When I got home, I’d had virtually no sleep throughout my shift. I set the alarm for noon. Laura would be going to her house. She’d texted, apologizing for her bitchiness and saying she knew she’d be punished, but was a zombie in no better shape than me.
I texted back for her to meet me at the ranch at 5:30.
Work had been done on the lane to the house, making it an asphalt drive, but she’d traded her Benz in on a Jeep Wrangler, something more in keeping with the country life we were planning to establish. Her Mercedes was a damned nice car, but it wouldn’t get far without pavement beneath it.
By 12:45, I was at the ranch while the workmen did their thing on the house. The barn was complete and ready for use. I set my alarm for 5:00 so I could be out of the garage in time. I didn’t want Laura blundering in and spoiling her surprise. Yeah, I was peeved at her tirade, and there would be a serious scolding to accompany a serious whipping.
I was pondering how long to leave her jailed. She was due back to the hospital for a 12-hour turn starting at 6:00 PM Sunday, and it was a huge temptation to keep her in that cage from as soon as I treated her whip-wounds until 4:00 Sunday, which would just give her time to run to one of our houses (we each had clothes at both) shower, dress, and dash to the hospital in her jet-black Jeep.
In the garage, I busied myself, up to my ass in work and grime. When the alarm fired at 5:00, I set stuff aside, thoroughly scrubbed my hands with GoJo soap, and took a shower in the small bathroom off the garage. Done with that, I put on fresh duds from a bag I’d thrown in my truck, then sat on the porch of the house and waited for Laura to arrive. I even brought the Keurig out onto the porch, put a cup on it, and when she drove up to the house, hit the go-button on it.
“Thank you for the coffee, Master,” she said. “Are the workers gone?”
“They left at 5:00 on the dot,” I said.
“Oh, thank God,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee, then stripped naked, and knelt before me. “Master, I know I deserve punishment, harsh punishment, for how I behaved. I could give you a hundred reasons for why you caught me in a high-riding state of bitch, but none of those reasons are an excuse.”
“Drink your coffee,” I said. “Tell me what happened. You’re going to be whipped hard, Laura. You’re right. You have no excuse, not because I’m your master, but because I’m a fellow caregiver, due respect and due the benefit of the doubt, as well as simple respect for being a fellow member of the human race, darlin’. But vent it out so it’s all off your chest when you get punished.”
“What did I ever do to deserve you, a man who will still hear me out even when I’m wrong?” she asked, then gave her head a vigorous shake. “It was hell in there. Pandemonium. Two nurses were off sick, one in the hospital with an emergency appendectomy, and another with the flu. A third got punched by a patient’s family member, and was out with a concussion. I don’t supervise them, but the fucking hospital runs a skeleton crew in the first place, so being down three nurses from an already short staff had us backed up like hell.”
She rocked back, adjusting her weight. “And not long after, a resident showed up with booze on her breath, and pinged a 0.05 BAC, so she’s suspended until the chief of surgery decides whether to put her stupid ass into a rehab program or fire her.”
Her words paused, and she glanced up, not at me, but at the ceiling, as if pondering her words. “Personally, I’m on the fence. She’s smart as hell, but stressed out, and the stress never diminishes. I did six surgeries, and no way that two of those six are going to survive. Another died on the table. The dumbfuck was out on his balcony that he built onto his house. But he only nailed it to the house with those big-ass foot-long spikes rather than running joists under it. So the balcony fell off and he brained himself on the brick patio beneath it. He might’ve made it if they’d been able to put him on Air Care, but they were socked in with fog. They seemed a good EMS crew, but outlying, and the transport time ate up that fabled Golden Hour.”
Laura rubbed her brow, leaving me to wonder about her level of stress. Her punishment would be fierce and in this I tread a thin line, too little and I wouldn’t give her what she needed. Too much, and I’d hurt her beyond what was sane.
“He left behind a wife who looks none too healthy,” she continued, “and three kids. The oldest looks maybe eleven years old. She glared at me and told me she hates me, so that was lots of fun. So then you came rolling in. I …”
The poor thing looked lost. She needed my strength and discipline in this moment, but also my compassion.
