Relish (The Cass Chronicles Book 2)

by Susannah Shannon

  She lowered her pajama bottoms. To her surprise, Killian helped her off of his lap. He led her to the couch at the end of the bed. Oh no. He had her kneel facing the back of the couch. He pressed against her shoulders and whispered at her to scooch up further. By doing so, her bottom crested at the edge of the bed and her knees did not quite reach the seat of the couch. She felt as vulnerable as a fish on a hook. Killian reached across her. She wasn't sure if he was going for the bath brush or the big paddle. She had limited experience with either of them, and would do anything to avoid furthering their acquaintance. He read her mind. "You made your choice when you didn't do what I asked. It was an easy thing. You could have done it like that." He snapped his fingers. " But you chose not to. Now you are going to yield to me while I punish you. Understood?"

  She nodded and miserably buried her face into the quilt. There was no point arguing that there was nothing remotely easy about actively participating in your own spanking. She had never really understood the expression 'discretion is the better part of valor'. It suddenly made tremendous sense. He chose the big paddle. He lay it against her backside and then it withdrew to immediately be followed by the splat of hard wood on tender flesh. She yelped. He took his time. He rubbed her back and whispered encouragement all the while slowly and forcefully paddling her bottom. There was zero hesitation on his part. He was punishing her. She was crying for real now, and more than once, Killian made her turn her face out of the mound of covers. She did need to make sure she could breathe the nice cool air as the soaked covers turned hot against her face. She was trying not to beg. She failed. She begged, pleaded and promised before he decided he was finished. She was relieved when the paddle was laid beside her.

  Her thankfulness was short lived. He was so close, breathing into her hair, that she almost couldn't make out his words at first. "Spread your legs, Cassandra."

  He helped her shimmy her PJ bottoms all the way off and then he pressed her right back down, chest flat on the mattress, blistered bottom sky high. She should be fond of that little wooden spatula. It had begun the succulent, scary and fulfilling journey she was on with her beloved man. Be that as it may, she could not muster up a single positive thought about it as she felt it press against her inner thigh. The vulnerable state she found herself in took her breath away. The spatula was an inch away from her wide open pussy. Her tension must have been conveyed to her master. He whispered reassurances, reminded her he'd never harm her. She took notice of the fact that he no longer said he'd never 'hurt' her. That ship had well and truly sailed, she thought to herself.

  It was a tiny little whap. One side then then other, short, concise little bee stings of torment. He had to use some of his weight to pin her down. Over and over and over, she was going to die of old age still getting this spanking. She felt terribly sorry for herself. She wasn't trying to fight him, but it was beyond her. She wished it was easier for her to surrender. She knew he wouldn't stop until she truly had, and she had to fight herself every single time.

  His hand was running over her flanks, soothing, exploring. "You are so beautiful, so very, very beautiful."

  She could sense the need in him, but as always, his self-restraint was maddening. She was grinding against his hand, on the verge of begging him to fuck her. He kissed the seashell of her ear, allowing her to work herself into a frenzy of wanting him. He was gentle, but demanding. She was aware of him spreading her bottom cheeks and pressing against her. His hand slid between her legs, slipping back and forth, wet with her juices. His fingers pressed into her bottom again, slippery this time and he worked around her tight little ring. He moved her hand between her parted legs. "Touch yourself," he commanded. She felt the plug press against her bottom hole and in spite of herself, she lurched away. Killian was having none of that. "Do. Not. Move," he ordered in a voice that moved through her chest like thunder. She was trying not to, really she was. He moved her hips back close to him and she tried to yield to it. It wasn't easy for her. The desire to submit didn't mean she was good at it. At times, it seemed that her body was betraying her at every turn.

  "Don't fight me, baby," he murmured. She had managed to control her hands while he had spanked her, but she didn't seem able to now. Killian caught her hand and twined his fingers through hers. He pinned it in the small of her back. "There's no part of you that isn't mine." He pressed his knee against the back of her thigh pushing her bottom even higher, making her even more vulnerable. She nodded, overcome.

