by Sue Horsford
“Do you know why you’re being punished, Faye?” he asked me.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Tell me.”
“Because I spoke when you’d told me not to, Sir.”
“Because you thought I’d made a mistake.”
“Yes, Sir. But that’s no excuse for disobeying you, Sir.”
“No, it isn’t. Is it your place as my sub to question my decisions?”
“No, Sir.” Something clenched deliciously in my groin.
“How have you behaved today?”
“Badly, Sir.”
“Do you feel you ought to be punished? Tell me if you think I’m being unjust.”
“I want you to punish me, Sir.” Almost faint with my desire, my voice was no more than a whisper.
“Then bend over.”
It would have been so much easier for me if he’d just pulled me across his knee. By making me position myself for my punishment, he was making sure the experience was as humiliating as possible for me. Awkwardly, I lay across his lap and Gabriel pulled me farther forward so I’d overbalance were it not for his left arm holding me firmly in place. He positioned me so my behind was uppermost, my crotch resting on his thigh, then he eased my panties down over my hips to my knees, exposing my cheeks for chastisement. It was hardly the first time he’d seen my naked ass, but somehow this was so intimate it was almost embarrassing. The denim of his jeans warmed my bare thighs and crotch and I remembered how I’d fantasized about this, and now it was happening.
Gabriel rested one hand on my buttocks and I quivered in anticipation. “This is punishment, not an erotic spanking. It’s meant to hurt. It’s meant to teach you a lesson so you won’t forget how a submissive behaves in future. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Do you accept that I’m in charge and I’ll be the one who decides when you’ve learned your lesson?”
This sounded ominous and I paused. Never had the line of consent seemed so blurred. And just what was I consenting to?
Gabriel’s voice was very gentle. “When we’re playing, sweetheart, you have your safe word so we can stop if things become uncomfortable for you. But this isn’t play—this is discipline. Part of being my submissive means I have the right to discipline you. Do you accept that? Take your time and think about it carefully. I don’t want to push you into something you really don’t want to do.”
I paused for a heartbeat. Did I want this? Yes, I did want this, very much. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good. But, Faye, if at any time during your punishment you feel you want to stop being my sub you can still use your safe word and I’ll stop immediately. But that will be the end. You can’t be a part-time submissive. It doesn’t work.”
So it was to be all or nothing, then? I knew which one I wanted. “I belong to you,” I said.
And he was right. To have a safe word during discipline would defeat the object. And strangely, I wanted the pain. I wanted Gabriel to make me cry. I wanted more than anything to be the perfect submissive and I wanted him to help me.
Gabriel let out a small sigh, as if he’d been holding his breath. “Good.” He rested his hand on my behind for a moment, then he began to spank me, slowly at first, alternating cheeks. Without warning, he delivered a flurry of whip-crack-hard smacks on both cheeks. At first, I managed to keep still by gripping the hem of his jeans, but soon, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t help wriggling. I kicked my feet impotently and threw back my hands in a futile attempt to stop him. Gabriel’s answer to this was to catch hold of my wrists in his left hand and deliver several sharp slaps to the backs of my thighs.
“Keep still,” he ordered. He turned his attention back to the cheeks of my ass, which had grown so hot by now, it seemed they were about to catch fire, but still he kept on spanking, each slap sounding louder than the last, the thought that maybe we could be heard from the room next door adding to my humiliation.
“Owww! I’m sorry, Sir. Please forgive me,” I begged.
Gabriel was unmoved by my pleas.
“You…will…be…forgiven…when…I…am…satisfied…you…have…been…punished…sufficiently.”
He punctuated each word with a hard stinging slap. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, the true meaning of being Gabriel’s submissive became clear. I really did belong to him, body and soul, and it was my choice. I had given myself to him. With this insight came acceptance of the pain, and with acceptance came tolerance of the pain, then a kind of euphoria and an incredible sense of peace. I was transported to a place where nothing mattered anymore, nothing existed, except my Master and me. I stopped struggling against my punishment and lay limply across his lap, crying softly.
Gabriel stopped then and helped me to my feet. He pulled my panties down to my ankles and held me steady as I stepped out of them, then he led me over to the bed where he sat and took me onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around me and held me against his chest, stroking my hair while I cried.
If anyone had seen us in that moment, they’d have been horrified. They would have thought I was crying with pain, that I was upset over what had just happened. They’d think Gabriel was a bully and a brute, that I hadn’t wanted him to chastise me. But they’d be wrong, so wrong.
I was crying because I’d never felt so happy and so safe and because Gabriel was the man I should have waited for all my life. It wasn’t just about sexual control. Today, Gabriel had uncovered another piece of me, the missing piece of the puzzle.
I’d spent my whole life dealing with rejection and pretending not to care, because caring was weak, and I was strong. I made my own decisions and I never asked for help. No one had ever been interested in whether those decisions were right or wrong, and I’d learned not to care about that either.
But now, I was accountable to someone. My actions had consequences. I mattered. The line of consent, which had seemed so fuzzy only a moment ago, was now clearly defined—a fine line to be sure—but no less distinct for all that.
