His Perfect Submissive

by Alyssa Aaron

  She gasped and expelled the breath on a wail as another stroke connected with her bottom.

  She knew how to make the spanking stop, but she didn't know how to make the pain in her heart stop. That deeper emotional pain swelled, as the pain of the spanking intensified. Her soft sobs grew louder as the feelings she'd pushed down began to rise up within her closing out everything except the intense fear of being abandoned again.

  Slade continued to land stroke after stroke on her bottom. She cried and fought to escape him as each one fell, but there was no escape from the physical pain or from the emotional pain that coalesced within her becoming less and less controlled with each agonizing stroke of the paddle. The pain sliced through her inciting her screams, but the soft sobs that shook her came from the overriding fear that he would leave her and there was nothing she could say or do that would prevent it.

  He landed a searing lick across the center of her ass. Kara screeched, her hands grabbing his calves as she struggled to push herself up and out of his grip. She was desperate to avoid the searing pain of another stroke.

  She gasped around the sobs that shook her as another half dozen strokes fell in quick succession. There was no time to think or to recover between his strokes. Helplessness engulfed her. She wanted him to stop. She wanted him to hold her, to cuddle her, to make everything better. She wanted him to make her feel safe. She wanted to believe in his power to make everything alright and yet she knew he was only a temporary part of her life. She knew she couldn't really count on him.

  "Ow, ow, ow, please stop,” she howled as he continued to spank.

  "Oh no honey, I'm just getting started. This is a punishment spanking. It's supposed to teach a lesson and I'm going to make damn sure the lesson is learned. I don't want to have to spank you again,” he said without pause in the cadence of spanks landing on her panty covered bottom.

  Desperation clawed through her.

  "You won't Sir,” she whimpered.

  "You're ready to tell me what has made you so unhappy the past couple weeks then?” he asked, the spanks finally stopping.

  Relief at the reprieve coursed through her. Her chest constricted. She sobbed helplessly, not knowing how to put the deep, dark, ache that had swelled till it enclosed her into words that he would understand.

  "Please Sir,” she begged. “I'm sorry."

  "Sorry is not enough Kara, you have to correct the transgression.” His voice was smooth and matter of fact. There was no edge of anger or malice in his voice just a calm matter of factness. “Can you talk about it now?"

  Anguish filled her as she shook her head. She felt broken. Shattered.

  He sighed deeply. Kara could feel his displeasure radiating into her and felt shame and self pity creep through her. “It's your choice. There are only two choices, honey,” he said softly near her ear as he spanked again, hard.

  The pain that had streaked across her ass hadn't even dissipated before he tugged at her panties, pulling them down until her bottom and upper thighs were bare.

  Panic chased through her. As much as it hurt with her panties on, it would be ten times worse with them off. She kicked her legs, and tried to roll out of his grip, her distressed sobs loud in the room. She dreaded the next spank and yet she knew she was helpless to avoid it.

  All efforts at keeping her emotions under control evaporated as a series of slow, measured spanks landed on her unprotected ass. The emotions that she had fought so hard to keep under control surged to the surface overwhelming her with bleak anguish and despair. Even the pain of the spanking receded into the background as the anguish that she had pushed deep into her being was loosened and soared upward threatening to overwhelm her.

  She shuddered feeling as if she were seven again, alone and facing everything by herself after the death of her daddy. She felt small in the face of overwhelming emotions that she couldn't bring herself to voice.

  "You know how to make it stop honey,” Slade whispered softly.

  She heard his voice as if from across a great divide, like a beacon guiding her back to safety, back to warmth. The fear of being left, of being abandoned filled her soul with deep anguish and yet she wanted to make it all stop.

  "Please Sir, it hurts,” she cried brokenly. “It hurts so much."

  Empathy filled Slade. He set the paddle aside, his palm caressing the red welts that marred her bottom. He knew her ass had to be causing her near agony. It was bright red and nearly singed his palm as he caressed it.

