He slowly lifted her arm and slid out of the bed.
He padded over to Michael’s door and knocked, holding his ear to the door to hear his reply. “Michael?” He called softly.
“Leave me alone, Tristan,” Michael’s voice was muffled through the closed door. “Go to your wife.”
“Michael – “
“I don’t want to hear it!”
Tristan squeezed his eyes shut, then stepped away from the door.
~*~
Chapter 12
The door to the basement stood open; Tristan reached through the doorway to find the light switch by feel against the wall, and flicked it on.
He peered down into the room from the top of the stairs; the furniture was still arranged as it had been that morning. A throw was lying in a heap on the couch where Michael and Judith had sat, empty water bottles and chocolate wrappers littering the floor beside it. The chair was still abandoned, facing the two yoga mats.
Tristan stepped back into the den and slid his jeans down his hips, leaving them in a heap on the floor, before stepping into the basement. He approached the black yoga mat and circled it twice, trying to summon the calm he’d had that morning, but he finally gave up and just kneeled on it; perhaps the peace would come later.
He arranged himself on it the way Michael had taught them that morning. Knees spread; arms crossed behind his back, head bowed. This time, his dick wasn’t excited to be there, but stayed subdued, to suit his mood. He didn’t feel vulnerable; he just felt broken.
He reached for that quiet place, trying to empty his mind as he had that morning. He tried identifying each item that was causing him anguish, to leave them at the top of the stairs, but they weren’t as easy to lay down without his Dom there to keep them at bay, and they were swirling malignantly around his heart.
He had to wait. Perhaps if he tried for longer, peace would come.
He’d wait for his Dom.
Except, his Dom no longer wanted him.
~*~
The knocking wouldn’t stop.
“Leave me alone, Tristan!” Michael bellowed from the bed. He’d fallen asleep way too early, the misery hollowing him out until his body yearned for hibernation. His room was dark. It had been early afternoon when Tristan had returned from his tantrum with his tail between his legs, so he must have slept at least a few hours.
“Michael it’s me!”
At the sound of Judith’s voice, Michael sat up in bed. “What is it?”
“It’s Tristan – please, there’s something wrong with him!”
Michael sat up, kicking free of his covers. His thigh ached, but he ignored it and limped to his bedroom door.
Judith was wild-eyed where she waited. She grabbed one of his hands in hers the second the door opened, and it took nearly all his concentration just so she didn’t overbalance him. “What’s wrong?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know,” Judith cried. “I woke up, but he wasn’t in the bed. His keys were still next to the bed, so I thought maybe he went downstairs to watch TV in the den. But he’s in the basement, and – God, please help him.”
The potential for self-harm in the basement...
Instead of wasting time trying to get answers from Judith, he hurried instead to the basement to see for himself.
He paused at the top of the stairs.
Tristan was kneeling on his yoga mat in the position he’d been taught that morning. The position wasn’t perfect, but then again, if Tristan had been kneeling for hours, he wasn’t surprised that his posture had slipped. Michael stepped warily down the stairs.
It was when Tristan looked up at him that he saw what had disturbed Judith.
A vacant look of despair. He’d seen the expression on grieving family members at funerals. Emotionally exhausted. If he were a patient, he’d tell the family to keep a close eye on him, and perhaps strongly recommend counselling. In the short-term, he might prescribe antidepressants.
Michael halted a step away from where Tristan was kneeling and folded his arms across his chest. Waiting.
“You –” Tristan cleared the huskiness from his throat. “You said this mat was my quiet place. But I can’t make it stop. I’ve left everything I could at the door, but it won’t leave me alone.”
“What won’t leave you alone?” Michael asked.
“I feel miserable. Guilty that I hurt you and Judith. Again. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to not fuck it up. I need you and Judith to forgive me, except I’m not sure I deserve it; I can’t forgive me either. And you won’t speak to me, and I don’t know how to fix this. What do I do? How do I fix this? I’ll do anything.”
Michael glanced at Judith. Her fists covered her mouth, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
“You need penance?” Michael asked. It looked like Judith wanted to say something, but Michael held up his hand in a staying motion, and she held her tongue. Michael turned back to Tristan and waited. Tristan nodded. “What penance do you think you deserve?”
“I don’t know,” Tristan looked down. “I can’t trust myself not to fuck up even that. Whatever you decide.”
“It’s not up to me to decide,” Michael said. “I’m no longer your Dom.”
Tristan’s eyes came up to capture Michael’s and Michael resisted the urge to step back from the force of it. “You may have rejected me as your submissive – but you are still my Dom.”
“So you’d submit to anything I asked from you?” Michael asked. “Even surrender your hard limits?”
Tristan squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed. “Anything to make this right.”
Michael circled Tristan slowly where he knelt on his yoga mat. Tristan shifted to neaten up his posture, and practically quivered with trepidation. From behind Tristan, Michael made eye contact with Judith over Tristan’s head, held a finger to his lips and nodded to the couch. She nodded and padded quietly to the couch, pulling her feet up onto the seat and hugging her knees.
