A Dom is for Life

by Ashe Barker

  Trevor is closer. He reaches them seconds before I do, just as they are opening the boot to put the buggy inside. The woman has taken the baby out of the pushchair and is holding him in her arms. He appears to be asleep, probably a good thing, considering.

  “Excuse me,” Trevor begins. “Can I have a word, please?”

  The man turns, startled. “We’re in a hurry.”

  I reach the pair. Between us, Trevor and I are blocking their access to the front seats of the car. These two are going nowhere.

  Trevor continues, polite but firm. “Nevertheless, we will require you both to accompany us to the management suite. Now.”

  “But we’ve finished our shopping,” the woman says, an expression of mounting panic on her face. “And…my baby is hungry. I need to get him home to feed him.”

  “Did you not bring anything with you? Some milk, maybe. Perhaps a Rusk?” Trevor enquires.

  Apart from the buggy, there is no additional baby paraphernalia. Trevor points out that they seem to have no bottles, nappies, baby wipes. The proud father of three and grandfather to several more, I bow to Trevor’s greater knowledge regarding the sort of baggage parents normally haul about with them when they take their offspring shopping.

  “We only nipped out for a few minutes,” the man replies. “We didn’t think we’d need anything.”

  “Your baby doesn’t seem hungry,” I observe as Trevor takes the man by the elbow. “Give him to me, madam.”

  “I will not. You…you’ll scare him.” She clutches the child closer, and at that moment we all hear the first whines of police sirens.

  The pair exchange panicked looks. The woman tries to shove past me in her attempt to get into the car. “George is hungry. I told you, he needs his feed…”

  Of course, I don’t budge an inch. “George? Is that your baby’s name?” I ask.

  “Yes. George.”

  “It’s just that it says Daniel on the blanket,” I reply, plucking the pale-blue fluffy cover from the boot.

  Not overwhelming evidence, even if it were true, but enough to send the woman into a fit of hysteria. She thrusts the child at me and starts to run across the car park, clearly intent upon saving her own neck and letting her partner fend for himself.

  I let her go. The police will apprehend her soon enough, and she can’t get far in any case, not with the whole centre locked down. As for the man, Trevor is more than a match for him. By the time the first police car swerves to a halt next to us, he’s bent over the roof of the Mazda, sobbing.

  “You were on the news again today.”

  I keep my hands on the wheel and glance across the car at Libby. “Oh?”

  “That woman, the one whose baby you saved, she did an interview. She’s called Janie Proctor, apparently.”

  I give a non-committal grunt. I don’t know about ‘saved’. I doubt if baby Daniel was in any danger, exactly, but there’s no point mentioning that. Libby thinks I’m a hero, and I have no objection if she wants to cling to that notion.

  “Janie thinks you’re wonderful,” Libby goes on. “She thinks you should get a pay rise, and a medal. And maybe an OBE if there’s one going spare.”

  “I told her at the time, I was just doing my job.”

  “But you knew it had happened even before she did.”

  Attention to detail, noticing everything, even the most insignificant trivia, has become second nature to me. It’s probably what kept me alive when I was in Afghanistan. It was just good luck that I happened to get stuck behind that particular little family that morning and noticed the seriously horrible colour of the buggy. It was that and that alone that caught my attention in the crowded food hall, and the fact that Poppy wasn’t trotting alongside.

  “We got lucky, but we’d have caught them anyway. As soon as Janie started screaming, I would have locked down the centre.”

  “I suppose. But it must have been exciting.”

  I consider that. Maybe it was exciting, briefly. Mostly, though, it was just people who knew their job doing it well. I may be sharp-eyed, but I also train my staff well, promote the best, and reward where it’s due. I’m not a fan of exciting. Exciting is unpredictable and dangerous. I prefer the certainty of routine. That’s where the real satisfaction comes from. A well-oiled machine.

  Libby isn’t done yet. “In the interview, Janie said they let that woman out on bail. She seemed to think she might try again.”

  “I doubt that.”