“Master, logic told me if that 22-gauge IV was there, it was surely the best you could do, but it was that last silly damn thing. Logic was out the window and temper was in the driver’s seat. You’re right. I didn’t respect you even as another person then, much less a fellow caregiver. I was in the wrong, and … shit, they had to do a cut-down cath on the kid. No track marks, but it seemed like she already had the spider veins of a woman in her 70s. And, you know, you’re right. I wasn’t bluffing or blustering about riding a shift with you. Okay, I was blustering, but you’re right. Maybe time on the streets will give me perspective on what you paramedics encounter live on the streets. It’s bound to make a better doctor of me, right?”
“I think so,” I said. “You have the skills, but I don’t think you understand the chaos that often happens out there. I don’t think I’m being elitist, honey, but you’ve done all your doctoring in a far more controlled setting, even the ER. It’s different out there. That patient I brought you, she got thrown from a car that landed on top of her, fortunately wheels-down. Lucky she was a scrawny little thing or she’d have been crushed. I was flat on my belly, under the car, with a flashlight in my teeth and starting that IV while we waited on the FD rescue people to lift the car off the kid. That’s why, if you looked, there were EKG electrodes on her back. The kid was on her belly. Anyway, how is she?”
“She went up to surgery,” Laura said. “Bleeding into her stomach, three broken ribs, pneumothorax, cardiac contusion, concussion. And a broken leg as an added bonus.”
“Yeah, a wheel was on top of that leg,” I said. “Is she going to live?”
“I don’t see why not,” Laura said. “Truth is, she’s lucky she had you. She was in bad shape. She needed four units of whole blood. But I think she’ll make it, Master.” She drank more of her coffee and finished her cup. “Thank you for listening, for letting me unload to you. I’m … I guess I’m never ‘ready’ to be punished, but I know it’s better not to stall it.”
“You’re going to be whipped on your back and ass, then turned around and whipped on your chest and belly,” I told her. “After, you’ll be fed, and then jailed.”
“May I ask for how long?” she asked.
“You may,” I said. “You’ll be in there until 4:00 Sunday, which gives you time to run home, do the shit, shower shave thing, then to work.”
“Jesus, you make me feel like George Washington,” she muttered. “Master, I cannot tell a lie, even one of omission. Jerry Mawson agreed to take that shift since I wound up having to cover so long for him. So I’m due Monday at 6:00 for 12 hours, and same Tuesday and noon to midnight Wednesday, then to go on duty with you Thursday. I hope you don’t, but if you wish to leave me caged until 4:00 Monday, I don’t need to be anywhere.”
“Tellya what,” I said. “You’re sentenced to be imprisoned until 4:00 Monday, but if I like your attitude Sunday, I’ll parole you. That should be a nice juicy carrot dangling off the end of the stick.”
“Thank you for the opportunity, Master,” Laura said. “I can’t wait until the work is done and we’re living here, so we don’t have to steal time for our relationship.”
“I agree,” I said. “I’ll sleep in the man cave this weekend. There’s a hideaway bed in the sofa out there, so I won’t be far from you. I’m going to have to run to town, to the grocery store, since I don’t plan on starving either of us this weekend.”
This likewise wa
sn’t a problem. I had bought a secondhand refrigerator for the man cave, one I’d planned to stock with beer and its freezer with liquor, but I had only a six-pack of ale in it at this point, and there was a wet bar, and a small walk-in humidor that so far held two boxes of cigars, one from Punch and one from Macanudo. One way or another, there was plenty of room in the fridge for groceries.
“You get to crawling to the whipping post, pet. I’ll be back soon, and I expect you to be prostrated before the post when I get there.”
“Yes, Master,” Laura said.
She sighed, stepped from the porch, then went to all fours and began her clumsy crawl toward the path to the post. I got into my truck, drove to the liquor store for a bottle of Hornitos Anejo, then on to Daley’s, a mom-and-pop supermarket, where I stocked up on goodies.