  "Please, no more. Please,” she begged.

  He ran his hand over her ass again, feeling the heat that radiated off another cache of red welts. He was torn. He needed to know what was eating her, and if he stopped before she was ready to tell him he would just have to start again.

  He was determined to get to the bottom of what was bothering her. He wouldn't have it following her into another day. He also knew she was about spent, emotionally, physically.

  He couldn't push her much further. The broken way she cried as if she were trapped in agony so deep and bleak she couldn't see beyond it tore at him, making his soul ache. He wanted to make her pain go away.

  The pain of watching her misery overcame him. “Come here baby,” he said. He needed to hold her, needed to communicate that in spite of the pain he was inflicting, he loved her. He helped her up and lifted her so that when he settled her she was straddling his lap, her legs folded beneath her on each side of his legs. “Your spanking isn't over, but you look like you need a reprieve,” he said softly as he pulled her against his chest.

  She collapsed against him, her body limp, her sobs still a ragged reminder of the way he'd pushed her. Her posture, her weakness, reminded him of a rag doll that had lost its stuffing. The rough sobs and the tears that ran down her face and onto his shirt tore at him making him ache to make it all better.

  He stroked her back and her hair, needing to touch her, needing to assure himself that she was okay, that the brokenness that seemed to emanate from her was the result of the physical pain he'd inflicted and not the result of some deeper emotional turmoil that he couldn't see.

  He didn't want to spank her any more. He wanted to hold her, love her, take care of her the way he always had. He wanted to make things right between them again.

  He palmed the back of her head, his hand pressing her face against his chest, thinking how he'd missed having her head there, how he wanted to feel it there again.

  "How're you doing honey?” His voice was soft. The need to ease her pain and protect her filled him.

  "It hurts.” The tears still cascaded down her cheeks, her breath still came in short choppy gasps that ripped at his heart. He didn't feel like the caring, loving master he wanted to be and yet he knew he'd done what he'd done in an effort to care for her.

  He held her close, loving her, wanting her to know how much he loved her.

  "Let's try this again,” he said softly as he stroked his hands down her back and over the roundness of her bottom where the welts marred the perfect smoothness of her bottom. “How is it that it is easier to take a spanking like this one than to talk to me?” he asked.

  The question made the emotions that had bubbled up as she'd endured the spanking resurge filling her anew with all the despair, grief, and loneliness that had held her in its grasp.

  The despair, the impending loss, the anguish that she would feel when he left her was too much. She was too tired, too emotionally drained to keep the feelings confined. The walls that surrounded her began to crumble. She couldn't hold the tide of raw naked emotion back anymore. Tears and emotions poured out of her in a torrent that she didn't have the energy to decipher. Instead she existed in the space Slade created for her.

  She existed within his arms, within the soft sounds of his voice offering words of love and commitment, drawing comfort from his hands which stroked her tenderly.

  Inside the circle of his arms, with the soft loving words cascading over her and his hands gently stroking her she was safe from
the storm of emotion that filled and surrounded her.

  "Please don't leave me.” Her words were soft, almost shrouded by the soft gaspy breaths that still shook her, but Slade heard them.

  His heart squeezed painfully. “I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. I'm right here, for as long as you want me to be here.” He stroked her hair and her back and what he could reach of her bottom loving the soft sounds of pleasure she made when he rubbed her back. He'd sit with her all night, holding her, loving her, if only she'd tell him what was bothering her.

  His soft words of love and commitment caressed her as he held her slowly, tenderly stroking her. She cried until the emotions dissipated, until she was emotionally drained, until she was empty, until there was nothing left.

  "I'm sorry Sir,” she said softly as she rested against his chest feeling as if every bit of strength she possessed had been sucked from her.

  "I know you're sorry honey.” He stroked her back. “I never doubted you were sorry. I know that whatever is bothering you must seem pretty big, pretty insurmountable."