  It turns out the suspect, one Christina Kelly, lost her own baby two months ago. The little boy was just twelve weeks old, a cot death. Ms Kelly, recently separated from her partner, was already suffering from post-natal depression and simply lost her grip on reality for a while, crushed by the grief and guilt. She convinced herself that she should have a baby, that she was a good mother and deserved a child. Because Janie and Poppy were dressed in fairly shabby clothes, and the buggy was a mess, quite frankly, Christina convinced herself, and her rather impressionable younger brother, that it was best for the baby to be with her. She could give him a better life and so on. It was all concocted on the spur of the moment. They went shopping intending to buy bedding for the brother’s new flat, of all things. Christina happened to spot Janie and her brood in the food court and went from there. So, that was her plan, or lack of. It made perfect sense in her confused, miserable world.

  I’m told the doctors have done wonders. I gather she’s on meds now and should be fine soon. Personally, I doubt the matter will ever reach a court, let alone a conviction.

  I signal to turn left into the business park and pull up outside Heidi’s. Time to change the subject. “Are you sure about this demo?” I ask. “I’m sure Pru could—”

  “Pru has Michele with her this evening, as her guest.”

  “She still has to work,” I point out.

  “I want to do it. I think.”

  I’m glad to hear that. Personally, I’d much rather do this evening’s spanking demonstration with Libby, and I suspect the audience will enjoy it, too. It will be authentic, edgy. I was surprised and delighted when she offered.

  “Okay, then. We’re due on in half an hour. Will you be getting changed?”

  “You said a thong would be okay. I don’t want to be bare in front of everyone.”

  “A thong is fine. The audience will enjoy seeing your arse cheeks, and the marks I’ll leave, but they don’t need to see your pussy.” Any more than I want them to see her. Libby is mine. “And you can keep your top on as well if you like.”

  Libby nods. “I’ll just remove my skirt, then. When it’s time.”

  Chapter 14

  Libby

  I have seriously mixed feelings as I walk out onto the dungeon floor, Josh at my side. The assembled clientele part to let us through, then follow us in a polite little gaggle as we make our way to the small stage which has been set up at the end of the playroom. On it, in pride of place, is a spanking bench, carefully angled to present my bottom to the crowd.

  Everyone gets a good view, here at Heidi’s.

  “You can still back out,” Josh murmurs.

  I shake my head. “No.” Dread and exhilaration churn within me, a heady concoction. I’m scared, but I wouldn’t miss this for the world.

  It’s not the spanking that bothers me. Since our reunion, Josh has spanked me so many times I’ve lost count, but each time is better than the last. We’ve scened here, at the club, both in the private rooms and in the communal dungeon, so I’m used to having others around, watching. But never on quite this scale.

  This time, my spanking has been advertised. People have come here this evening especially to watch. It is to take place on a stage, under a spotlight. Every quiver and clench of my buttocks will be there, in lurid detail, for our kinkster friends to admire, to envy, and, perhaps, to emulate afterwards.

  And it’s to be a proper spanking. The works.

  “I’ll start with my hand, to get you warmed up,” Josh explained when we started to pl
an this. “Then I’ll move on to a paddle. I’ll be talking to the audience, explaining what’s happening, but I’ll talk to you, too. I’ll need to keep checking in, and you have to tell me if you’re not okay. No false bravado, and no playing to the gallery. If it’s getting to be too much, tell me. I can dial it back without spoiling the show.”

  “I’ll be fine. I trust you.”

  He kissed me. “I know that. After the paddle, and depending on how it seems to be going, I think a few strokes with a tawse will round it all off nicely.”

  “A tawse?” I winced. “Those little buggers pack a serious punch.”

  “I know. And so will the audience. It’ll be a great finale, if you’re up for that.”

  I’d nodded, and our plans were in place.

  Now, it’s time to carry them out.

  Josh assists me up the three steps onto the stage. I’m wearing a tight black leather corset, a matching leather skirt which only just covers the cheeks of my bum, stockings, and black stilettos. As Josh outlines our scene for the benefit of the newbies in the audience who may not be clear on what to expect, I strut around the stage, circling the spanking bench and smiling at those who have come to watch.