I seemed to cry forever, but eventually, my tears stopped and I snuggled into his chest, exhausted. Gabriel lifted my chin with one finger and kissed me softly. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”
I drew a shuddering sigh. “Safe… Contented… Sleepy.” I smiled up at him. “Horny.”
Gabriel leaned to one side so we were both lying on the bed. “No toys today,” he said, “just us.” He bent to kiss the hollow of my neck, my collarbone, my breasts, the warmth of his lips against my skin bringing me back to wakefulness as he parted my legs and stroked me gently with his fingers. He caught hold of my hand and placed it between my legs. “Touch yourself,” he murmured.
I did as I was told, realizing with a shock that once again punishment had made me soaking wet. Gabriel stood and started to undress, taking a condom from his pocket, and I moaned in anticipation, desperate to feel him inside me.
It was very different from last week. Last week, Gabriel had fucked me. Today he made love to me. For a man who professed himself incapable of love, he was certainly capable of making me feel loved. He moved in and out of me with an aching slowness, hands cupping my burning ass, his eyes never leaving mine, until the whole of my existence seemed contained within his.
He came with a strangled groan and pulled me to him, sinking his head onto my breast, while I stroked his hair with trembling fingers, overwhelmed by the intensity of my love for this man I was only just starting to know.
He lifted his head and kissed me then withdrew and went off to the bathroom.
I’d never felt so utterly relaxed. Every bit of tension had left my body. I was so drowsy it was as if I’d been drugged.
When Gabriel returned, he lay back down with me and pulled the quilt over us both, pulling me into his arms where I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I was awoken an hour later by the alarm on Gabriel’s phone and I stretched like a satisfied cat.
Gabriel was sitting up, looking at the room service menu. “Do you l
ike oysters?” he asked me.
I smiled up at him. “Yes.”
Gabriel picked up the phone and ordered before putting on his jeans. I threw back the covers and stood up.
“Where are you going?” Gabriel asked me.
“To the bathroom.”
“Okay, sweetheart, but don’t put any clothes on. You’ll be having lunch naked.”
The oysters were brought in and put on the coffee table. Gabriel had opened the wrist cuffs and now he sat in an easy chair and called me over. He cuffed my hands together behind my back. “Now sit at my feet.”
I knelt demurely at the feet of my Master, eyes downcast, waiting for instruction. I was determined never to disappoint him or myself again.
Gabriel opened an oyster shell, squeezed lemon juice inside it then picked up the oyster with his fingers. “Open wide, darling.”
I opened my mouth wide, and Gabriel slipped the oyster inside. It was slippery, succulent and fresh-tasting, and the lemon juice and brine from his fingers mingled and ran down my chin onto my breasts. Gabriel picked up a napkin and wiped my chin, and I closed my eyes in ecstasy. The way he took care of me made me feel so special, so cherished. He kissed my forehead then fed me another oyster then another, each time wiping my mouth gently.
After we’d finished the oysters and he’d given me water, he sat on the floor with me and pulled me close so I was kneeling between his thighs. He picked up another napkin and poured water onto it and washed the rest of the lemon juice from my neck and breasts. “You and I are going to do so many new things together,” he said. “I’m going to push your boundaries. I’m going to make you do things you never dreamed you would do.”
I sighed. “Why does this feel so amazing?”
“Because this is something you’ve always needed. You feel safe with me because you know I’ll protect you and care for you as well as discipline you.” He released my wrists and pulled me into his arms. “And now, sweetheart, you’ll need to get dressed. It’s time I was taking you home.”
Gabriel paid the bill in cash, explaining that we wouldn’t be staying the night after all due to a family emergency. I could see the receptionist thinking, ‘Yeah right.’
We were about to get into Gabriel’s car when I remembered I’d promised Paul I’d go into Holland & Barrett for his vitamin drinks.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Gabriel. “I completely forgot about them before. You go ahead if you like. I bought a return ticket for the train.”
“It’s no problem, sweetheart. I’ll come with you.”
We’d just come out of Holland & Barrett and Gabriel had stopped to look at something in the window, when I saw a tall, gray-haired lady staring at us from across the street. For one heart-stopping second, I thought we’d been rumbled, then I realized the lady in question didn’t know Gabriel. She only knew me.
Barbara seemed terrified. Maybe Andrew was nearby and she was scared I’d speak to her. I turned away, hoping this would reassure her and, when I glanced back, she’d gone. Poor Barbara, what must it be like to live in such fear? Still, at least now I knew she was still alive and well.
On the drive home, I didn’t speak. I wished there was something I could do to help Barbara.
Gabriel squeezed my knee. “Are you okay?”
“You know the lady I told you about, whose husband slashed my tire? Well, I saw her while we were outside Holland & Barrett. She looked petrified, and now I can’t get her out of my mind.”
Gabriel squeezed my knee again. “You’re a very caring person, aren’t you? I can’t get over how different you and Ginny are.”
I turned to him. “Do you think you and Ginny would’ve lasted if you hadn’t had that row?”
“I’d hardly call it a row.” He laughed. “What do you think, sweetheart? Did you think we were made for each other?”
“No, not really. You’re far more intelligent than she is, for a start.”
