A Fine Line

by Sue Horsford

  “I’m sure.”

  “Good girl. I’m going to give you six strokes this time, but if you ever do anything so stupid again, you’ll get double. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir. I won’t ever do anything so stupid again.”

  “Let’s hope not. Now I want you to count each stroke. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  For a second, nothing happened then the cane whistled through the air, stinging as it made contact with my skin.

  “One,” I said, just on the verge of thinking that wasn’t so unbearable after all, when the aftershock hit me, and I gasped as a thin line of fire streaked across both buttocks.

  “One, Sir,” said Gabriel in my ear. “Let’s start again from the beginning.”

  Again the cane hissed down and again the sharp sting, followed by the flash of fire, which seemed to radiate out from my buttocks, igniting my nerve endings.

  “One, Sir,” I said through gritted teeth.

  He waited about thirty seconds before bringing the cane down again. This time my hiss of indrawn breath was so sharp I couldn’t find any more breath to count. Gabriel waited patiently and finally I managed to gasp out, “Two, Sir.”

  At the third stroke, I couldn’t help but cry out, “Three, Sir. Please, I’m sorry, Sir!”

  “I know this hurts,” Gabriel said gently, “but I want to make absolutely sure you never do anything so stupid again.” He waited a little longer this time before bringing the cane down again.

  This time my words came out on a sob. “F-four, Sir.”

  The cane swished down again.

  “Five, Sir!” I yelled, digging my fingers into the arms of the chair.

  Gabriel stroked my smarting flesh, his tenderness only making me cry harder. I had no idea there was so much pain inside me—the pain of not feeling loved by my parents, the pain of realizing I was no longer in love with my husband and now this new pain that was so unexpected and so raw I didn’t even want to acknowledge it.

  “Are you ready for the last one, sweetheart?”

  I drew a shuddering breath. “I’m ready, Sir.”

  And he brought the cane down so hard that, for a moment, I felt as if I was having an out of body experience, floating above the pain, then I came back to myself and gave a long drawn out cry.

  “Owwww! Six! Sir!”

  Gabriel helped me off the chair and gathered me into his arms. He led me over to the bed, where he pulled the covers over us and I lay with my head pillowed on his chest while he stroked my hair until my sobs had died away into sniffles.

  “Are you all right, sweetheart?” he murmured.

  I nodded. “I’m not upset about the caning. I’m glad. It’s made me realize I should take my own safety more seriously.”

  “And so you should, sweetheart. Because I meant what I said—you will get double next time. I said I wanted to keep you safe and I meant it.”

  My behind felt as if it had been stung by a swarm of angry bees, but still, his words sent a tingle of excitement rushing through me. I resisted the urge to press myself up against his leg. I had something I wanted to tell him first.

  “I was thinking about something before.”

  Gabriel kissed the top of my head. “What was it, babe?”

  I hesitated. Saying it would make it real. There would be no taking the words back once they were out.

  “It’s Ginny. You asked me if I felt guilty about what I’m doing with you. I know I should be. She’d be so hurt if she found out, and I asked myself how I could do that to someone I loved. That led me onto wondering if I do love Ginny, and you know… I don’t think I do. I don’t think I ever really loved her. I don’t even think I like her very much most of the time.”

  Gabriel said nothing and I raised myself up on one elbow to look at him.

  “Am I a horrible person?”

  “Not at all. You’ve probably always felt you should love her, so you convinced yourself you did. She is your sister, after all. But I’m not really surprised. I knew the two of you weren’t as close as sisters usually are.”

  I sat up. “Really? How could you know something like that?”

  Gabriel pulled me back down, making me wince at the friction of the sheet against my ass. “Sweetheart, if you had any real regard for your sister, you’d have advised her to get rid of me the moment I started flirting with you.”

  “That’s exactly what…”

  “Exactly what?” he prompted.

  I paused. There was a chance he’d be annoyed with me if I told him, but there was enough deception in my life. I had to be honest with him. I wanted nothing but the truth between myself and Gabriel.

  “Exactly what Steph said.”

  “Steph? She’s your best friend, isn’t she? You told her about us?”

  “A little, not everything. Are you angry?”

  “No, not at all, you’re the one with everything to lose if your husband finds out.”

  His words, so casually uttered, sliced through me, hurting me far more than the cane ever could.

  “Talking of which,” he said, “you’re going to have to make sure he doesn’t see those welts on your ass.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said, turning away from him so he couldn’t see the hurt in my eyes. “I’m getting quite good at this adultery lark.”

  As I spoke, my heart contracted in pain. How much longer could I stay with a man who didn’t love me?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ginny and I had agreed to spend Saturday afternoon with our mother helping her to clear out her cupboards, and I arrived just after lunch to find her sitting in her armchair surrounded by large cardboard boxes. Ginny was kneeling on the floor sorting through my mother’s jewelry, a diamante bracelet already glinting on her wrist.

  “What’s all this in aid of?” I asked.

  “It’s not in aid of anything, Faye. I just wanted to have a clear-out. There’s no point in hanging on to things that have outgrown their use.”