  Both Josh and I are bathed in light, but the surrounding floorspace is a pool of inky blackness. I know they are there, several dozen at least, but I shall be spared the need to acknowledge the presence of anyone else while I’m being spanked.

  I’m relieved. That would have been too intimate. I can let myself believe this is just between me and Josh. He will be the only person I am aware of. His hands alone will be on my body.

  “Libby? Are you ready?”

  Josh offers me his hand. I take it and step into his arms. He kisses me, then gives me a quick wink as he steps back. It’s my cue to lose the skirt.

  I unsnap the poppers down the side and peel it away. Josh takes the garment from me and passes it to someone just off-stage. Heidi, I suspect. Then, he gestures to me that I should assume the required position on the spanking bench.

  It’s a piece of equipment not unlike the vaulting horses I remember from school. The top is padded in a soft, buttery leather. It’s warm to the touch, and very comfortable against my skin. The straps and buckles which are to secure my wrists and ankles are equally supple and light. Normally, Josh wouldn’t need to restrain me for a spanking, but this is for show and it looks good. Finally, he draws the waist strap around my middle and buckles that up. I am immobilised, apart from my head.

  Josh takes a moment to inspect my thong and adjusts the position slightly. My pussy is covered, just barely, and the thread is tucked between my buttocks to conceal it and to leave the globes of pale flesh vulnerable.

  He turns to face the audience again. “From here…” he lays his hand on the upper curve of my bottom, “to here…” He taps a spot on my thigh a few inches above my knee. “This is the spanking zone. Nice and fleshy, and no delicate internal organs to potentially injure. It’s best to warm the skin up a bit first, bring the blood to the surface. This helps to avoid bruising and can prolong the experience. So, I start with my hand, slightly cupped…” He lifts it to show the position… “then I spread the spanks out. Top, bottom, left, right. Left thigh, right thigh. Repeat.” He performs the actions while he is speaking, and soon my bottom is warming under his experienced touch.

  “See? Nice and pink. We can get her lovely bottom a little darker still, though, with Libby’s permission, of course?”

  He leans over to catch my gaze with his.

  I nod. The overt consent thing is a key part of the demo.

  The spanking continues, still fairly light though gathering in strength. My skin is becoming really sore now, the heat rising as he covers my bottom again and again. I let out a small grunt when one stroke seems especially severe.

  Josh pauses to address the audience again. “She’s starting to wriggle a bit, a sign that she is probably ready to move on. At this stage, the submissive is sore but not in serious discomfort. Is that right, Libby?”

  Again, I nod.

  “A female sub will often be wet by now. If you’re on sufficiently intimate terms, you might like to check, though I must stress the absolute requirement to seek permission before touching.” He crouches beside me. “May I?”

  “Just you,” I reply.

  “Of course.” He kisses my mouth, then returns to the business end of the bench. His fingers slide beneath my thong to caress my pussy. He draws them away, then presents them to me. “Sloppy sub,” he teases, his voice gentle. “You’re drenched.”

  I manage a smile, but that soon fades when he turns to the audience and holds out his other hand. Someone passes him a paddle.

  It’s made of wood, with holes drilled in it. The holes reduce wind resistance and allow for a harder, faster swing, though the force of the blow is ultimately a matter for the Dom to determine. Josh could reduce me to blubbering my safe word within three strokes if he chose to, but I know that won’t happen. He won’t be hitting me as hard as he could, just as much as he thinks I can take.

  Josh briefly speaks to the audience again. “Remember, the fleshy parts are where you should concentrate. This is a heavy implement. It delivers a powerful punch and is not for the inexperienced. Don’t forget the four quadrants on her arse? Upper, lower, left, and right. Aim to drop each spank in one of those and share them around evenly. Don’t necessarily go in the same order. It’s good for a sub to not know what’s coming next, or exactly where. And…always listen for safe words.”

  He lands the first stroke on the upper curve of my left buttock, and the breath rushes from my lungs.

