Holding Skye

by Summer Graystone

  Elijah nodded. "I'd thought not. Thanks, Steve. I'm going to take my sub home now."

  Take my sub home now. Those words repeated inside her head and she didn't hear anything else he said. She was his. His sub and he was her master. Things were certainly looking up. Or so she thought.

  Chapter 7

  Once inside the car, Elijah growled, "I can't believe you," and Skye couldn't help but flinch from his instant change in behavior.

  "What?" Skye asked softly.

  "You safe worded! You used your safe word."

  "I…"

  "Don't you remember me telling you that this wasn't a game? Your outburst caused security to be called and Steve had to do unneeded damage control."

  A gasp escaped her throat as his voice echoed in her head. She had never seen him so mad before and, she didn't know exactly what had happened, but somehow she knew that he was going to send her away. She couldn't stop the instant tears that started to roll down her cheeks. "Please don't send me away! I don't understand! I can't… Please don't leave me, Master."

  There was that word again.

  Master.

  It burned his insides like fire. She couldn't know the power that she held when she used that word—the raw emotion he felt. "This was a test, slave. I wanted you to fail. I wanted Steve to make you come over and over again. I was going to test you to see if you would lie to me and told me you controlled it. I had to test your honesty, your loyalty."

  Skye was in shock. I wanted you to fail repeated in her head over and over again. Why would he do that? He called her slave for the first time. She felt a pain in her chest. What was going on? Why was he so mad? "You told me before we arrived that I had the choice to use my safe words…"

  "You always have a choice to use the safe words. We will discuss this once we get home. Do NOT speak again until we arrive. You do not have permission to say anything. If you do, then I know you want to leave. Once we get there, I will decide what to do with you."

  Skye's chest was heaving, her fear was unlike anything she ever felt before, and she couldn't stop the silent tears from falling as she looked at her lap. She couldn't describe how she was feeling. It was as if she were drowning with no escape, being plunged into darkness with no light. The air around her was leaving; there was no hope.

  Once they arrived home, his voice was harsh as he spoke to her. "You have one chance, slave, and one chance only. You may speak while we discuss this."

  Skye dropped to her knees and placed her head to the floor with her arms outstretched. "Please, Sir!" she whimpered. "I'll do anything! Don't send me away." She still didn't know what she did wrong but she knew she couldn't leave him.

  "Anything, slave?"

  "Yes! Anything, Sir! Please!" She begged with tears streaming down her cheeks.

  "Look up at me, slave. Kneel like I taught you."

  Skye instantly moved from her position gracefully into the kneeling position with her hands on her thighs.

  He was still until she looked up at him. "Would you face your worst fears?" He waited for her reaction and it looked like she was facing an internal struggle until she finally spoke. Her voice was raw from crying and it was laced with fear.

  "I would, Sir."

  "Will you endure the cane? My cane?"

  A sob escaped her throat but she refused to let any more tears fall. Her body trembled at the thought of the painful cane.

  "Yes, slave. In order to stay with me you, must face your hard limit. Is that something you can do?" His voice softened and he knelt to the floor beside her as he stroked her hair and looked into her eyes. "Am I worth that much to you?"

  She knew the answer before he even asked the question. Yes, of course, he was worth all of her fears, all of her entire being. She loved him.

  She stood naked in the hall, waiting for him. Her heart raced, her hands trembled, but this time it wasn't from arousal or anticipation. This time it was from fear.

  The moment she heard Elijah's footsteps on the stairs, she dropped to her knees, hands folded just so—right over left, fingers aligned, thumb tucked in—head bowed, shoulders straight. No slouching; never slouch. He'd told her there was nothing sexy about rounded shoulders. He'd told her he loved the way her shoulder blades looked like angel wings when sat up straight.

  He stopped in front of her, just the tips of his toes visible in her line of sight. She knew he was looking at her, checking to make sure everything was correct. She waited, kneeling, head bowed, submissive, for him to speak.

  The door opened and he stepped aside. "Enter."