  I reached into the nearest box and brought out an old Fox’s biscuit tin.

  “I think that’s photographs,” said my mother. “Go through them and see if there’s any you want.”

  I opened the tin and started sorting through them. Most of them I’d seen as a child. There was one of my grandparents taken around 1950 and one taken a few years later, posing proudly with my mother in my grandmother’s arms. They were in their forties by this time and had given up hope of ever having children, so my mother was a precious gift.

  I didn’t remember my grandmother. She’d died when I was still a baby, but I could just about remember my grandfather who’d died when I was four. I still had a child’s silver bracelet engraved with To Faye, lots of love, Granddad, so I knew he’d been fond of me.

  “I’d like these if you don’t want them,” I said.

  My mother shrugged. “As I said, take what you want, though it’s not as if you and Paul are ever going to have children to hand them on to.”

  Ginny looked up at this. “By the way, I’ve decided it’s definitely over with Gabriel,” she said.

  My mother didn’t seem surprised. “Well, I said it wouldn’t last, didn’t I?”

  “What you actually said was, he would finish with me. Well, for your information, I was the one who ended it.”

  “I did like him,” said my mother. “We had a lovely lunch with him, didn’t we, Faye?”

  “Well, Paul and I will still see him, of course,” I said.

  My mother frowned and I added, “Paul’s going to be working with him for a while.”

  “Yes, but you won’t see him socially, surely?”

  “Why not?” I said. “They’re becoming quite good friends, actually.”

  She stared at me for a moment and I wondered if, despite her aloofness, she knew me better than I thought she did. A hot flush crept into my cheeks and I busied myself with the tin of photos. But I wasn’t going to get off that easily.

  “You know, I never would have
thought Paul and Gabriel had much in common,” she said. “Gabriel seems so sophisticated, I thought, while Paul… Well, you know what I mean, Faye.”

  “Gabriel wanted to take me to the opera,” Ginny put in, wrinkling her nose with distaste. “But I said no. I mean, why would I want to sit and listen to a load of fat people caterwauling in a foreign language? What is the point?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” said my mother. “Gabriel likes opera, Paul likes football and fishing. Has Paul ever shown the slightest interest in taking you to the opera, Faye?”

  I shook my head, wishing she would shut up. What would it be like to go to the opera with Gabriel, him darkly handsome in a dinner jacket, me in an evening dress, linking his arm as we walked down to take our seats? I knew I was only making things worse for myself. My fantasies were no more realistic than the dreams of a love-struck teenager, but still, I couldn’t help myself.

  My mother was still watching me as if she knew exactly what was going through my mind.

  “Shall I make a drink?” I said, wanting to escape the unwelcome attention.

  In the kitchen, I made coffee for Ginny and myself, and tea for my mother. I put the drinks on a tray and took them into the living room, setting the tray down on the coffee table.

  “You’ve made me coffee,” said Ginny, scowling. “I wanted tea.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You didn’t say.”

  “Well, I don’t want that,” she said. “Forget it, I’ll make my own.”

  She left the room and we heard her clattering about in the kitchen, making far more noise than was necessary.

  My mother frowned at me. “What on earth is wrong with your sister?”

  I shook my head. “She must have taken the break-up with Gabriel harder than she’s letting on.” I felt a twinge of guilt, but only a twinge.

  “So why did they break up?”

  I hesitated. It wasn’t really up to me to answer that question.

  “Was there another woman involved?”

  It was like being interrogated.

  “Er…no, she… She just decided it wasn’t working. You know Ginny, she never stays with anyone for long.”

  “And did he beg her to take him back the way all the others have?”

  “No.”

  “No, I thought not.”

  Just then, Ginny came back in and my mother fell silent but not before giving me a sharp look.

  To escape her scrutiny, I rummaged in the box to see what else was inside. It seemed to contain mainly clothes, some of which I remembered from my childhood.

  “Oh, I always loved this on you,” I exclaimed in delight, pulling out a floor-length, midnight blue jersey dress with a draped neckline.

  “Did you really?” She seemed pleased with the compliment. “Take it if you want.”

  Ginny was looking at me expectantly.

  “Oh, did you want it?” I asked her.

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” said my mother. “That dress would swamp you, Ginny, it would be much better on your sister. Try it on, Faye. You can use my bedroom.”

  In my mother’s room, I admired myself in the full-length mirror. The dress fitted as if it had been made for me, caressing my every curve and accentuating my slim waist. The outline of my underwear left an unsightly line underneath, but then if I was with Gabriel, I wouldn’t be wearing any underwear. I smiled to myself. Could I not go ten minutes without thinking of him?

  I gave myself a mental cold shower and went back into the living room to show my mother.

  “Oh, Faye, you look absolutely stunning.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” I said.

  “Stop putting yourself down. Remember what that nice Gabriel said about you.”

  “What did he say about her?” demanded Ginny.

  “He said I had two very beautiful daughters.” She frowned. “I’ve just remembered. He said he was going to do photos of you two.”

  “He’s done mine,” said Ginny. “I was going to give it to you for Christmas, but he’s still got it.”

  “I’ll get it for you if you like,” I said.

