Milestones

by Hensley, Alta

  As Soris breathed more deeply, a scratching sound came from the front hallway. She lifted her head. Karielle should have been long asleep, most likely crying after the punishment. Soris tried not to think about the scene, the horrified betrayal on Karielle's face as Soris took the rod to her. Novia had told her it would be hard to punish, but not this hard. Every scream, every cry lodged itself into her memory, and guilt ate at her insides. Could Basti want her to inflict such pain? Soris was trained to research and advise. Not to control a wild, beautiful creature. Strong. Basti, the girl's every curve distracted her when she should focus only on her work.

  The scratch came again, and something stirred inside of Soris. Surely it wouldn't be weakness to say good night to Karielle, to reassure her that she would do better today.

  Soris crossed to the hallway and walked toward the door, only to find the hinge closed and lock unfastened. She visited Karielle's room, empty and dark. Her breath came in unnatural gasps. Something was wrong. Not just the aftermath of a punishment, but terribly wrong. Without throwing on her cape or even putting on outdoor clothes and shoes, she dashed out the door. She had never run in her life, but she ran across the stick-and-stone embedded path. She had never gone by instinct before, but a homing instinct beeped inside her, a signal so terrifying she could not breathe.

  ****

  When she came across the unconscious girl crumpled on the ground, she nearly stumbled over her.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, lifting an arm. Karielle's eyes fluttered open, and they focused on her with a steady, trusting gaze.

  “You found me,” she said. She moaned as she sat up, and she put her arms around Soris' neck. “I'll be a better Nur.”

  Consternation set in. Soris had kept Karielle at a physical distance so far, but what could she do now? Could she pretend not to feel a tingling sensation at the sweetness of this girl putting herself literally into Soris' hands? Rising to her feet, she gave thanks that Karielle was so much smaller and lighter. She lifted the girl as gently as possible, steeling herself against the sharp cries of pain, and carried her aloft all the way home. Her cut feet bled a trail on the ground, but she focused only on the figure in her arms.

  “It will be okay,” she assured Karielle, as if she were an eager new law student terrified of the most fearsome professor. “You'll be all right.”

  “I love you,” Karielle mumbled, and Soris' heart stopped. Clearly the girl was delusional from her injury. And yet...

  “You're mine,” she whispered, and she set the girl onto her bed. Karielle tried to sit up, Sori but made her lie down.

  “I'll get Nur,” she said. No one knew how to nurse wounds better than her Nur, but Karielle stopped her. A faint, feverish gleam rested on her brow.

  “I want you.”

  Forgetting protocol, forgetting duty, forgetting everything except how it felt for Karielle to want her, Soris sat by her Nur's side, holding her hand for the rest of the night.

  Chapter Five

  “You put up a pagan altar?”

  Soris ran her fingers through her spiky black hair. Strong, muscled fingers on large, powerful hands. Life had become much more pleasant in the House of Sor since Karielle’s recovery, but they were still figuring out how to interact with each other. Soris walked carefully, literally, until her feet healed. She allowed Karielle to put antiseptic on her wounds, but she insisted on Karielle staying in bed for a full two days after her fall. Nothing less than a complete medical examination would satisfy her, either. Karielle learned to think more carefully before she spoke and seemed to consider her feelings more and more. Yet they slept in separate bedrooms, and several more weekly Puns had brought misery to Karielle’s body. These days, though, Soris gave her an awkward pat on the back afterward.

  “Sorry,” she’d say, and somehow that silly apology took the sting out of much of her punishments. Karielle began to grow bolder, taking over first the kitchen and then the living room as she felt out her power as the Nur of the House of Sor. Soris complained when she made changes to the furniture, but she stopped complaining when Karielle served pumpkin soup she’d learned to make on one of her approved parental visits.

  “This soup made your Dis say she’d call in sick,” Nur had said, eyes twinkling. “I had to remind her all about duty instead of pestering me! We had plenty of time after work for—”

  Karielle had covered her ears pretended to be horrified at parental displays of affection, but she’d learned the recipe by heart and served it with pride. True to her Nur’s promise, Soris had softened considerably.