  "Say it. Say it to me."

  She was gasping for air, her bottom was on fire and he was leaving her nothing to hide behind. "I can't," she whispered. He kissed her over and over. He slowly worked the plug against her tiny opening. He was gentle but insistent. He insisted she surrender herself. She felt herself open around it, and he captured her gasp in a deep kiss. The plug sank its length into her. His fingers worked over her pounding clit feverishly. She was scrabbling up against him. Alive with yearning. She suddenly could find the voice to say, "There is no part of me that doesn't belong to you."

  "That's my good girl. Good, good girl" He paused to tap the plug, sending tremors throughout her innermost being. "Whose girl are you?"

  "I'm your girl. Forever and ever and ever."

  She had no idea when he had gotten his jeans unzipped, but he slammed into her welcoming pussy like a freight train. She could feel the plug in her bottom ratcheting ever deeper against a knot of nerve endings. He was still whispering reminders to breathe when she recovered from her whirlwind of an orgasm.

  "See how much nicer things are when you give yourself over to me?" he asked, a grin playing on his lips. She agreed. It would be simple from now on, he would lead and she would follow.

  She promised herself.

  Chapter 6 – A Love Worth Relishing

  She got her her blog post published first thing.

  CassCooks Blog Post

  Apple Cranberry Relish:

  This could probably be called a chutney since it serves to liven up an otherwise simple main course. But I love the play on words calling it a relish provides. It adds sweetness, zest, and a bit of heat which adds so much deliciousness. You can just eat, but wouldn't you rather 'savor'?

  6 Apples—I prefer Golden Delicious, two Granny Smith, and two Braeburn or Cortland. Peel and dice small (hold back one of the sweet crisp type apples)

  1/4 cup raisins

  1/4 cup dried cranberries (or cherries) halved

  1/4 cup dried apricots snipped into small pieces

  1/8 cup brown sugar

  1/4 cup white sugar

  2/3 cup cider vinegar

  1 Cinnamon stick

  1 teaspoon fresh grated ginger (hold back)

  Combine all in a saucepan and cook over low heat stirring until the sugar dissolves and the apples soften—you need those apple juices to emerge from their pectin laden cells and plump up the dry fruit. When all is thick and glossy, stir in the raw apple and the fresh ginger. This goes well with pork chops, chicken breasts or grilled lamb. But it comes into its glorious own when served alongside pink shards of good ham—not delicatessen ham. A proper, aged ham.

  I serve it with buttered French bread (warm but not hot enough to melt the butter) then tip your relish unto your ham—you are making a deconstructed ham sandwich. You would need a mouth like Cookie Monster to eat this as a stacked up hoagie. It will strike you differently every time, its glorious complexity bringing spiky refreshment to your palate. This cannot be used to jack up inferior ingredients (anyway, that's why God gave us bacon) but it can be used to bring quality ingredients to new heights.

  Keep your life delicious,

  Cass

  She poured herself some more coffee and flipped through the books on her Kindle. Slicktrench had a sort of 'library'. But it was definitely a 'sort of' situation. It was in a corner of the health clinic and it relied on an honor system—patrons literally filled out a card and left it in the basket when they took books with them. The selection was small,
and tended to include books on homesteading and encouragement for 'prayer warriors'. Since Cass was currently reading everything she could find about dominant/submissive relationships, she didn't necessarily want Mrs. Jergenson, the part time librarian, to know about her predilections. Libby's position as the pharmacist in the clinic, made her even more determined to keep some things private. She hadn't found any books that she felt really helped explain her own marriage. She couldn't imagine herself ever calling the easy going, quick to laugh Mr. Nelson 'Master'. She also wasn't sure that all egalitarian relationships were a passionless endless quest for power as suggested by some of the books she was reading. As boring as one might wish to think their parents, hers had been married married for decades and she had thought they were as happy as two people could be.

