by Ashe Barker
“It makes perfect sense.”
He pushes himself to his feet and steps forward. Standing before me, he grasps a handful of my hair and tilts my head back. He doesn’t pull quite hard enough to hurt, but I know I shouldn’t resist. His face is inches from mine, the deep brown of his eyes gleaming. I’m mesmerised, could not look away if I wanted to. His expression is stern, intense, and utterly sexy. My stomach is doing cartwheels and my knickers are disgracefully wet too. I open my mouth to speak, but he stops me with one arched eyebrow. It seems he has more to say.
“I made my terms clear earlier. I want you as my submissive. I’ll teach you, train you. I’ll help you. I’ll take care of you. You’ll come to no harm with me. For my part I expect you to obey me, to be honest with me, always. I demand respect and courtesy, and you can expect the same from me. I’ll make the rules, we’ll discuss them, but once you accept there’s no going back. I will enforce those rules, and I’ll punish you when I need to. That discipline will be physical, and it will hurt. So, those are my terms. What are yours?”
I hold his gaze as his grip tightens in my hair. I draw in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t let up. Neither does he rush me. I have time to consider my answer.
“Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Will you be kind to me?”
“Of course.” He narrows his eyes, his expression warming marginally.
“And gentle?”
His jaw flexes, and those gorgeous chocolate-coloured eyes gleam, like hard, polished mahogany. He cups my chin in his free hand. His fingertips trace a light pattern across my cheek. “I’ll never treat you roughly. I’ll never push you around or use any form of force. And I’ll never do anything to you without your consent. Will that do?”
I close my eyes as I tilt my face into his caress, uncaring about the discomfort in my scalp as his grip does not yield so much as a fraction. It’s not easy to remain focused as he takes over my senses.
“Yes. But even with all that, what if it’s too much?”
“It will never be too much. You’ll have safe words, but I hope you never feel the need to use them. I’ve had a lot of practice at this. I pay attention as a dom, and I tend to know when a sub’s had enough. You will learn to trust me.”
It’s the reference to his previous experience that brings my final, perhaps my only real demand into sharp focus. I draw in a breath. I have to tell him what I want, demand what matters most to me. This promise is what will set me apart from Caroline, and perhaps from all those other subs.
Ewan sees my hesitation. His eyes narrow again as he searches my features. “Go on.”
“From now on, it has to be only me. No other subs. I need you to promise me that.”
He lifts one eyebrow, seemingly surprised at this request. “Of course. I thought I’d made that clear, but if you need me to spell it out I will. I love you. Only you. We’re exclusive unless we both agree otherwise. Right?”
That is not quite the answer I was looking for, and I’m not convinced. “What do you mean, both agree otherwise? I don’t understand…”
“You will, in time. But you have my absolute word that there will be no other submissives. Is that acceptable to you?”
I meet and hold his gaze. “Yes.”
He cocks his head to one side. “I think you mean ‘Yes, sir.’”
“I apologise. Yes, sir.”
He releases his grip on my hair. Rather than relief though, my reaction is more one of abandonment. I want his hands on me, however he chooses to do that.
“Good. You learn fast. Your bottom will benefit greatly from that quality in the months to come. Now, do you have any further questions for me?”
“No, sir. At least, not right at this moment.”
“In that case I’d like you to go to my room, strip, and kneel on the floor at the foot of the bed. Take the cuffs and crop with you, please. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
The items in question are still in my hands. I stare at him. I knew this was coming, knew he would be using the crop on me this evening. Even so, the reality of it, the here and now of it, is daunting. Ewan steps away from me, back to the window. He resumes the position he was in when I entered the room, a lifetime ago.
He waits for ten, perhaps twenty seconds, then, “Faith, why are you still here?”
“Sorry. Sorry, sir.” I turn and scurry back out onto the landing.
* * *
In Ewan’s room I leave the door ajar and drop the crop and the cuffs onto the duvet cover before going over to the window to close the curtains. This is going to be hard enough; no need to be sharing the fun with the neighbours.