  “When will you make your soup again?” she asked, and Karielle risked a tease.

  “When you learn to behave.”

  The look of shock had been worth every second of the lecture that followed, and she could have sworn dutiful Soris had tried to conceal a smile.

  “It’s not a pagan altar; it’s a decoration!” Karielle shot back, but Soris cut her off.

  “I said no.”

  Soris sounded bewildered rather than angry. Still, Karielle shivered. She backed up a step, one hand covering her bottom. “No” in the House of Sor meant one thing, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise. Still, perhaps distraction would postpone the inevitable.

  “The soup must be ready,” she stammered, answered only by a cocked eyebrow. Karielle scratched the back of her neck. Soris’ exasperating literal interpretation of the law extended to more parts of Karielle’s life than she would have liked.

  Soris stepped toward the tree in the corner of their front room, and she lifted a glittery orange-and-black pumpkin paper cutout. Karielle had painstakingly attached a ribbon to the top and hung it on a branch of the tree. The jaunty, toothy grin seemed to mock their sober discussion. Soris slipped the ornament off the branch and turned the paper over.

  For the first time in her life, Karielle had no retort, no protest, and no explanation. “I’m sorry,” she began, but Soris interrupted once more.

  “What would the Bastil say if they knew my Nur broke the law I helped write?”

  Karielle dropped to the closest chair. “I didn’t think of that,” she admitted, blushing. She had thought it would be fun to imitate the queer holiday she had read about in her anthropology class, but she hadn’t anticipated Soris’ reaction.

  Oh, hell. She knew what would happen; she just hadn’t cared.

  Until now.

  “I’ll take it down,” she offered, trying to keep the pleading note out of her voice. Soris liked rational discussion, not emotional appeal. “No one saw it. I’ll—”

  “Article fifty-five, section ten. All religious activities not sanctioned by the Bastil are punishable to the full extent of the law.”

  Karielle took another step backward, a whimper escaping from her tightening throat. “But it was for fun, not serious, and I didn’t actually do anything religious…”

  Soris continued as if she had not spoken. With her nearly photographic memory, she could quote entire sections of the Bastian constitution. “Religious activities are defined as any ceremony, decoration, or gathering associated with pagan customs.”

  Karielle saw her chance. If she could get Soris talking about her favorite subject, maybe their discussion could remain in the intellectual realm. “It wasn’t Christmas, or Easter, or anything like that,” she argued. “Just Hallow Bean, and no one knew I did it. Didn’t you write that paper on the disadvantage of over-literal interpretation of the Constitution?”

  Soris nodded toward the hallway. “Fetch your switch, please,” she said. Without emotion, as if she were ordering a Bastil clerk to strike testimony from the record.

  Karielle threw her head back, but the words died on her lips. Why should I? Because she had pledged to submit to Soris as her Nur. It’s not fair! A Dis had no obligation to be fair, as long as she didn’t inflict permanent injury. I won’t do it! She shuddered at that one. Soris never punished in anger, but somehow that made things worse. Sometimes Karielle thought the
spankings wouldn’t be so humiliating if only Soris would shout a little, or lose control, or seem more human. Discipline from Soris was like being punished by a machine.

  She slapped her feet against the tile floor as she huffed her way into the hallway. Selecting the smooth, polished bamboo rod, she slipped back into the front room. “Here,” she offered, holding it out.

  At least Soris had not commanded her to prepare herself at the altar. That would mean a ceremonial washing, putting on the penitent’s robe, and offering her bottom and thighs to the watchful eyes of Basti in addition to her Dis.

  Soris pulled out the punishment stool, a padded wood-and-leather affair she kept tucked in the corner. Karielle had learned to hate even the sight of the stool, but she sucked in her breath and began ritual confession required of each punishment.