He felt the weight of both of their trust in him, and felt the old awe at the power they gifted him. Judith had faith he could fix this, and had come to find him. Tristan sought out – needed – his dominance, by coming to kneel on his mat.
He headed for the cabinet against the wall and returned with three implements. He knelt and laid them out on the floor before Tristan: A leather tawse; a wooden paddle; a cane. “Choose one.”
Tristan let out a sigh of relief, then turned his attention to the implements before him. His hand hovered over the tawse for a moment, before he eventually settled on the cane. Michael’s mind flicked to the memory of that day in his office, when he’d threatened Tristan with the plastic rod from his blinds, and he felt a small pool of warmth in the region of his heart.
“Eyes down and wait,” Michael said. Tristan made small adjustments in his balance, spreading his knees slightly wider, squaring his shoulders a little more
Michael picked up the other two implements, returning them to their place in the cabinet. He moved around the basement, removing the chair from their earlier spanking and wheeling the padded spanking bench centre stage. He reached in under the piece of furniture with his toe, engaging the brake on each wheel before stepping up to Tristan again.
He stopped where he knew his feet would be in Tristan’s field of vision. Where, when Tristan looked up, he’d have to crane his neck to see him. “Tristan. Pick up the cane. Kiss it, and offer it to me, laying it flat across both your open palms.
Tristan lowered his head. He picked up the cane, held it in both hands as he kissed it, then offered it to Michael the way he’d asked. Michael let him hold that position for a second, then accepted the implement.
“Position yourself on the spanking bench,” Michael said. “You will see there are attachment points for cuffs; we will not use them. You can end this penance at any time; the only thing keeping you on that bench is your own free will. Do you understand?
“Yes sir,” Tristan whispered.
“Normally I wo
uld require you to count out the strikes for corporal punishment; not this time. Instead, I will continue until I deem you’ve had enough.
“Once again, you have the option to get up and leave. You have the option of a safeword. If you ask me at any time how many more you have to take, I will stop immediately. You may cry out; in fact, I encourage you to. Scream. Shout. Swear and curse. Call me names. Cry for your mommy. Just plain cry. Let it all out. But you will take everything. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you still wish to continue?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then get on the spanking bench.”
Michael stepped aside. Tristan’s ankle buckled when he tried to put weight on it; his legs were probably numb from hours of kneeling, and Michael offered him an arm for balance. Michael positioned Tristan on the bench, showing him where to put his knees, his face, where to hold with his hands.
He first prepared him with a warmup, swatting every inch of his buttocks with a lightweight flogger and down to mid-thigh until his skin had pinkened. Then Michael took in his position to Tristan’s left and touched the length of the cane to Michael’s rump. Tristan could feel where the cane would land, and held his breath, and it wasn’t until Tristan had let out that breath, that Michael swung.
An involuntary gasp whistled in Tristan’s throat, and his head jerked up. His hands tightened on the handholds, and his buttocks clenched at the impact. An angry red welt puffed up on the pale skin, and Michael waited patiently as Tristan breathed through the pain.
“Resume the position,” Michael said quietly. Tristan crept back into position, and Michael waited for Tristan to take another breath, and for his buttocks to relax before the second stroke, this one landing half an inch below the first.
Michael never hurried. He waited out each stroke, the decision to continue, to accept the punishment, Tristan’s every time. Tristan held his silence stoically, not emitting any sound louder than a gasp of pain, until the eighth stroke that was laid neatly in the crease where buttocks met thighs.
Tristan cried out, a scream that ripped from his throat and echoed through the basement. His hands left their handholds for a moment, presumably to shield his striped backside, but Michael tapped his wrist with the tip of the cane. “Don’t let go of the handholds,” Michael said. “I don’t want to injure your hands on my next swing.”
“Yes sir,” Tristan panted, but with the next swing, his hands had slipped off the handholds again, hovering at his sides, flexing and fisting.
The next moment, Judith was kneeling by Tristan’s face and had taken both his hands in hers. She kissed the knuckles of each hand in turn and made eye contact with her husband. “You’re forgiven, Baby. You don’t have to go through with this,” she whispered for his ears alone. Michael timed his strike to coincide with her statement, and Tristan squeezed her hands tightly at the impact. “I’m so proud of you.” Swish! “I love you so much, Baby.” Swish!
Michael punctuated Judith’s endearments and words of encouragement with swings from the cane, until he saw Judith wiping tears from Tristan’s face with the pads of her thumbs. Tristan’s back was shaking with sobs, and with one last swing, leaving a line crossing the neat tramlines on Tristan’s welted ass, Michael returned the cane to the cabinet against the wall.
He rummaged in one of the drawers and came up with a tube of arnica ointment, then returned to where Tristan was sobbing on the bench. While Tristan was still up-ended on the bench, Michael squeezed out a healthy dollop of soothing arnica cream and smoothed it over Tristan’s hot, welted skin. He used up most of the tube, applying and re-applying the ointment until no more would be absorbed, then applied some for good measure to his upper back and kneaded the shoulder muscles.