  Jesus, that hurts!

  He shifts slightly and swings again. This time, he connects with the lower curve on the same side.

  I’m more ready for it, but still, I let out a gasp.

  Josh moves on, bringing the paddle down twice my right buttock, first the upper curve, then the lower.

  I grit my teeth, then loosen up as the familiar rush of endorphins flood my body. The pain is not diminished even slightly, but I am somehow less closely connected to it, as though all of this is happening to someone else.

  “You okay, Libby?” Josh pauses to crouch down on his haunches beside me. He pushes a mass of hair from my face. “You’re crying.” He wipes my eyes with his thumb.

  “I… I’m good. Truly,” I manage to croak.

  “Your arse is glowing, sweetheart, and these guys are loving it. A couple more rounds with the paddle, yes.? Then the tawse.”

  I nod again, but Josh requires me to say the words.

  “I’m fine. Let’s continue.”

  He proceeds to drop spank after spank, covering every inch of my bottom with white heat. I can no longer remain still. I’m writhing against the bench, hurting but at the same time, relishing the purity of the sensation. Pain has cleansing properties, difficult to articulate but powerful nonetheless. Physically, I am right here, in the moment with Josh, but my mind is wandering. I can’t manage to focus on the now or control my drifting thoughts.

  I’m present. I can feel every heavy thud of the paddle on my skin, but it’s as though I’m watching the action from somewhere up near the rafters.

  He crouches beside me again. “Libby, can you hear me?”

  Can I? Yes, probably.

  “Libby?”

  I open my eyes. He looks sort of hazy, distorted. I blink, try in vain to focus. I want to please him…

  “Do we continue?” he asks me, gently.

  I frown. What does that have to do with me? I open my mouth, but no words come out.

  “I see.”

  Josh straightens and speaks again, though I think not to me this time. His words make no sense anyway. He talks of a slight change of plan, and of subspace…

  The spanking resumes, but not so hard this time. Hard enough, though. I cease trying to make sense of anything and simply…be. I sink into the sensation. Peace and quiet envelop me, like an old familiar blanket. I am suspended,
feeling yet not feeling, weightless, suspended in a beautiful place of my own making.

  The heat recedes. A voice is close by, murmuring. A hand, palming my bottom, gentle but firm. It hurts, and I want to come.

  I am truly floating now. And, somehow, I know that the blanket around my shoulders is real. I snuggle in, relaxing as Josh enfolds me in his arms and carries me from the stage.

  Is someone clapping? I wonder why? I close my eyes, my ears, all my senses, and drift away again.

  I wake up to semi-darkness. For a few brief moments I can’t remember where I am or what is happening, then it rushes back at me.

  The dungeon.

  The demo.

  Josh spanking me. People watching…

  But around me now is silence. There are no admiring glances, no rapt audience, no caress of pillowy leather against my stomach.

  “You’re back.”

  The voice is soft and low, and achingly familiar. I blink, and he shimmers into focus.

  “Josh?”

  “I’m here. Take your time, sweetheart.”

  “What happened? The show…?”

  “Went down a storm. You were great.”

  “I don’t remember…? Where are we now?” Not the dungeon, certainly.

  “Upstairs. I thought you might appreciate a bit of peace and quiet.”

  My senses are returning fast. I sit up, gingerly, taking care not to put too much weight on my punished bottom.

  “Christ. My arse is on fire,” I mutter.

  He smiles at me as he helps me to arrange myself in some semblance of comfort. “You were magnificent. Very impressive.”

  “Thank you, I think. How come I can’t remember anything after…?”

  After what? The last conscious memory I have is of Josh telling me something about switching to the tawse, but I don’t recall if he used it or not.

  “You drifted off into subspace. You were totally out of it for a while back there.” He sweeps my hair from my face. “Did it feel good?”

  I swallow, Hard. Did it? I’ve experienced subspace before, or thought I had. But nothing quite like that. On those previous occasions it was just a brief sensation of disorientation, a deadening of my senses, but I was always aware of my surroundings.