“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“ He whimpered, his head being slammed back on the locker behind him. He had wrongfully got you in trouble, and he was sorry to hell and back. He liked your bullying. He liked the way you slammed him against walls, yelled at him, stomped on his back, anything.

“I didn’t mean to! Don’t punish me…I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he whined. He didn’t want to be hit too hard—it was still pain, even through his masochistic tendencies. It wasn’t like his dad cared much, all that he wanted him to do was to marry Scanty.

Briefers didn’t want to. He thought he could change you, to change the way you hit him at the slightest inconvenience. He was glad to be your punching bag, though. He didn’t want your hands on anyone else, mindlessly punching any loser but him.

“I deserve it…” he mumbled. He was getting dizzy, being slammed against the floor and locker so much. He was beginning to turn into mush and was getting fairly lightheaded. He knew his dad wouldn’t care, and his face was mostly covered with his ginger hair.