Weeping Willow (Spanking Story)

Chapter 3, Part 2: Owen's POV

So, that whole not caring thing? Yeah, it kind of wore off the moment I was around the door from Peskova's classroom. I wasn't really sure what to do at this point. There wasn't much of the period left, so I didn't have time to go back to my dorm and chill (chill meaning bite my nails to the bits in anticipation). The best thing to do would be to go to Dana's class early and tell him the news now before they wondered why I was late home, but I wasn't really feeling all that buddy-buddy with him right now, and this would only further his image of me as a 'juvenile delinquent'. Besides, I had Ben for fourth period, and could spill to him if the guilt was too much—yeah right. In the end, I decided to wander the halls, maybe find another freshman to lock in the bathroom.

It turned out to be the wrong decision.

I'd forgotten that there was a certain someone that was notorious for wandering the halls—a certain someone I'd come to know very well: Dylan Peters.

The brute was currently hunched over the water fountain, puckered lips practically making out with the spout. Disgusting. By the time my squeaky trainers had warned him of my approach, it was too late to slink away unnoticed.

I wondered why I hadn't spent more time writing my will.

My former business partner did a double take, almost as if to confirm it was me and not some inconsequential underclassman. He stood, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand, and began a slow saunter in my direction, like a lion that's eyed its evening meal.

My back hit the wall of lockers, and, suddenly, I had absolutely no where to go.

"Kherrington," Dylan addressed bluntly, stopping about a foot away from me. I swore he could hear my pounding heart.

"Peters," I returned, resisting to the urge to tack on a 'sir' or 'master' at the end. This guy seriously made me want to shit bricks.

"What've you been up to? I haven't seen you since..." he trailed off. "Anyways, I've been needing to talk to you."

"About what?" My voice didn't break. It didn't.

"Well, the fucking flake, Riley, never kept up the end of his deal. The little shit transferred this semester, fucking traitor."

What? Riley had transferred? How had I not known? Oh, right. I had ditched that crowd and hadn't seen hide nor hair of them since the night of the dance. Good riddance, in my opinion.

"Sorry?" I responded, voice lilting into a question. What did this have to do with me?

I had a feeling I didn't want to know.

"I don't fucking care if you're sorry or not, Kherrington. You at least kept your end of the deal and got me those answer keys. But your little friend fucked it up for you, because I still don't have my money."

"Listen man, I don't have any money—" I began.

I winced as I felt my back slammed into the medal lockers, head bouncing off painfully a second later. I groaned, clutching the back of my head and already feeling a bump.

"Don't tell me to listen, fucker; YOU listen. You're gonna get me my money or I'm gonna throw your life away. I've got ways of making sure you'll go to jail for life. You got me?"

My head spun with pain and pure terror, and I couldn't even begin to come up with a semblance of an answer. The gravity of what he was telling me was slowly sinking in.

"I've got a deal coming up this weekend. You're gonna work for free until I see double the money you owed me," Dylan growled, getting unnecessarily close.