  He hadn't said her name. A shaft of cold fear pierced her heart. He always said her name.

  Always.

  "Yes, Sir."

  In one fluid graceful movement—one she'd practiced so many times—she rose, eyes still lowered, and stepped into Elijah's playroom. Only today, her feet moved slowly, as if they were leaden were lead weights, the carpet a pool of deep water. Finally, she stopped in her designated spot, big toes just touching the edge of the large burgundy rose, two inches between her feet, hands again folded in front. Everything was perfect, for Elijah, the way he wanted it. The way she wanted it to be, for him.

  "You know what's going to happen, don't you?"

  She nodded. He hadn't given her permission to speak, had no illusions he would. Her mouth had gone dry, and when she swallowed, her throat clicked.

  Elijah moved away from her and she risked a glance from beneath her eyelashes. He was just turning the key in the lock on the cabinet door—the one that held toys and other things, some things she loved. And some things, not so much.

  "You may speak."

  She dropped her eyes instantly. "Yes, Sir."

  "You know why we are here."

  "Yes, Sir." Her voice quavered and she squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to show fear, to show him how she felt. That inside she was a quivering mess, heart pounding, stomach churning, knees weak. She didn't want this, didn't want punishment. But there was nothing she could do to stop this. It was what happened when she disobeyed, broke rules. And she'd broken a big one tonight.

  "You know what happens next."

  "Yes, Sir." She kept her eyes shut, willing the tears not to fall.

  "Then tell me. Tell me why we're here. Why I need to punish you."

  "Yes, Sir." She took a breath, willing strength into her voice. "I-I broke a rule. At the club, during a scene with a Master. A Master you arranged for me. For which I am profoundly grateful."

  "Continue." His voice was cold. She hated that sound, hated that she knew it was because of her. "Tell me what rule you broke."

  "Yes, Sir. I used the safe word—when I didn't need to, Sir."

  "Tell me why you used it."

  She wanted to look at him, to show him with her eyes how sorry she was, so very sorry.

  "Yes, Sir. I got scared; I was scared. It wasn't you—he made me—I was too close, and I was going to, but I wasn't supposed to. I got scared." She stopped, dragged in a breath, on the verge of continuing, but Elijah cut her off.

  "You caused a scene."

  She had. It hadn't been what she'd wanted to do at all. But she'd panicked. It was her first scene without Elijah, at a new club. With a new Master. Master Steve had brought her close, too close, too many times, and she knew she wasn't going to be able to hold back. Elijah would be so disappointed if she came, so she'd screamed out the safe word. "I did, Sir. Yes."

  She waited for him to speak, but there was no sound in the room but her heart thumping, and the sound of Elijah's controlled breathing. The silence was worse than his words, worse than trying to find the answer for something that happened because of her.

  Finally, he took a deep breath. "Then you know you need to be punished."

  "Yes, Sir."

  She started trembling. Punishment—she deserved to be punished. But how?

  "Come with me."

  She looked up, startled. "Sir?"

  "Come here." He held out his hand, flicked a
finger in her direction. "Stand in front of the cabinet."

  "Yes, Sir." She almost tripped over her feet as she walked forward. He'd never asked her to do this. She didn't know where to stand; there was no burgundy rose on the carpet.

  "Here, Sir?" She hesitated, eyes downcast.

  "Yes. Look into the cabinet. Choose what you want me to use."

  She was confused. He'd never asked this of her before, never given her a choice.

  "Choose, Sir?"

  "Pick what you want me to use. It will be a cane, but you choose which one."

  The cane. She hated even the name of the thing—she hated it the most, that scared her beyond anything he could use on her. But she deserved punishment, knew in her heart this had to happen.

  But with this?

  "Yes, Sir." She dragged her gaze upward, staring into the depths of the cabinet. Everything was there, things she loved—the ties and ropes, the handcuffs—even the whip he'd used on her once. It had thrilled her, everything from the smell of the leather to the sound of it snapping in the air, the bite of it against her skin. Elijah had practiced for hours with a Sir, just to come home to her and…

  "Choose. You cannot delay this."

