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The Gentleman's Club	By : BrittGirl Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Panic! At The Disco Views: 4325 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, I do not own/or know any of the celebrities mentioned. I do not make a profit from this story, it is merely for entertainment's sake.

Chapter List
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--++-- Thanks for the reviews you guys! --++--
This chapter will contain some harsh themes, so be warned. Still don’t own Pete, still wish I did.

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“Get up.”

Words penetrated Emily’s mind, but they were hazy and unclear. Her eyelids dragged open lazily, revealing a slightly blurry figure staring down at her. A moment later, she flew up, her body upright as she rubbed at her eyes with both hands to clear the sleep from them. The same moment she’d sat up, Pete had slammed his fist against the alarm clock to stop it’s incessant beeping. Emily knew she was in trouble before he even said anything but there was no apology. Apologizing was what weak people did. Emily wasn’t weak.

“What were you supposed to do today, Emily Marie?” Pete sounded like a father, not hers, but what she imagined one would sound like if they were scolding a child. Emily didn’t respond. It infuriated Pete when she did that, she knew it, but continued anyway. It was better when he was angry with her, because then her punishments were merely physical. But when he was happy with her, her mind tricked her into thinking things that she didn’t want to think. Therapists would later call it a classic case of Stockholm’s Syndrome, Pete had begun to get into her head and make her feel like she had some sort of sick bond to him. And in honesty, she did. Because despite the things that Pete put her through, the punishments, the beatings, the verbal assaults, the thin, silver bracelet around her ankle that held the tracking device that kept her from escape, he gave her a better life. He put her in his beautiful home, he talked to her, he took her away from the hardness of the streets, gave her a family, almost. She was fed, allowed to shower, slept in his room beside him at night. Yes, the bad times greatly outweighed the good, but for some reason, those good times were all she had to cling to in hopes of him perhaps realizing what he was doing was wrong, to let her go.

It wouldn’t ever happen.

Pete took her silence as defiance and grasped a handful of her curls, fisting the silky locks between his fingers as he dragged her closer to him, forcing her to stand beside his body. She was still tired, but he was alerting every sense in her body connected to pain and quickly she was awake and standing in front of him. “Go shower, fucking slut…I’ll deal with you when you’re clean.”

He shoved her in the direction of the master bathroom and she did as she was told for once, wanting to feel the warm water wrapped around her body. If nothing else, it’d give her a moment to herself, a moment to awaken, and a moment to feel refreshed before his hand guided her from what she had done wrong as it had many times before. Her scraps of clothing, some flimsy lace things Pete repeatedly bought for her then tore apart, were discarded to the bathroom floor as she turned on the steamy water and stepped into her sanctuary.

The water provided relief, but her heart was tugging with dread for what might befall her later. When she finally stepped out, smelling of apples and lotion, the towel wrapped around her body, she found two items on their bed. A pair of black, cotton boy short style panties and a wooden-backed hairbrush. There was little to misinterpret what the punishment would entail, but that was generally how it went and she wasn’t surprised. Minor infractions--sleeping in, forgetting to do something he asked-- were dealt with in childish ways, spankings or scoldings, being locked in their room or given extra chores. Bigger infractions-- arguing, outright defiance, intentionally pissing him off-- were dealt with much more harshly, in forms of beatings, torture, rape.

Emily was almost relieved to see the hairbrush sitting there when it came down to it all.

Dressing in the little panties, a routine she knew well, Emily placed herself in the corner and waited for his return, squirming a bit at the thought of what was going to come. She waited for a good fifteen minutes, “her thinking time,” before she felt his presence in the room again. Her body tightened, her hands clenched to fists at her sides as she waited for his inevitable order. Suddenly, just a spanking didn’t seem like ‘just a spanking.’ It felt like torture. She didn’t want it and she didn’t want to comply with what he ordered, but she was afraid to voice that defiance. Because a punishment on top of a punishment didn’t seem like a better idea.

Pete, on the other hand, thrived on the sight that greeted him when he opened the door to his bedroom once more. She was such a perfect little thing, so beautiful standing there with her face pressed into the corner, a little bit of her perfect ass peeking out of the scrap of cotton. He craved the control, the dominance, the power that it gave him to have a girl like her in his grasp. She fought him, and he loved it. Her spirit would break eventually, but it had been three months since he’d taken her and she was still as fiery as ever. He liked these punishments because they were slow, but effective. Humiliating. Nothing could ever beat the power that he had when she was across his lap, being spanked like a child. The feel of his palm against her cheek, the way his fingers would sting after holding her too tightly. The tears were his weakness, but also his strength. He reveled in them.

“Come here.”

She turned to him slowly, hesitantly approaching his side at the beckon of his finger. He had sat himself on the edge of the bed, his tight jeans adjusted to keep him comfortable, his hoodie removed because punishing her tended to be a workout. When he flew into rages, it mattered little what he wore, but when he had time to plan and stew, clothing could be the most important thing on his mind. Like everything else in his life, Pete also had to control this. And this was something he could control.

Control was everything.
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