Judith stayed by Tristan’s head, never ceasing in her endearments and praise, until Michael helped Tristan to stand. He seemed light-headed, but was soon able to totter to the couch.
Michael sat on the couch, and with Judith’s help, they soon had Tristan lying on his side on the couch with his head resting on Michael’s thigh. Michael leaned against the backrest, finally allowing his own muscles to relax. He slowly carded his fingers through Tristan’s sweat-soaked hair, allowing his fingertips to lightly massage his scalp. Judith set herself down on the floor at Tristan’s head, and taking one of his hands in both of hers, she held it to her cheek.
“I forgive you, Baby,” Judith said, her eyes on her husband’s. “But do you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Tristan croaked. “It’s my fault. You didn’t do anything I hadn’t agreed to.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, Baby,” Judith sniffed.
“I know. And it’s fine. I’ll be fine. I’m sorry.”
Judith looked up into Michael’s eyes. “And you, sir?”
“I forgave you even before the beating. When you surrendered even your hard limits, I forgave you,” Michael said.
“But then…” Tristan trailed off. Judith touched his cheek. “Why didn’t you…”
“Why didn’t I take advantage of it?” Michael was silent for a few long moments while he considered his answer. “Because your hard limits are safe with me.”
~*~
Friday
TRISTAN: God, I miss you. I can’t wait for graduation, so we can be together.
22:07√√
ME: Me either – I wish we didn’t have to keep us a secret.
22:08√√
TRISTAN: I know, Baby. Please – I need to see you.
22:08√√
ME: << Image >>
22:11√√
TRISTAN: You’re so beautiful, Baby. Are you touching yourself? Touching yourself for me?
22:13√√
ME: Yes. Only for you, Baby.
22:14√√
TRISTAN: I’m so hard for you right now.
22:15√√
ME: << Image >>
22:16√√
ME: I wish you were here so you could touch me too.
22:16√√
Saturday:
TRISTAN: Good morning, Baby. I hope you slept well. Wish I could be beside you; I’m so hard for you right now.
07:06√√
ME: I wish you were here too. I’m touching myself and thinking of you.
07:06√√
TRISTAN: Yes! Touch your pretty breasts. I want to see.
07:06√√
ME: << Image >>
07:13√√
TRISTAN: I just came so hard for you.
07:22√√
TRISTAN: You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. No-one understands our love. How can what we have ever be wrong?
07:24√√
ME: Do you love me?
07:24√√
TRISTAN: I love you, Baby.
07:25√√
ME: I love you too.
07:25√√
TRISTAN: I’m leaving her. I don’t love her, I love you.
17:13√√
ME: I love you, Baby. I’ll be waiting for you. I can’t wait until graduation.
17:14√√
TRISTAN: Me too. My wife can never love me the way you do. You make me feel like a real man.
17:18√√
ME: You ARE a real man.
17:18√√
ME: With a really big cock.
17:19√√
ME: No one can satisfy me like you.
17:20√√
TRISTAN: No, YOU satisfy ME.
17:21√√
TRISTAN: I wish I were with you. I’d have you wrap your lips around my cock.
21:58√√
ME: I wish I were there too. I’d suck your cock so good…
21:59√√
TRISTAN: I just came for you, Baby.
22:07√√
Sunday:
TRISTAN: I dreamed of you; woke up with morning wood. It died when I saw I was sleeping next to my wife, and not you.
22:07√√
/> ME: Maybe this can get you hard again.
22:07√√
ME: << Image >>
22:07√√
TRISTAN: Yeah, Baby. I want those lips wrapped around my dick.
22:07√√
ME: I’d suck it if you were here.
22:07√√
TRISTAN: Best head I’ve ever had.
22:18√√
ME: I just came for you.
22:18√√
TRISTAN: << Delete 35 messages? √ Delete Media from my phone. Cancel/Delete for me >>
22:22√√
TRISTAN: << 35 Messages deleted >>
22:22√√
~*~
Tristan ached.
His skin felt stretched tight as a drum over his ass and thighs and was so sensitive, the duvet and sheets felt like sandpaper against it. He extended his senses, his eyes still closed, and absorbed the feeling of peace that came with it.
Last night… He’d once heard ‘if you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you’. Perhaps it was not what Nietzsche had meant, but it best described what Tristan had felt.
Kneeling on that mat, his mind had had ample time to play the reel of his recent failures to him on a loop. Over and over he’d watched the hurt on Judith’s face at his outburst. Michael’s disappointment in his behaviour. Michael’s defence of his wife; that was his job as her husband, dammit!
He’d felt the beckoning pit of despair and self-loathing, and had felt himself slipping into it – until they’d pulled him out.
Tristan could feel Judith cuddled up against his front, one of her legs slipped between his as usual. His arm was around her waist, but there was another body against his arm.
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