beat down | jackson & rowan
To say the past weekend had been less than ideal was an understatement of epic proportions. Where Rowan had been able to avoid these group punishments in the past as a Mistress, she no longer had such luck. She wasn’t sure which day had been worse - being the one punished or being the one doing the punishing. Probably the latter. There was no guilt to carry when it came to being hurt, having lashes to your bare skin as you stood helpless. But being the one to hurt? It was a mind fuck, regardless of the fact that they’d been compelled to do it.
She’d been in her cell trying to unwrap all of it when a familiar face passed the bars, quickly standing to see how her friend was doing. Knowing Jackson, he was probably looking for something to numb it all. She’d tell him it was no use, but she wasn’t about to preach at him. “Hey,” she murmured, reaching out to give his forearm a squeeze. “How are you holding up?”
@owen-jackson