I look around me at the familiar furniture, the bits and pieces I’ve come to know well. I sleep in this room more often than in my own these days. My belongings are scattered on the dressing table, a bottle of perfume, earrings. A pair of my shoes is under the bed. I recall Caroline’s possessions, left behind in her room, and I find reassurance in that. I’m here, this is my space. No ghosts.
I make that two pairs of shoes discarded on the floor as I start to undress. I take my time, comfortable in the knowledge that he will know when I am ready. I won’t always be able to set the pace but on this first occasion… probably. I remove my blouse and jeans and fold those with care. I place them on a chair, and drop my underwear on top of the pile. Naked, I pick up the cuffs, wondering if I should put them on. Ewan gave me no such instructions so I place them back alongside the crop. I turn to face the door and drop to my knees.
Perhaps five minutes pass before Ewan comes into the room. He pushes the door open, steps inside, and closes it behind him with a gentle click. He leans back on it, watches me for several seconds.
“You are one seriously lovely woman, Faith. Have I mentioned that to you?”
I start to shake my head, uncertain if a response is required or not. Ewan steps forward to stand right in front of me. I tilt my head back to look up at him as he towers over me.
“I think I have, but I’ll let your lapse of memory go on this occasion. Tell me, Faith, how do you feel?”
“I feel fine, sir.”
“Faith—how do you feel? Tell me. What’s happening in your head right now?”
I pause to introspect. He clearly wants details and ‘fine’ won’t cut it. I draw in several deep breaths before I attempt another reply.
“I feel vulnerable, over-awed. You’re fully dressed, in a sharp and sexy business suit at that. I’m naked, kneeling at your feet. I feel small, and maybe a little scared.”
“Better answer. Are you scared of me?”
“Of course. You intend to punish me.”
“I do. You’ll scream and you’ll beg me to stop. And I will stop, but not until I’m satisfied you’ve learnt the lesson I need to teach you. Then I’ll hold you, and I’ll take care of you. And I’ll fuck you until you scream again. Is all that perfectly clear to you, Faith?”
“Yes, sir.” My voice is barely audible, but still he hears.
“Why are you being punished?”
“Because I went to a BDSM club.”
“No, not that. I have no objection to you frequenting BDSM clubs, though if you decide to repeat the adventure, in future you’ll go with me. Let me make this clear. You deserve to be punished because you kept your kink to yourself. You knew I would want to know, but you didn’t tell me. There may be a certain grey area to all this, because I wasn’t your dom at the time you initially kept this information from me. This is the reason you are looking at a fairly innocuous spanking crop rather than a more demanding implement. The next time you lie to me, be prepared to accept a caning. I suspect you’ll think twice before exposing yourself to another.”
The blood drains from my face as the stark reality of a disciplinary relationship sinks in. Ewan means business, as I’m shortly to experience.
He crouches in front of me, again cupping my chin. “Don’t look so stricken, F
aith. I would never do more to you than you can bear. This will soon be over, then we move on. What I have to offer you is intense, demanding, and painful. But pain can feel so good, and submission brings rewards far more often than it attracts punishment. You must know that, or you wouldn’t be here.”
I nod, wordless. I do know that. I remember the heady experience at Fairlawns, the exhilaration of the sharp sting of a paddle against my bottom. If an anonymous dom with a kind smile could draw out that response, how much more would I be aroused by this powerful dom who I already adore?
My pussy moistens still more by way of answer, as Ewan straightens. He picks up the cuffs.
“Your wrists, please.”
I lift my hands and he wraps a cuff around each wrist, buckling them in a snug fit. Then he clips one to the other, using fastenings attached to each. My wrists are restrained in front of me.
“Okay?” Ewan steps away, watching my reaction to being bound for the first time.
I manage a slight nod, unable to resist an experimental tug to test the cuffs. There’s no give at all, though they are not in the least uncomfortable. The leather is soft and supple. I suspect they have seen much use.