  Emotion she thought was spent resurfaced. She sniffled helplessly as tears leaked from her eyes wetting his shirt front. The impossibility of their situation tore at her. The knowledge that he would eventually abandon her when he couldn't deal with the nightmares and the panic attacks rose again filling her with bleak despair. She didn't want to lose him. She loved him.

  "Sh-sh honey, everything will be alright,” he soothed as he stroked her back.

  She sniffed feeling lost and overwhelmed, doubtful that everything would ever be alright.

  "Please don't leave me, Slade,” she asked, her voice stronger, more pleading than the last time she'd asked.

  "I'm not going to leave you honey. You're safe. I've got you.” He played her words over in his mind. There was something about them, something about the beseeching quality of her voice that stirred his attention.

  He'd thought the first time she'd begged him not to leave her that she didn't want him to leave her in the aftermath of the spanking, that she wanted him to continue to hold her. But he wasn't so sure that's what she'd meant.

  There had been something more in her voice this time, a beseeching quality, a desperation like she was begging for something she didn't expect him to give her. “What is it honey? Why are you so afraid of me leaving you?"

  He felt a soft sigh that issued from her, felt her head burrow deeper into his chest. “I just don't want to be totally alone again, like—” She drew a deep, labored breath that sounded tight with pent up emotion.

  "Kara,” he shifted her, tipping her chin up so he could look down into her eyes. Guilt and shame filled him as he studied her face. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face blotchy, her lip swollen where she had bit it.

  He stroked her back, hating the tears and the splotchy redness that were all part of the pain he had purposely inflicted to bring them to this point. He studied her face seeing only intense fear and sadness. “Honey, I have no intention of leaving you now or any time in the future. Where did you get the idea that I would?"

  "You wanted me to see the psychiatrist,” she said on a soft sob, as if that explained everything.

  He drew a deep breath, his mind grappling as he tried to figure out what one thing had to do with the other. He came up a blank.

  "Honey, I wanted you to see the psychiatrist about your nightmares. What has that got to do with me leaving you? I'm not going to leave you because you have nightmares."

  "Just the nightmares?"

  "Yes, pretty much. I just wanted you to be free of the past, free of the nightmares. I wanted you to have a chance to be happy and I thought she might be able to help.” He was quiet for a moment. “You must have thought I brought it up for some other reason?"

  He watched as she shifted on his lap. She seemed so small, so alone, so needy. “I thought you wanted me to see her because you couldn't deal with my past,” she whispered.

  "No honey, that was never it. There is absolutely no part of you or your past that I can't cope with. I'd like for you to not have the nightmares and the panic attacks because it would be better for you but—” He stroked her shoulder. “What happened to you when you were younger was a terrible thing, a tragedy, but it's in the past. All I want is for you to be happy. Your past and the nightmares and panic attacks has no bearing on my love for you or my commitment to you."

  He stared down into her red tear strained eyes and her face that was still red and damp from crying. “If there was something about your past that I couldn't deal with, then it would be upon me to see the shrink, don't you think?"

  Warmth flooded her. She smiled up at him, loving him.

  "I don't understand—why—"

  She looked up at him, her face soft, her expression bemused, happiness, and joy finally returning to fill the places where fear and dread had dwelled.

  "Why did you let me spank you? Why didn't you just ask me what I meant or tell me why you were upset?"

  He felt the shudder that worked through her and noticed her retreat behind sad eyes and lowered lashes.

  She looked up at him, swallowing around the hard lump that still filled her throat. “It was just,” she sighed. “When you said—When you suggested that I see her—” She stopped and drew a deep breath, then swallowed hard gathering her determination. There had been too many half truths and too many secrets between them. She no longer wanted to keep him at arm's length. She no longer wanted secrets between them. She wanted a clean break with the past and a future with him.

  She swallowed hard. “When you suggested I see her, I felt dirty, used, not good enough.” She drew a deep breath and let it out. “I thought it was only a matter of time before you left me.” She swiped at her eyes.