“Thank you.” He looked thoughtful. “Ginny’s so precious to herself, isn’t she? I don’t mean that to sound nasty, but you’re her sister, you know what I mean, don’t you?
“Well, that’s my dad’s doing, I’m afraid.”
“I know, but he didn’t do her any favors. The thing is, she is ridiculously pretty but there’s no substance, and until she realizes that and does something about it, she’s just going to float along on the surface of her own life, never really engaging with anything.”
I didn’t answer. He seemed to have come to know my sister very well in the space of two weeks. But then he already knew me better than I knew myself.
“Are you feeling guilty about her?” he asked me.
It was my turn to shrug. “I get the odd pang, but most of the time, no.”
“Why’s that, do you think?”
I turned and stared out of the window for a long moment. Some things weren’t easy to talk about.
“Do you know, my father only ever raised his hand to me once,” I said. “He usually left the disciplining to my mother. But I remember this one day, we were on holiday in Torquay. I was twelve and Ginny was five. We were spending the day on the beach, just me, Ginny and Dad. Mum had a migraine and had stayed behind at the cottage we were renting. Ginny wanted an ice cream, so Dad had gone off to get some, leaving me to watch Ginny.” I swallowed hard at the memory. “Anyway, I can’t remember what distracted me. I was always a bit of a daydreamer, I suppose.”
“She wandered off?”
“I just remember my dad yelling at her. He dropped the ice creams in the sand. I looked up and she was up to her waist in the sea.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. He pulled her out, then he smacked her hard, shouting at her. She was so upset. He hardly ever raised his voice to her, never mind hitting her. She started crying, then he was hugging her and kissing her. I remember he was very nearly crying himself.”
“What about you?”
“Well, I was dragged back to the cottage where he gave me a good hiding and sent me to bed without any tea. The last thing I remember, as I went upstairs crying, was Ginny complaining she hadn’t had her ice cream and Dad saying he’d go out and get her one after tea.”
Gabriel took my hand, which I hadn’t realized I was clenching, and raised it to his lips and kissed it. “Poor Faye. I hate to think of you as a little girl crying in your room. But you know what? I bet your dad would be devastated if he knew you were still thinking about that. I mean, look at it from his point of view. He must have been terrified, thinking about what could have happened.”
“Oh, I know that, but he never apologized afterwards. I never had any kisses and cuddles, and for the rest of the holiday, he was cold toward me. There were loads of other things, too, during our childhood, but I think that’s the one that stands out for me.”
“And that’s why you don’t feel guilty?”
“Not exactly, that would be too simple, wouldn’t it? I mean, it’s not Ginny’s fault he loved her more. But I’m just so used to being second best, it’s hard not to enjoy feeling like her equal for once.”
We stopped at a red light, and Gabriel turned to me. “You’ll never be second best to me. You do know that, don’t you?” Then the lights changed and he turned back to the wheel.
I spent the rest of the journey replaying his words in my head. Was it possible I could have some sort of future with him?
Chapter Ten
Lying in bed the next morning, I amused myself by indulging in ridiculous daydreams and fantasies about Gabriel. I pictured him in Paul’s place and wondered what life would be like as Gabriel’s wife. I imagined walking down the aisle on our wedding day. Of course I’d have to promise to love, honor and obey him and, afterward, instead of a ring, he’d fasten a jeweled collar around my neck as a symbol of his ownership.
In our day-to-day life, Gabriel would be the indisputable head of the household, and I would be a stay-at-home wife and devote myself to his pleasure. I could just see myself doing the housework, wearing a fift
ies-style dress—no wife of Gabriel’s would be allowed to wear trousers—and I imagined cooking meals for him, dressed in nothing but an apron and high heels, then sitting at his feet while he ate. I’d have to be sexually available to him at all times, and, for one crazy moment, I even had an image of myself pregnant with his child, Gabriel with his hand on my belly, possessive and proud, and I was both amazed and horrified by what a pleasant thought that was.
I sat up straight. What the hell was going on? This wasn’t me. I’d always been a strong advocate of women’s rights. Paul and I split the housework straight down the middle and children had never been something I’d wanted. Now, suddenly, I was single-handedly setting the women’s movement back by fifty years and embracing the ideal of the Stepford Wives. I had it bad. I needed some sanity. I needed Steph.
I showered and dressed, then I phoned her. “Steph, I know you said you didn’t want to hear about Gabriel.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to hear,” she said, “it’s just that I want to be able to look Paul in the eye.”
“I know, and I hate to put you in an awkward position, but I’ve no one else to talk to.”
“You’ve slept with him, haven’t you?”
“Twice.”
Steph sighed. “So, now what?”
“I don’t know. I just know I can’t give him up.”
“So, are you going to leave Paul?”
“I don’t know,” I said again. “I know I’m not going to live happily ever after with Gabriel, but isn’t it cowardly to stay with my husband just because I know there’s no future with my lover? Maybe I should leave Paul. At least that would be the honest thing to do. I mean, if I can cheat on him this easily, what future do we have?”
“God, Faye.”
“I can’t explain it,” I said, “but I’ve never felt like this about a man. I didn’t even know I could feel like this.”