  The steel in his voice drove home the point. She was delaying the inevitable.

  "Yes, Sir."

  The canes were hung from brass hooks, all aligned, all beautiful in their own cruel way. She took a breath and began studying each one. The steel, an automatic no. There was a bamboo cane—she'd heard it called a wangee cane at the club—a vicious-looking bumpy thing with a curved handle. She'd watched a bottom get caned once, and when her Sir was done, her ass bore the marks of each individual knob and indent of the bamboo. She shook her head, closed her eyes and then made her decision.

  "The leather cane, Sir." It was a beautiful cane, with a silver handle in the shape of a dragon. If nothing else, she'd be caned with something elegant and lovely. She dropped her eyes.

  "Skye, look at me."

  Her eyes popped up to his as he spoke. "I need you to understand, Skye, I am not mad at you. I don't hate you. I could never punish you out of anger and I won't. I'm not upset. I need to know you really want to continue. I know this is a limit of yours. I don't want to break a hard limit. I never will. You may speak."

  He saw the tears leak out of the corner of her eyes. "I'm so glad you aren't angry with me. I…" She swallowed several times before speaking again. "I need to experience this, Sir. I need to know how it feels and I know you need it too. Something obviously happened." She didn't say anymore but knew the point was made and she lowered her eyes. "Please punish me, Sir"

  She watched Elijah's feet move forward, heard the clatter as he removed the cane.

  "On the horse."

  "Yes, Sir."

  She moved silently to the other end of the room. There was a beautiful piece of furniture set in the middle of the room, something that looked a little like a padded footstool, but taller, with a rounded top, covered with buttery soft leather. He'd used it before for spanking.

  She positioned her feet the correct distance apart, then bent over the horse. There were places for her hands, and she gripped the wooden handholds.

  There was a breeze behind her as Elijah walked behind her. She could see his feet and sweat-pant clad lower legs between her knees. Then he moved to the side, and she lost sight of him.

  She tried to relax, to breathe, not to tense her muscles. But not knowing when the first blow was going to happen was the worst part. There was no warning.

  The first stroke against her ass made her gasp, more from surprise than pain. It thudded through her, more like a body punch than a cane. Maybe this wouldn't be…

  She heard the whistle of the cane a fraction of a second before it struck her. It stung, the pain sharp and bright. She blew out a breath, drew in another through her nose.

  The third strike was harder, sharper, hitting both buttocks equally, the pain strong and intense. She knew enough not to bite her lip to keep from crying out; she'd bitten through it once after they'd first met.

  His blows came faster after that, harder. Some thudded against her body, others snapped and bit into her skin, as if Elijah were experimenting, testing the cane, testing her.

  She rose up on her toes, the pain flowing through her, sinking into her very cells. The pain was exquisite, like fire and she gripped the handholds, knuckles white, head back, letting the pain wash through her.

  And then the blows stopped, after eight strokes. "You may stand."

  Elijah's voice was oddly quiet. She let go of the handholds, eased her feet onto the floor, testing her legs, testing if she could stand. Her knees felt shivery and loose, and she set her hands on the horse, steadying herself.

  "Skye? Are you okay? Talk to me, baby girl. I'm not mad at you."

  She smiled. It was over. "I'm fine." She turned.

  He was standing behind her and she took a step, and then she was in his arms. He pulled her against him, against his bare chest, and she rested her cheek against his warm skin.

  "Come on over here." He took a step, and she stumbled just a little. Before she could say anything, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed, setting her gently on the mattress.

  "Blanket? Something to drink?" He reached out, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

  "Blanket. And just juice." A sudden wave of chills washed over her and her teeth started to chatter.

  Elijah reached beneath the bed and pulled out a soft dark blue blanket, draping it around her shoulders. She pulled it closer, snuggling into the warmth.

  "Skip the juice. Just sit with me, please."

  "You need some gel first, okay?"