I dashed home, stocked the fridge, grabbed my whip, then fired up a Kawasaki Mule she’d purchased, and drove the path to the clearing, where I found Laura, on her belly before the post, fingers laced behind her head. I’d seen blood along the path and saw that her left knee was cut. She’d be bleeding from other places soon, and I resolved to treat those wounds when we were done.
CHAPTER 43
There was nothing about this punishment I looked forward to. It wasn’t sensual, erotic, or fun. I was a masochist, eroticizing pain for my pleasure, and his as well. But what I would soon endure? There was nothing sensual or sexy about it. I was terrified.
My actions forced Keith’s hand. He was a sadist, the perfect compliment to my desires. In our unique way, we fit each other. That didn’t mean he enjoyed punishing me. Not like this, and there was no doubt in my mind he intended to break me. I hadn’t left him a choice. My actions demanded a response. To let this transgression slide was to undermine everything we’d struggled to build.
If it were up to me, I’d beat my own ass, but that responsibility no longer belonged to me. As my master, Keith would determine how much I paid in screams, agony, and perhaps even blood.
Over the past few days and weeks, I’d earned punishments for minor infractions, but this? The way I’d disrespected and stepped away from my enslavement was inexcusable. I couldn’t pick and choose when I obeyed. I knew this. He knew this. I’d crossed a line, violating the very tenets of my slavery. To bow before him was a choice I made. He might wield the whip, but I chose to accept it.
I chose.
I had surrendered my will to him. To Him! That act was irrevocable, or it should have been. It’s what I needed from him, no recourse, no safety net, no way back to the suffocating freedom of free will.
Except, I’d taken everything back, becoming that cold-hearted bitch he abhorred. In that moment of frustration, I’d stolen my freedom from the man who owned every piece of me. How was he ever going to trust me again?
I hated that I’d earned this. I detested the way I’d disrespected Keith. Fear gripped me as I lay before the post. I was terrified of what he would inflict upon me, but I’d earned every bit of punishment he would soon lay down.
My head knew this was what we’d agreed upon, and I believed he would forgive me. More than anything, I needed his gentle embrace. His forgiveness was what I craved. Instead, my future would be filled with unbearable pain and loneliness as I served my sentence in his makeshift jail.
I was his slave. He was my master.
And he would teach me this truth, laying down the lesson with each strike of his whip, and whatever else he chose.
My heart embraced my role, but that animalistic beast inside of me? It wanted to run, and hide. That terror, the need for self-preservation, warred within me.
I was his slave. He was my master.
I had a duty to respect him. That meant enduring this.
The perfect storm had rained down on me. Short staffed. Multiple deaths. I’d busted my ass to save lives. There were many things I could fix, but impending death wasn’t one of them. I’d been forced to perform miracles with one arm tied behind my back. People lived because I refused to accept piss poor performance. Because they feared me, they gave me their best.
I was the Ice Queen, the cold-hearted bitch, but my patients lived. I’d seen the stats comparing me against my peers. I saved lives, but that was no excuse for disrespecting Keith.
He had me reconsidering everything. Maybe a warmer heart would make me an even better physician, a stronger mentor, and more compassionate leader?
While he didn’t work in my world, he knew the ebb and flow of the ER. It was a miracle I didn’t bite the heads off all my staff. We lived in a world where the smallest mistake ended lives. I was at the top of that totem pole, but it sure felt like the bottom. I was the one who ate the shit when things went south. The mistake of any member of my team landed squarely on my shoulders.
It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.
But I’d fucked up. I’d disrespected the one person who meant the world to me.
That’s why I didn’t run. I waited for my punishment because I believed in what we were becoming. I trusted him, even when I feared him.
His boots crunched on the ground behind me. I’m certain he carried the whip, and I hated him even as I loved him. I hated that he needed to hurt me, but what I hated more was that I had forced him to this act. I hated that after this I would spend days achingly alone when all I needed was his sweet reassurance that everything would be okay.
Not my decision. Not my choice.
I was his slave. He was my master.
A choked sob escaped me. Whatever chance I had to run was gone now.
