked so hard recently to be perfect for him, I cooked his favorite meals, made sure to keep everything clean, and even made sure to pleasure him really well even though I hated it.

Master must have seen my disappointment in his answer though because he quickly calls me over toward him. I come obediently to his side just as any good submissive would.

My body shook for a reason unknown to me and I tried desperately to stop it. Yes, my Master was rather rough with me at times, but I do not think he was going to hurt me now, there was no reason to be shaking.

I don’t dare look at his face as I approach him. I want to see if he is angry or not, but I do not want to be hit for looking at him.

On second thought... He is probably angry. He usually is.

Master pulls me into his lap, his rough hands holding my hip to him. “But you’re not completely useless though. You do cook good. Don’t you?” He asks, making me nod.

My heart flutters with butterfly and I swoon as he kisses my check and pats my bottom, silently telling me to get off his lap. “Get us more beer,” he commands and I nod.

“Yes, Master,” I reply in obedience, scurrying into the kitchen to get more beer for my Master and his guests.


I hear Master bid the last of his friends goodbye from my room. A mix between relief and anxiousness flood me, knowing tonight will probably not be a good one.

I gulp hard and try to think of anything I could do so playtime wouldn’t be as bad tonight.

I don’t have much time to think though because I heard Master coming down the stairs to the basement for our playtime.

When Master comes into my room, I sit stoically on my knees by the door.

I try to convince myself he would be gentle this time, but it didn’t help when the back of his hand roughly met my cheek. I bit the inside of my mouth trying to stop myself from crying out.

Grabbing my chin, he yanks my head up towards him. I advert my eyes to anywhere besides his and he notices because he strokes my cheek gently with the same hand he had hit me. “You can look at me, honey,” he taunts, teasing me as he squats, making me shake even more than I already am.

I know better than to trust his words. Like many times before, if I made eye contact with him, he would punish me. Master chuckles lightly and stands, making his way over towards the punishment wall.

I want to cry and beg him not to punish me, but I know I deserve what he will do to me. My hand still burns from touching the stove, but it is the least of my worries as Master grabs a leather belt off of the wall.

He taunts me with it, snapping it in the air a few times before examining it. He knows I’m paying attention to his every move. He lives to tease me, make me hang onto every word and action.

I squeeze my eyes tight, trying to put myself somewhere else. “Come over here, Leah,” he calls me, pointing to the floor in front of him.

Tears fall now at the sound of my name. He never uses my name unless he was going to beat me harshly.

I crawl over to him and sit back on my haunches, waiting for more of his directions. “Clothes off too,” he commands, flicking my baggy clothes.

I nod, knowing my only option was obedience. More tears slip down my checks I see him move behind me with the belt in hand.

His belt buckle jangles as he raises it above him and I cower into myself as it swishes through the air to come down onto me.

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