  "I don't understand honey, why would you think that?"

  "Because—the past—the nightmares and panic attacks, they've been too much for everyone else,” she said quietly.

  He was quiet, waiting for her to continue.

  "My parents were happy before ... They were close. They laughed.” She swallowed hard. Slade felt like he was three steps behind, trying to understand how it all fit together in her mind but he was determined to hang in, determined to understand what had hurt her so much she'd closed down and closed him out.

  He stroked her back giving her time and space.

  "After—” She shook her head. “They fought and yelled at each other, mostly about whether or not to take me to a psychiatrist, and which one.” She was silent for a long time, so long that Slade began to wonder if she'd drifted into the sad memories of her parent's fights and the responsibility she thought she bore for them.

  "My dad,” she swallowed hard, her gaze rising slowly to meet his. “He shot himself in the same park where I was abducted.” She squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head. He watched as the tears squeezed past her eyelashes and slid down her cheeks.

  He drew a deep breath and tightened his arms around her. He stroked her back, his voice soft and low as he told her that none of it had been her fault, that her parents were the grown ups and that they should have been there for her.

  As he held her, her belief that he would leave her began to make sense, in an odd way. That her father had abandoned her in the worst possible way explained why she had thought he couldn't cope when he'd suggested she see the psychiatrist. The rapist had done a number on her, but her own family hadn't been much better.

  "My—um-mom—checked out for awhile after that. Prescriptions. Alcohol. Ted and I pretty much fended for ourselves. He was just a toddler. We survived on what cookies and crackers I could scrounge from the cabinets.

  "It's like every time someone suggests I see a psychiatrist more people check out of my life."

  "I'm sorry honey."

  "So am I. I just—” She squeezed her eyes closed and rested her forehead against his shoulder.

  His arms drew tighter around her, holding her close. “You just—what honey?” he asked softly, wanting to hear it all
once and for all so that they could put it behind them.

  "I just—um-don't have the best history with psychiatrists. When you asked me to see one, all the history came back. Everything closed in on me at once.” She nestled deeper into his arms.

  He stroked her tenderly, loving her. He was sure there would be other issues that would raise their heads during their marriage, but at least she was talking.

  They were quiet for awhile, each seeming lost in their own thoughts. Kara was content to sit on his lap, absorbing the warm safe feeling of being enveloped in his strong arms. She'd been unable to feel anything but the impending sense of loss since he'd suggested the therapist. It filled her with a deep pleasure to sit on his lap, enclosed in the warmth and security of his arms secure in the knowledge that he didn't intend to leave her.

  "Tell me about the bad blood with psychiatrists,” he asked after awhile.

  Kara would have preferred to bask in softer thoughts, but a part of her wanted everything out. She didn't want any more secrets, any more half truths.

  "The police wanted to nail the man—um—the man who raped me and who murdered my twin sister. Kayla."

  She was quiet a moment, remembering Kayla, remembering how close they had been, how they'd done everything together.

  "Jesus honey, you didn't tell me you had a sister or that she was part of this."

  "I know.” She drew a deep breath. “I never talked about her because—it hurts to remember the way she died.” He nodded, pulling her closer and tucking her head under his chin as he stroked her back. The memory of the rapist killing Kayla exploded in her mind's eye. She remembered how she'd kicked and punched him, screaming at him to stop. She hadn't been able to kick him hard enough or to punch him hard enough to make him stop. The memory still hurt, but the pain was softer now than it had been.

  "He—um—smothered her in front of me, then left her body in the basement as a reminder of what would happen to me if I didn't do what he said."

  Slade held her tight. His lungs ached as he thought of Kara trapped in the basement with the body of her sister. “I'm so sorry baby,” he whispered, wishing there was something more he could say, something more he could do that would ease the anguish that must still be very real to her, even this much later. “I can't even imagine how horrible that must have been for you."