  My mother smiled. “Yes, and while you’re there, you can get him to photograph you. I know you never liked having your photo taken, but I’m sure Gabriel will bring out the best in you.”

  Was it just my paranoia or did she have a glint in her eye?

  “I’ll just go and change out of this dress,” I said, escaping to the bedroom.

  I stood in my underwear in front of the mirror and examined my buttocks. The welts from the caning were clearly visible, deep pink and slightly raised like pairs of tramlines.

  I was running my fingers over them when the door opened and Ginny walked in. I wheeled around, but it was too late.

  Her jaw dropped open. “Oh, my God! What are those marks?”

  “It’s nothing,” I muttered, mortified.

  “Has someone been hitting you?”

  I forced a laugh. “It’s just a bit of slap and tickle, really. It looks worse than it is.”

  “With Paul?”

  “Well, who else would I be having slap and tickle with?”

  “Oh, my God!” she said again. “What did he do it with?”

  “Er…just a bit of cane from the garden.”

  “A cane?” She giggled. “What were you doing? Playing school? Did you forget to do your homework?”

  Hurriedly, I put my jeans back on. “Can we not talk about it anymore, please? I really don’t feel comfortable discussing my sex life with you.”

  “Oh, wait till I see Paul. I’ll give him some stick.” And she laughed at her own joke.

  “No!” I said so sharply she flinched. “I don’t want you to say anything to Paul. He’d be furious if he thought I was discussing our sex life with you.”

  “Oooh, would he punish you?”

  “I mean it, Ginny, not a word. Please, for my sake.”

  “Oh, all right, keep your hair on. It’s not that big a deal, you know. Loads of people do it.”

  We went back into the living room where my mother was sitting, staring into nothing.

  “A penny for them,” I said.

  She came out of her trance. “Sorry, dear. I’m feeling a little tired. Can we finish this off some other time?”

  “Of course.”

  We both gave her a dutiful kiss on the cheek then left.

  On our way down the stairs, Ginny said, “I’ve hardly seen you lately. Have you been avoiding me?”

  Had I?

  “Not at all. I’ve just been busy. Do you want to follow me home now and stay for your tea?”

  Paul was in the kitchen putting shopping away. “I’ve done a big shop,” he said. “I thought I’d do steak for tea. Are you staying, Ginny?”

  “Aren’t you domesticated?” she teased him.

  “Well, your sister’s got me well trained,” he said, winking at me.

  “I thought you were the boss, Paul,” she said with a sly grin.

  I glared at her, but she took no notice.

  Paul laughed. “Well, I’ve tried chaining her to the kitchen sink, but she’s having none of it.”

  “Perhaps you need to be a bit stricter with her.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Paul laughed again. “I’ll try that.”

  “What on earth was Ginny on about before?” he said, getting into bed. “Saying she thought I was the boss?”

  “Oh, she was just giving me a bit too much information about her sex life with Gabriel. Apparently, he was quite dominant.”

  “Yes, I can see that in him,” said Paul. “So, what were they into? A bit of bondage, spanking, that sort of thing?”

  “Can we not talk about it, please? She is my sister.”

  “Perhaps I should spank you,” Paul said.

  “No, thank you,” I said quickly. I could just about face making love to Paul if I had to, but my ass belonged to Gabriel.

  “Mmm, I’m getting horny just thinking about it. Why don’t you get out of those
pajamas and into something sexy?” He moved his hand toward the waistband of my pajama bottoms as if to take them down and I pulled away in panic. I’d worn pajamas deliberately. There was no way I was letting him see my striped buttocks.

  “No!” I yelled.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood.”

  “Well, you needn’t act as if I was about to rape you. For Christ sake, Faye, when are you in the mood lately? We haven’t made love for weeks.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to at least pretend you still fancy me.” He stopped and frowned. “Is there someone else?” he asked, looking me straight in the eye.

  I willed myself not to blush. “So I don’t feel like sex and that means I’m having an affair? For God’s sake, you should hear yourself. That’s the sort of thing one of my client’s husbands would say.”

  Paul leaped out of bed, his expression so angry I thought for a moment he was going to hit me. “You’re comparing me to a wife beater? Well, don’t worry. I won’t force myself on you again.”

  He strode over to the bedroom door and turned to me. “If you want me, I’ll be in the spare room.”

  As I lay there alone, the bed seemed huge and I desperately wished I could take back the last five minutes. Paul wasn’t perfect and I still hadn’t forgotten those photos, but he hadn’t deserved that last comment. Maybe I should go into the spare room and creep into bed with him and make love like he wanted, but I couldn’t risk him seeing that Gabriel had branded me as his. I tried to get used to the feeling of being in the bed by myself. After all, this is what it would be like if I left him.

  The phone rang and I rolled over onto Paul’s side of the bed, acutely aware of its emptiness, which was ridiculous as it was Sunday morning and he wouldn’t have been here anyway—he’d be out fishing.

  “Hello,” I said, my voice mumbly with sleep.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” said an adored voice, “did I wake you?”

  “Gabriel,” I said and smiled, relishing the taste of his name on my lips.