“Stand,” he ordered.
Without looking at him, I rose to my feet.
“Present your wrists to be bound.”
I lifted my hands, wrists locked together, head bowed. Always before, he’d cuffed me, but this evening he drew out a length of rope and secured my wrists. Without another word, he pulled me toward the post and lifted my hands up. With a gasp, I noticed the iron peg driven into the post. It hadn’t been there before. He lifted my arms high, forcing me on tiptoe, and secured the rope over the peg.
While I didn’t dare try, it was clear there was no way to free myself from the post.
“Master…” Fear laced my futile cry. I told him I deserved this. I’d put on a brave face while guzzling my coffee. I pretended to accept my fate. In truth, I was scared. Every thing before this seemed like play. We’d been testing the waters, and now I would sink or swim. From the look in his eyes, it was clear I had no choice.
“Silence,” he said. “I will not gag you. I sense you need to scream. There is no one around for miles. No one but me. I will not be lenient with you. Nor will I offer you a gag.”
“Please…” I squirmed against the post and tried to free my hands. “Master,” I wailed.
Please, don’t do this. Please just forgive me.
I didn’t dare voice my thoughts. That’s not what we’d become. And if he did forgive me, if he let me out of this punishment, I would lose respect for him. When I was at my weakest, I needed him to be his strongest. I needed him to set my world aright, to beat me until my screams rent the air, and to love me enough to hurt me. I needed him to break me, tear me down, and place me back where I belonged. I needed to know he would accept nothing less.
He stepped back and uncoiled the whip. It skittered across the grass, snapping and hissing and popping like the devil.
“Scream all you want,” he said. “Belt out your fury, but don’t you dare beg for it to stop. I’m going to bring you to your knees, Dr. Laura Peters. I’m going to whip that out of your soul. You belong to me. There’s not a second of any minute, in any hour of the day, that you don’t bow down to me. No matter your anger, frustration, or fear, you bow to me. Do you understand?”
My insides clenched. I understood, but I still needed to explain what had been going through my head. “When I yelled at you, Master, I hadn’t been thinking of you as my master. I’d been trying to save a life. I never want to forget what you are to me. I’m sorry, Master. I�
��m so very, very sorry.”
“I know, but I also know we both need this. You’re mine, and after tonight, you’ll never forget your place.”
My tears fell in fat drops before the first crack sounded in the early evening air. All around us, the insects woke from their daily slumber. Crickets chirped and cicadas deafened the air with their buzzing vibrations. For myself, my throat opened with an ear-piercing howl.
My master cracked his whip. A shot sounded in the fading light. My scream rent the air. This went on until the stars shined down with a fiery brilliance and the moon lit the night.
I hated Keith for hurting me.
Pain spun me toward oblivion. Sweat beaded on my skin and dripped down my body. He split my skin, and the salt from my sweat made the cuts burn.
I thought we were done when he came and lifted my hands off that peg. I craved the solace of his jail, because I could no longer stand.
The steel of his eyes met mine, plowed right through any remaining resistance i might have had, and he lifted my hands back over my head, anchoring me to the post. He ignored my choked sobs and readied his whip.
In this way, our evening progressed. I stared at him as his arm reached back and flicked forward in a relentless assault. The post rubbed against the tender skin of my back, while he laid down his lesson over my breasts, my belly, and my thighs.
I became something altogether insane on that post, lost and adrift in the agony of my failures. I’d failed him. I’d failed my patients. I’d destroyed careers because of my arrogance. Mostly, I’d failed myself. I bled for my sins beneath my master’s whip, and it poured out of me in one agonizing wail.
At some point, I collapsed. My legs gave out beneath me. I think I faded in and out. It didn’t really matter. The world tilted and I jerked in surprise. He carried me. That’s when my tears returned. I didn’t want to spend my weekend in that jail. I didn’t want to be alone. My soul ached for my master. He was my anchor and I was helplessly adrift. I needed to cling to him and see his gentle smiles. To feel his tender caress. To know his love as he chased his pleasure, using me to seek his relief.
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