  You Don't Have to Like It, a guide to master/slave dynamics was intriguing but not helpful. It was written by a heavy set woman who proclaimed in the blurb that she had found true happiness in the ultimate surrender of total power exchange. Cass furrowed her brow. As delicious as she found her intimate life, she couldn't imagine having to beg Killian for money to buy tampons. What would the slave do if she was told no in that situation? And, wouldn't that immediately make her rethink her decision to submit herself to Kingsirdommy Dom? Cass imagined explaining to her guests that she was only allowed to eat from a dog bowl, and in in the imagining, nearly choked on her coffee. She'd read some religious books that implied that God himself had designed women to take a lesser role in their marriages. She couldn't really embrace that philosophy as she hadn't felt less like 'less' in her life.

  Commanding Love, a guide to fulfilling your beloved submissive, had gotten off on the right foot. It had chapter titles like 'Your greatest treasure' and 'The priceless gift'. Like the others, it did seem to focus on a level of submission that Cass wasn't sure the newlywed Nelsons were aiming for. The book sounded a grim warning. 'If you're submissive is always happy with your decisions, then you aren't truly being her leader. She craves the knowledge that she is powerless on her own. By not teaching her this, you are allowing her to 'top from the bottom.' Cass had a sudden visual image of a child's top trying to spin under a large pile of dirty laundry and realized that she clearly was mixing her metaphors. 'Long term, this arrangement will fail both of you and your relationship will end in a train wreck of resentment.' She most certainly did not want a train wreck of resentment.

  Despite her hopes, the books Cass had read lately were not helping her to feel more accepting of herself. What she was choosing seemed so… ungrateful, to the women who had sacrificed so much so that pipsqueaks like her could have every possible opportunity. Some of the books claimed that only relationships with an established hierarchy existed in nature. Whatever it was that she had discovered with Killian felt as natural as breathing, but she still wasn't convinced that it was best for everyone. Or even all the time for people who did want it. It was all so confusing. She'd mistaken general douchebaggy-ness as dominance and tolerated being mistreated for years. So perhaps her feelings were not the best guide. She'd yearned to be spanked her entire life. She wasn't at all sure what that said about her though.

  Exasperated, she glanced over her coffee cup at her husband who was paying bills. He didn't seem to be spending any time or energy wondering if who they were was okay. Of course, she reminded herself with a snort of laughter, he wasn't the one who was sitting tenderly this morning.

  They kissed goodbye with a passion and tenderness that still made Cass weak in the knees. Killian and his brother left to drive to meet the small plane that was bringing Ava for the wedding. Cass had assumed that Hazel would accompany her to town, but her mother-in-law, who was the healthiest human Cass had ever met, had a headache. She eventually took some Tylenol after Cass held out the tablets in one hand and a glass of water in the other. "Now, I am serious, go lay down."

  If it was 8:00 am her time, it was noon for Jen.

  Nothing was as reassuring as a friend who was delighted to see your name on their caller ID. "Hey, Chica!" They still spoke every week. Jen always referred to Cass as her best friend, but she was still surrounded by the constellation of friends they had known most of their lives. Jen was not only the best friend Cass had, there were times when she felt like she was the only one. She had a lot of contact with people online—her blog had gone through the roof in popularity. But emailing and comments on a blog did not replace the comfort of flopping on a friend's couch and wasting an afternoon watching movies. She had Hazel, who was great fun. But Cass had discovered that native Alaskans, probably due to generations living on the knife edge of survival, were constitutionally incapable of 'chilling'. Get comfortable and someone would find something that you didn't even know anyone ever did that needed to be done. Talking to Jen was a balm for her soul. The baby was kicking, and the toddler was a determined nudist… None of these were issues that Cass was familiar with, but Jen was the same old Jen, stalwart, and clever and tartly witty. As always happened when she was on the phone, Jen was having a conversation with Cass and simultaneously with a stubborn little person on her end of the phone line. "How's life with Mr. Alaska?"

  Life with Mr. Alaska was very good, she was happy to report. Jen's response blasted her eardrums, "I have already said no thirty times! Oh, sorry Cass—not you."

