"Enough," he said with an edge to his voice, enough to get me to stop. Then he reached for my backpack, which wasn’t fully secured, just thrown casually over my right shoulder. I backed up, blocking him.
"What the fuck?"
He let out a growl at my inability to control the use of my f-bombs. “You’re this close to a mouth soaping.” He stuck his thumb and forefinger up in warning, showing me exactly how much more I needed to push before earning a childish punishment. Then he held out his hand for my backpack. "You've already proven that I cannot trust you to not bring contraband into this apartment, so I will be searching your belongings."
I let out a laugh. "This ain't the fuckin’ airport, bro. You don't have the right to look through my shit."
Izaak's sigh was so powerful that I could feel his breath, which made me giggle. And then he dragged me to the bathroom, causing my backpack to slide off my shoulder and land in the middle of the entryway. I ignored it for now, because we had bigger problems than Izaak’s insistence on searching my bag. “C’mon, you can’t expect me to change my whole manner of speaking.”
He didn’t say anything at first, just reached inside the closet and pulled out a new bar of soap. Then he turned back to me. "Under this roof, we communicate respectfully.”
“Whatever,” I said with an eyeroll.
Keeping his eyes on me, he tore off the wrapper, then turned the knob on the sink, rinsing the fresh bar of soap. My heart pounded against my chest, realizing that he was seriously going to do this. Literally no one had ever even suggested this punishment before, and I had no idea how I felt about it.
Izaak squeezed my cheeks so my mouth opened. "I have no problem washing your mouth out every time an obscene word comes out. Then you will learn quickly how to speak like a proper young lady."
"I don't wanna–" I began, unable to fully form words because his grip was too strong, and then he shoved the bitter white bar between my lips. I gagged at the disgusting taste, trying to speak (“Bro, what the fuck!”) but only muffled sounds and bubbles coming out.
Izaak rubbed the soap over my tongue a couple of times, then pushed the bar inside, letting go of my cheeks finally, and pushing my chin up, so that my mouth clamped down and kept the soap in. "Regardless of if you ‘wanna,’ you will be respectful while you’re here," he said, face strict serious, though inside I knew he was smiling, proud of himself for (literally) shutting me up. Then he directed me to the corner of the living room, ignoring the fact that soapy drool was running down the lower half of my face. “You’ll stand there while I search your backpack, and then you can rinse.”
Soap may have been the worst punishment for me because I couldn’t talk back! And Izaak knew that, which is why he’d done it so quickly after I came in. What he didn’t know, though, was that I wasn’t scared of him, and had no problem spitting the bar out into my hands to speak when needed. “Yo, I didn’t give you permission for that!" I gagged again, not realizing how awful talking would be with the disgusting white froth dancing around every crevice of my mouth. It was now dripping to the floor, which I’m sure Izaak wasn’t happy about, given the pristine condition of his apartment.
"You agreed to live under my rules this weekend,” he said matter-of-factly. “Backing out already?"
"That didn't include treatin' me like a criminal."
"'No limits,' you said. 'If I can’t handle it, I’ll leave and you win.'" He paused, stepping closer. "Or are you already admitting defeat in the first two minutes?"
I grumbled and rolled my eyes. "Fine." Then he pushed the soap back into my mouth and turned me around to face the corner. I wiped my hands on my jeans to get rid of the sticky, slobbery suds, just in time for Izaak to move my hands to rest on the top of my head.
Ignoring the gross taste in my mouth, and the boring look of his walls, I focused on what I could hear happening behind me. The zippers jingled as he picked my backpack up, then immediately ripped it open. I imagined him digging through my clothes, taking out each item and fucking up my folding job. The image in my mind caused me to grumble from my spot in the corner, ready to stop him, but controlling myself because I just wanted to rinse my mouth out already.
I peeked back at him in time to find him going for the tiny zipper in the front of my backpack. I almost jumped in to stop him, but I was too late – he’d found my new pack of cigarettes and lighter.
He glanced at me with his eyebrows raised, then confiscated them from my bag, checking the final pocket before shoving everything back in and zipping it back up. Then he looked at me, still holding my cigarettes and the vape pen in hand. “These are mine for the weekend.”
My eyebrows narrowed, and my inner voice wanted to make a smartass comment (“you wanna hog it all for yourself?”).
He set my vices on the bookshelf, instructing Clo to take my backpack to his bedroom before turning back towards me. “Have you learned your lesson about what type of language to use this weekend?”
I wanted to spit at him, but knew that would end badly, so just submissively nodded. He seemed satisfied with that response, taking my elbow in hand and leading me back to the bathroom. He plucked the soap from my mouth, turning on the water and rinsing the bar, then sitting it on the previously empty soap dish. Before letting me rinse, he gave a final warning. “I will use this any time you are disrespectful, understood?”
“Yesh,” I spat, seeing my reflection in the mirror – white suds all around my mouth, nose scrunched up, tongue half out.
From his eyes, I could tell Izaak was amused, but he was stellar at keeping his composure. “Yes, what?”
I gave an eyeroll and he moved towards the soap again, so I quickly said, “Yesh, Sir!”
“Much better.” He turned on the faucet. “Rinse.”
He stood next to me as I scooped up water into my mouth, swishing it around before spitting it out, then repeating the process a million more times because that fucking taste just wouldn’t go away. I was on number one-million-and-one when Izaak grabbed my upper arm and turned the faucet off. “You’re fine,” he said, taking no pity, despite my continued disgusted face.
Back in the living room, Izaak stood in front of me and gave another command: “Arms out, legs apart.”
I blinked, and it took a minute before I caught on. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna strip search me now? You really are a sadist.”
There was no response, he just stared me down patiently, probably waiting for me to crack.
Grumbling, I folded my arms. “Seriously?! You already got my smokes, what the f… I mean, what else do you think I have?”
“Obey my instruction. Now.”
Rolling my eyes, I finally did as told. He stepped forward, patting me down. Not gonna lie, I thought it’d at least be sexier, but it was as bland as if he were a TSA agent who had seen something on the x-ray scanner. Then he checked my side pockets, finding nothing, and turned me around. I felt my phone slide out of my back pocket, then he roughly checked in under it, and also the other back pocket, finding nothing.
When he finished, turning me back around, I couldn’t help it. “Next time at least buy me dinner first.”
He jerked me forward and turned me to the side, planting a hearty SWAT! right on the center of my bottom. I yelped playfully, hands instantly flying back to protect my butt from receiving anymore and glared up at him. He didn’t say anything, but I could hear him loud and clear from his expression: say more and see what happens!
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