“Stand up, please, and lean over the arm of the sofa.” A two-seater leather sofa is tucked into an alcove. As I get to my feet, Ewan pulls it out into the room. It rolls easily across the floor, obviously on casters. Ewan gestures me to stand at one end. He reaches down the side of the cushion at the other end and flicks out a metal clip similar to that which now secures my wrists together. This is no ordinary sofa.
I do as instructed, leaning forward so that my stomach is balanced over the wide, solid arm. My feet are still on the floor, just.
“Stretch your arms out, please, so I can fasten this.”
Obedient, I reach across the sofa and allow Ewan to slot the fastener through a metal loop on one of my cuffs. I’m going nowhere now. Ewan gives my hands a quick tug, and slides his finger under each of the cuffs.
“Do these feel too tight?”
“No, sir.”
He nods, and seemingly satisfied returns to the bed to retrieve the crop. He drops it beside me on the seat of the sofa.
“I’ll warm you up first with my hand to help prevent bruising. This part will hurt too, but you can use it to help you get your head in the right place to cope with the crop. Then you’ll take twenty strokes. Just so you know what to expect, you’ll be screaming after the first three or four strokes, and you’ll no doubt beg me to stop. I won’t unless you use your safe word. For today a simple ‘halt’ will do. Use that exact word if you find what I’m doing intolerable and you have to stop. Do not use it lightly.” He pauses for a few moments, perhaps to let that information sink in.
I offer a brief nod to indicate I understand. And accept.
Ewan continues. “You’ll struggle, but you can’t get up or move to avoid the crop. You’ll hate what I’m doing to you. But you will survive it, and I’m confident you’ll find the spanking crop delivers a memorable lesson. Now, are you ready to start?”
“Yes.” No!
I hear the slight creak of the floor as he shifts his position, then I let out a shriek of surprise as the first spank lands. He said warm-up, so I anticipated something light, not unlike my spanking at Fairlawns. This is nothing of the sort. I wriggle and squirm as he rains sharp, stinging slaps across my bare buttocks, each stroke leaving a sizzling burn across my skin.
“Ow, Ewan, that hurts. Please…”
“Scream and sob if you have to, but unless it’s a safe word, I don’t want to hear anything else from you.” His tone is clipped and business-like, and he doesn’t let up one iota.
I’m clenching, squirming under the onslaught. My body struggles to endure the intensity of the spanking, whilst my head tells me this is only the first course. The main is yet to come, courtesy of that bloody crop.
“I’m warm. Ewan, please stop now.”
“Safe word or shut up. I’ll decide when you’re warmed up enough, and you’re nowhere near yet.” Despite his harsh words, he does relent enough to lift my hair from my face. I turn my teary gaze on him. “I know this hurts, but you will thank me for it tomorrow when your bum has nothing more to show than some red stripes. Trust me. Grit your teeth, and get it over with.”
I manage a tear-streaked nod, amazing myself that I’m actually prepared to go on with this.
It feels like forever, though in reality I suppose I lie there for just a couple more minutes as he administers a succession of intense, rapid slaps to my buttocks and the backs of my thighs. Ewan leaves no spot neglected, even turning me slightly in order to reach my hips on both sides. At some stage I give up any thoughts of protest, allowing my head to sink into some weird state of acceptance. I lie still, limp, as the blows continue and my bottom heats up from an uncomfortable burn to sheer, sizzling agony.
By the time Ewan straightens, satisfied with his work. I am whimpering, but even so I feel oddly relaxed. He lays the palm of his left—non-spanking—hand across my smarting skin, cool and comforting as he caresses my tender bum. I offer no protest, just a sigh as I quiver under his light touch.
“I think you’ll do. Your arse and thighs are a glorious shade of deep crimson. All over. And there’s plenty of heat coming off you.”
I can think of no sensible comment to make, so I remain silent.
“You could thank me for my efforts on your behalf.” His tone carries a hint of dry humour, but only the merest suggestion. I decide to take no chances.