  “Forgive me, for I have sinned and am unworthy.” She unbuckled her jeans, allowing them to puddle around her ankles. She dipped her head forward, hoping that her long ringlets would hide the painful blush creeping across her cheeks. No matter how often she performed the penitence routine Soris had taught her, she fought to keep her embarrassment at bay.

  Soris guided her across the stool, pushing and tugging to arrange Karielle’s buttocks into prime position. Karielle gave a moan as the blood rushed to her forehead. She gripped the legs of the stool, humiliated by the clinical touch. Soris slid her skimpy blue silk bikini panties to Karielle’s knees with efficiency rather than passion. Maybe theirs was an arranged marriage and maybe Soris preferred intellect rather than lust, but was it too much to ask for her to show desire? Karielle had given up so much for this cool, collected partner. Couldn’t Soris at least make her feel it was worth it? That Karielle was worth it?

  The first tap of the switch came with precision, as always. One light touch followed by the swift, blinding crack of pain. Karielle yelled, cursing herself. Why did she have to thrash around in pain while Soris applied that awful stick? Why couldn’t she have been the one to set the rules instead of having to answer to them?

  Sss—thwick! Another stroke cut the lowest part of her bottom cheeks, causing her to stamp her feet.

  “Basti!” she swore, then bit her lip. The next whack set her entire backside aflame, and the stool teetered underneath her.

  Instead of reassurance, or comfort, or whispers of love, Soris continued to stripe her bottom with stroke after punishing stroke. By the time she finished, Karielle struggled for breath. Her chest felt nearly as raw as her throbbing buttocks, and she rubbed her cheek against the leather padding. Instead of pats or tenderness, Soris gave her a crisp order.

  “Into the corner,” she barked, and Karielle was too sore to disobey. She kicked off the tangled heap of her jeans and panties, and she trudged to the corner. What she really wanted was to curl up on her bed and cry herself to sleep, but she no longer had “her” bed. Everything was Soris’ now, and everywhere was Soris’ home.

  She hugged her arms to her chest, rocking slightly in her distress. She couldn’t understand her own reaction. It wasn’t as if Soris has been her first choice, even if she did come from a good family. It wasn’t as if she loved this cold fish who spouted rules rather than poetry. It was just—

  Karielle shuffled from one foot to the other, holding in her shuddery sobs. It was just… that she was used to being loved.

  She had known Soris would be a tough Dis, but she had also thought they would have love.

  “It’s time for dinner,” Soris barked, without so much as a glance in her direction. Karielle fumbled with her clothing, drawing her panties and jeans back to her waist. She brushed the tears out of her eyes as she made her way to the kitchen, but the tears fell faster than she could dry. She bit her lip. Soris hated her to cry, almost more than she hated disobedience. How stupid had she been, thinking that Soris would laugh and enjoy the joke of celebrating a funny holiday? Why did everything have to be so serious?

  “Excuse me,” Karielle blurted out, and she dashed into the guest bedroom. It should have been their nursery, but… Karielle tried not to think about that. She was too young to give up on motherhood.

  Behind her, Soris’ footsteps followed. “Dinner’s late,” she said, but Karielle turned on her. Hurt and soreness combined into a rush of anger.

  “What in Basti’s name do you want from me? You beat me and I’ll take down the stupid tree, so leave me alone!”

  Stunned, Karielle covered her mouth and met Soris’ widened eyes with her own. Consternation marked her features, as if Karielle were an algebraic formula that had proven incorrect.

  “Do I have to spank you again?” Soris hesitated, her offer tentative rather than commanding, as if asking for permission. Karielle shook her head, turning away.

  “That’s all you do,” she muttered, not caring what punishments it would cost her. “Spank, like I’m this nuisance you can’t wait to get rid of…”

  If she hadn’t felt as raw as a scraped knee, she might have laughed at the confused distress on Soris’ face. Soris was good with technicalities and archaic references, not with messy human realities. She looked as if she would rather hide for a week with her collection of dusty, heavy law tomes.