  She frowned, lower lip in a subtle pout. But he shook his head.

  "There are marks, Skye, some kind of deep. It'll just take a minute. And you'll feel better."

  From the bedside table he pulled out a well-used tube of aloe vera gel. She rolled over onto her stomach, and Elijah pulled the blanket up over her legs.

  "Cold, and then my hand."

  The gel felt wonderful, and then his hand was moving over her hot skin, each stroke cool relief. But beneath that was the simple touch of skin against skin, his against hers, and that was what she lived for. The memories of the scene at the club, the cane striking her skin, started to fade. Finally, Elijah put the gel aside and she sat up.

  Elijah climbed onto the bed, sitting against the carved headboard, and waited for her to settle herself. Tonight she wanted to sit on his lap, to feel small and protected, to have his arms around her, the heat of his body against hers. But even with the gel, her ass flamed with heat, and it took her a moment of careful maneuvering to get comfortable. When she was settled more or less between his legs rather than on them, he wrapped his arms around her.

  "You okay, baby?" He stroked her hair, rocking slowly back and forth. Something, the blanket or his sweats, rubbed against one of the marks. She should really shift position, but the subtle friction kept a tiny flame of memory alive, the reason why she was here.

  "Yeah. I'm good. Really."

  "You want to talk about it?"

  She wasn't sure she did, but she could tell he wanted to. "I got scared. Plain and simple. And when I knew I was going to lose it, I used the safe word." She shook her head, pulling the blanket closer. Automatically his arms tightened around her. He could read her so easily. She closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted.

  "He was going to make me cum and I didn't know what to do. I felt scared. It's never scary with you. Intense, yeah. Out of control, hell yeah. But I'm never scared. Until tonight, until I was with that Master."

  There was a beat of silence. "You were scared of being caned."

  She shifted on his lap. "Well, yeah. Scared of a thing. But not of you." She lifted her head, reaching up to touch his face.

  "I'm never scared of you. I love you. I trust you, with everything. With this. With my love. With my life."

  He leaned down, catching her lips wi
th his, the kiss so gentle she wasn't sure she was being kissed, or if she was imagining it. She let her head fall back and then let him lay her down on the mattress.

  Chapter 8

  Skye smiled softly as she looked up into his worried face. "I'm so sorry I disappointed you," she whispered as she averted her eyes.

  Elijah mentally cursed himself for ever making her feel that way. "No, no, Skye," he assured her. "It is not your fault. I was being cruel and stupid."

  Skye took a moment and looked down at herself. She was in a white, soft terry-cloth bathrobe and she felt sore as the memories came back to her. "Oh my God. I passed out. I'm sorry."

  Elijah chuckled. "Don't worry. I'll take it as a compliment." He smiled at her grin. It was infectious. "Are you all right?"

  Skye nodded.

  "No pain?"

  "I'm a little sore, but a good sore. I feel all tingly."

  Elijah smiled. "So you want to try the cane again?"

  Skye shook her head. "God, no!"

  Elijah laughed and ignored the total breech of proper conversation. It was really nice to see her full personality. "That's quite all right with me. You tried it once and that is all I would ever ask of you." He stroked her hair softly. "I'm so sorry I hurt you. That was never my intention."

  Skye felt herself purring softly just like a kitten. "I don't want to leave, Master."

  Elijah shook his head and tried to calm the fire inside him. "I don't want you to leave. I want you to stay here as mine. I want to own you."

  "What do you mean when you say you will own me?" she asked.

  "I mean you will always be naked before me even when you are fully clothed."

  She closed her eyes with a small smile and he knew she finally understood.

  There was a small gurgling sound in her lower stomach. She had to go to the bathroom. "May I please be excused?"

  Elijah chuckled. "Yes. Of course. Leave the door open."

  Skye gulped aloud. They had talked about the bathroom stuff before and they both agreed not to do it. Doing something like that was so personal—so open. It wasn't as if she wouldn't mind him watching her; it was just a scary thought. That was something married couples did.