“Thank you, sir. I’m grateful.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. Now, as it’s your first time and I expect you’ll find the whole thing somewhat of a challenge, I’m not going to ask you to count the strokes with the crop. You’d only lose count, then I’d have to start all over again. You’ll find this easier if you can manage not to clench your buttocks too much, allow the pain to sink in and just absorb it. Accept it and learn from it. Are you ready?”
“Yes, sir.” And I am, I truly am.
Despite my emotional and physical surrender to what is happening to me, I still let out a shrill scream as the first stroke lands, cruel and sharp across my flaming right buttock. I’m panting, shaking as I lie still and await the next. It is preceded by a whooshing sound as Ewan swings the crop, to land across my left side this time. I squeal again, the pain is blinding, but bearable still. I close my eyes, try to sink into the leather upholstery under me, my senses drifting as Ewan continues to apply the crop to my buttocks and thighs. Despite his assurance that I have no need to, I count anyway.
Five, six, seven… He is alternating between my buttocks, and as far as I can tell he is laying the blows in a slightly different position each time, managing not to hit the same spot twice. I wonder if that is deliberate, though I can’t imagine this beating could possibly hurt any more than it does.
Ten, eleven… oh, God, only just over halfway. I can’t see this through to the end. Disappointment assails me as I realise I will be using my safe word. I have to, I can’t bear this…
Without warning Ewan stops. He lays the crop back on the cushion and steps away. Moments later he is back at my side, this time with a small bottle of water. He unscrews the top and holds the neck to my lips.
“Take a few sips, love. Don’t try to move yet.”
I gulp the cool liquid down, my throat working to swallow. My mouth is dry, my tongue and lips parched, unable to form any response. I must have safe worded, though I can’t recall saying anything. I squeeze my eyes shut, my misery more connected to my failure to accept all of my punishment like a true submissive than to the searing pain now radiating across my tender bottom and thighs. How many did I manage? Will Ewan insist on delivering the remaining strokes? I start to weep in earnest at that prospect.
Ewan’s arms are around me. He lifts me from the sofa and turns to sit down himself, cradling me in his arms. My wrists are still bound but he must have released me from the r
estraints securing me to the sofa. I never saw or felt him do that.
His arms tighten around me, his lips are in my hair. His voice is low, sexy, so warm as he murmurs sweet nonsense to me. I curl around, my cuffed hands grasping at his shirt as I hang on to him like grim death. He is the one solid thing in a universe of pain, my yearning for his solid, comforting presence greater than my need for oxygen in that moment.
Ewan does not let me down. He holds me, naked, shaking, sobbing, cradled against his chest. He makes no attempt to soothe me or to disengage, just allows me to express my anguish, to pour it out onto him.
Long minutes pass, or maybe it is hours. I lose track of time as I cling to my anchor. At some point Ewan stands, still with me in his arms, and crosses to his bed. He lays me on it and stretches out alongside me. He strokes the tangled hair back from my ravaged face and kisses me, first my forehead, my eyes, my cheeks, then at last, my lips. It’s a chaste, gentle kiss, a kiss to reassure, to affirm.
“I love you.”
“I love you too. And I’m so sorry.”
“I know, love. It’s done with now.”
“I used my safe word. I didn’t want to, but…”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did. I tried to get to twenty, but it was too much.”
“I know. Enough’s enough. You didn’t safe word though. I stopped.”
“You stopped? Why? I mean, I thought you said…” I’m baffled. He was so definite that he would not stop, no matter how much I might plead and scream.
“I did. But I also told you that I hoped you’d never need to actually use your safe word, that I’d know before you reached that stage that you needed me to stop. Like I say, sweetheart, enough’s enough. Twenty strokes was always going to be too much for your first time.”
“You don’t mind? You’re not disappointed in me?” I can’t quite believe this. Perhaps there isn’t after all to be any continuation. Is it really over?
“Not disappointed, not in the least. I’m delighted with you. You’re a sexy and brave little sub, and now, I think, a suitably chastised one too. Am I right?”