  "What is she trying to do?"

  "Leap to her death from the kitchen counter."

  "Why is she on the kitchen counter?"

  "So I can feed the dogs. Absolutely not!"

  "What?"

  "Sorry, not you. Stay! Oh, that was for the dog. I don't tell Sadie to stay. Well, I could, but I probably wouldn't admit it in public."

  "Trying to get a visual here. Who's on the counter? Sadie or Pup?"

  "Sadie is on the counter. I'm holding her, of course. Pup is eating and Sadie is hell bent on snatching food out of the jaws of a Saint Bernard."

  "So she's a risk taker, like her mom."

  "Or stupid like her mom. I have to go, babe. Gotta drop Sadie off at the sitter and then get to my OB appointment and then to a meeting."

  "Go, I have a busy day too," Cass said, which was a lie and, "Love you," which was not.

  As Cass settled into the jeep to drive to town, she saw Hazel out of the corner of her eye. Darn that woman. She was not lying down; she was entering one of the cabins. Even when she didn't feel well, she could not stop working.

  Cass was on her way back from getting the mail when her mother called. It seemed a little silly to pull over when she was driving on a road that had literally no traffic. But she was still glowing with receptivity after her long night. She'd had an epiphany while bundling up to drive to the PO box. She didn't love the word 'submissive' for herself. She was 'receptive', much better. She imagined herself as a glowing open blossom receiving the sun, not a cowering, afraid urchin. It was a simple matter to do as Killian asked and not drive while she was on her phone. She was trying not to kick herself for needing another adult to tell her what she should do, but of course, she wasn't at all sure that's what was happening. If only there was someone she could discuss this with. Jen would be horrified. She thought that Cass was the feisty, brave woman she pretended to be. Or maybe being willing to have this sort of marriage meant that she was those things. Worst of all, people would pity her and loathe Killian. He was so not a bully, and she certainly didn't feel unempowered. Which of course made no sense, when one of them was punishing the other for disobedience.

  Dammit. She pulled over to gather her thoughts and call her mother back. She had to wait a minute to get a clear signal. In Chicago, she would have been infuriated if she lost her phone signal, she would have been sure that her phone itself was defective and insisted that it be immediately replaced. But that was her previous life. Now she lived with poor signals, and overloaded channels every day. Perhaps it was helping her to develop character. Cass began to absentmindedly open the mail.

  She was looking over a letter from The White Gown, Inc.


  "Dear Ms Nelson, we are interested in meeting with your representatives to discuss the potential for a cooking show to be broadcast on the new White Gown DIY network.

  She had read it five times and it was still not making sense, when her mother answered the phone.

  "Oh, hi, Mom, just a second." She was reading it one more time, ignoring the part about her non existent representatives; they were offering a TV show. Her interview with them had gone as well as she'd thought.

  Her jubilation froze on her lips when her mother said, "Honey, it's all okay." Wait, her mother had to be talking about something else.

  Cass set the letter aside. "Everything is okay?" Bloody awful way to begin a conversation. Her mother was a dreadful liar, always had been. "Mom, what's wrong?"

  "Well, nothing is wrong. But…"

  "Mom, I know something is wrong."

  "Honey, I want you to try not to get too upset."

  Cass wasn't immediately horrified at these words. They had no elderly pets at home, she didn't think any medical issues could have suddenly come up for her seemingly healthy parents, and her brain was still spinning with the prospect of a television show.

  Her mother's next words brought her right back to solid ground. "I wanted to be the one to tell you. I've moved out of the house."

  "Your house? Why? You and Daddy love that house." They had lived in that house for most of Cass's life. Two beloved dogs were buried in the flower beds. Cass had left for every prom from that house. Her parents had driven her to college from that house. Why would they have left their house?

  Deep breath on the other end of the line. "Daddy is still there. I have gotten an apartment."

  She had never imagined that this was even a possibility. "Why? What happened?"

  "Nothing happened. Not really. I just… I don't want the life I find myself having."