  In spite of herself, Karielle laughed. For the first time, she felt as if she were in charge, or at least an equal. She held out her hand to Soris. “Don’t just spank me and run away,” she explained, feeling as if she were the Dis. “Making up afterward is important, too.”

  Soris’ fingers tightened around Karielle’s palm. “But my Dis says you can’t spoil after a punishment?” she asked. Her look of confusion increased, and something set off a twinge in Karielle’s heart. A Dis was supposed to be in charge, so why did her vulnerability bring out feelings of submission in a way the switch had not?

  “I need you to take care of me,” she said, putting her other hand over Soris’ enclosing her own. And before she could think, she leaned forward on her tiptoes to put her arms around Soris’ neck. Soris staggered backward, and her arms came up to embrace her.

  “You… you want me to… after I…?” Soris brushed back Karielle’s hair, tipping her head back. “When you…?” An arm reached down to skim the horribly aching muscles in her bottom.

  Karielle laughed again, gladness rushing through her limbs. “What’s the good of having a Dis if you’re not going to live up to your end of the bargain?” she challenged. She darted in for a kiss, holding Soris to her even as the older woman drew backward. “Love me,” she said, in a rush of confidence and simplicity. “How can I obey you if you don’t love me?”

  The shyness in Soris’ eyes made Karielle catch her breath. Had the stern, rule-loving scholar ever dropped her professional demeanor before, except the night Karielle was injured? Never on an ordinary day. Gentle lips reached toward her own, and Karielle closed her eyes in a whirlwind of pleasure. The unbearable, shaming ache of a few moments ago had transformed into a hungry need for intimate pleasure.

  “How can you love someone who makes you cry?” Soris asked, with the tenderness of a newborn fawn.

  “Then make it up to me now,” Karielle responded, stroking Soris’ cheek. “It can be a new Hallow Bean tradition.”

  “Halloween,” Soris corrected, but Karielle shushed her.

  “My turn,” she said, and Soris said no more.

  Chapter Six

  Soris sat up and shifted the bedcovers, trying not to disturb the sleeping figure. She hated waking up Karielle, no matter how many times she protested she didn't mind. She walked through the dark hallway to Karielle's former room, now an extra guest room with Soris' desk. They had talked of converting the other guest room into a home office for her, but she had always worked at a desk and didn't need anything more. Still, it might be nice someday to arrange her books and papers on shelves in an office rather than in stacks around the corners of her desk.

  “Soris,” came the sleepy call, and she paused in the doorway to Karielle's old room. “Come back to bed.”

  She blushed in the d
arkness, even if most people would consider sharing a bed more normal than not. She assumed all of her scholar heroes had shared a bed at one time or another, unless they received a dispensation to remain single due to exceptional duties, but the thought of Karielle's sweet form nestling against hers gave her prickles of hot shame.

  Don't let yourself become distracted by the pleasures of this world, Novia had warned her, the night before her Mar. The House of Nov did not raise a breeder. She must perform her duty as a Dis. That was all. Physical pleasure should be reserved for those without a special calling to serve.

  “Soris.” This time Karielle's voice rose, more insistent. “It's our Pre tomorrow. Come back to bed.”

  A few months after a Mar or Ria, once the Dis' parents pronounced the couple ready, they presented the new Dis and Nur to the Bastil for formal approval. Typically, at this time a couple could apply for parental training or, in rare cases, even formally request to be considered for the waiting parents' list. In some cases, a couple asked for more time to make their decision. In their case, because of Soris' duties, they qualified for expedited consideration or an exemption from parenthood. With the duties of service came special rights.

  Casting a longing look at her books, Soris returned to her Nur. She stood at the foot of the bed and watched Karielle, her heart leaping at the mussed hair and oh-so-carefree way Karielle lounged across her bed. Soris had never liked to share, but this was different. Karielle was different.

  “We're not ready,” Soris said without preamble. Novia had pronounced them ready, had examined both of them and praised Soris for her good work, but Soris knew the truth. Any improvements in their relationship were due to Karielle's efforts, not her own.