Submission Revealed

by Diana Hunter

  Phillip shook his head. “No, Ray wants to go all the way. But he wanted me to know that the district attorney is talking deal in order to save time and money.”

  “Well, I don’t think you should take the offer.”

  She loved the little lopsided grin he got when she surprised him. He’d sat back in the booth as the waitress delivered two steaming cups of hot chocolate, both piled high with whipped cream out of a can. Sarah scooped off the maraschino cherry from the top and plopped it on Phillip’s cup. “Here. I don’t like them much.”

  “Good.” He popped one after the other into his mouth, putting the stems off to the side. “I knew we made a good pair.” But then Phillip’s eyes did the twinkle-to-serious change and Sarah felt her chest tighten as his voice dropped. “Tell me, slave, why you think I shouldn’t just take the plea deal.”

  When it was just the two of them, at home, playing by themselves, that word always gave her a warm glow. In public, a stab of pleasure mixed with embarrassment arrowed directly to her pussy. With a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure the waitress wasn’t within hearing distance, she gave her answer.

  “Because it’ll send a message. There’s a line between abuse and fun and the line changes all the time. That makes it difficult to legislate. But maybe a case like this can help create more guidelines so the cops won’t jump in where they really don’t need to and they can spend their time arresting real bad guys!”

  She laughed as Phillip chuckled. Even to her own ear, her words sounded lame.

  A new thought occurred to her. She sipped at her hot chocolate, choosing her words carefully. “On the other hand, Sir, you’re an entrepreneur with a company to think of. I know you sold it off but the stock options you kept will plummet if the publicity gets out of hand. If pleading guilty to a misdemeanor and paying a few bucks now saves you embarrassment and more money down the line, I could understand if you choose the plea bargain.

  “Of course, you will then have a record for a crime you didn’t commit. Hell, there was no crime. And if you let them get away with it, then who’s to stop the authorities from coming after all of us? After Will and Jill and Anton and Lady Aleshia and even me?” She sat up straighter as logic circled around again. “Phillip-my-Master, I love you and no matter what you do, I’ll support you.”

  “And does that include postponing the wedding again?”

  His eyes were dark and Sarah couldn’t quite tell from them where he was heading. Deliberately setting her cup on the table, she’d sat back, a slight frown creasing her brow. “I’m not sure why we’d need to. We already missed our first appointment at city hall.” The irony that he had actually been there while she’d been forced to remain away from him wasn’t lost on her. He was getting to know that building on a much more intimate basis than either of them ever expected him to.

  “In this state, a wife is not allowed to testify against her husband.”

  Sarah shook her head, not getting Phillip’s point. “I wouldn’t be testifying against you, I’d be testifying for you.”

  “Exactly! Ray and I want you to testify, because it’s your testimony that will sway the jury in my favor.”

  “So why can’t we get married before the trial?”

  “Because, love, if we’re not married, you can get up on the stand and clear my name. If we do get married, you can’t testify at all.”

  Understanding came in a flash. “We can’t get married!”

  Phillip laughed and behind the counter, the waitress smiled to see two young people so in love.

  “No, you’re right, Phillip. We’re just going to have to wait a little longer.” Sarah thought of her apartment, with the packed boxes now half unpacked and of her lease. “I’ll have to ask the landlord for another month’s extension. I’ve been a good tenant so he didn’t mind when I asked him for this month. Maybe he won’t mind another…”

  Phillip loved the way she bit the side of her lip when she puzzled out a problem. It gave her a pixieish air, like a little sprite trying to figure out how much mischief she could get into.

  “Why not just move in with me?”

  “Before we’re married?”

  He laughed at the shock on her face. “This is the twenty-first century, you know. People do sometimes live together before the wedding date.”

  Across from him, Sarah rolled her eyes. “I know. And it’s not exactly like I’m saving myself for marriage…” Her cheeks turned a pretty pink color when the waitress came up from behind her at that precise moment. To the woman’s credit, the server’s face didn’t change one iota as she delivered their meal, in spite of the fact that she had to have heard Sarah’s comment. Phillip made a mental note to give the waitress an extra-big tip for her discretion.

  Once alone again, he brought the subject back up. “I think it’s fair to say we’ve established we’re sexually compatible, slave.” He loved watching her reactions when he surprised her. She wiggled on the vinyl seat and Phillip got a flash of an idea. Not for today, but for sometime in the future when he was feeling particularly wicked. He let it slide, content to watch her react to words alone.

  “Yes, Sir,” she finally murmured. “That’s one thing that’s a definite. We have compatibility. Lots and lots of compatibility.” He watched a wicked grin try to spread across her lips. But she quelled it by biting off a piece of bacon and glancing to see the waitress’s whereabouts.

  “So then, move in with me.”

  She shook her head, apparently feeling on safer ground now that she was reassured their server was back behind the counter. “No. I know, it isn’t logical.” She put up a hand to stave him off and Phillip waited. “You’ve spoken before about symbols and how they’re important reminders of who and what we are. Well, the marriage ceremony is a symbol as well. It’s the moment our lives change. Legally we cease to be two separate individuals and we become one in the eyes of the law. It’s momentous—an ending of one lifestyle and the beginning of another.”

  She paused, groping for the right words. “Living together before the vows, on a twenty-four/seven basis lessens the step. The ceremony becomes nothing more than an afterthought.”

  Phillip understood. “The collar ceremony has the same feel to it. When I fasten the silver torc around your neck, that’s the moment I vow to be everything you ever need.” He put his hand out and felt her warm fingers when she’d placed her hand in his. “It is a momentous moment…and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  He’d felt her squeeze his fingers. “So no wedding and no living together until after the trial.” That mischievous smile played about her lips again. “Of course, that doesn’t mean I won’t still be coming on weekends.”

  Phillip lifted her hand to his lips. “I expect you’ll be coming a lot on weekends, slave.” He watched her color again as his meaning hit home. Teasing her further, he tasted the back of her hand with his tongue, drawing little circles before giving her a kiss and releasing it. She might not wish to move in with him and he would respect her wishes, but there was no reason on earth why he couldn’t pick up her training right where they’d left off.

  Of course, neither of them had expected the trial to be postponed, not once but twice. The holidays, then New Year’s came and went. Sarah often thought of that beautiful torc Phillip’s uncle had made for her, wishing it were already welded around her neck.

  Finally the trial date was set, the players assembled and life could begin to move on. Her arm had healed and only occasionally ached now, the stripes across her ass that had gotten them into this predicament had long since faded away. While each weekend made the wait bearable, both felt as if their relationship were stuck in a holding pattern, unable to move forward until the legal issues were resolved. Phillip even stopped pushing her limits for the time being, almost as if he couldn’t go on until they had their lives back.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Trial

  “The court calls Sarah Simpson–Parker to the stand.”

&nbs
p; The bailiff’s voice rang out in the small courtroom and Sarah stood, her chin high and her dander up. She’d been waiting weeks for this. The trial had been pushed back twice and now that it was underway, she was ready to tell anyone who would listen a thing or two, though her heart still beat hard and butterflies still threatened to take flight in her stomach.

  “Raise your right hand and repeat after me.” The bailiff held out a small black book and Sarah put her left hand on top. Her mind took in small details even as she repeated the words of her oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, so help her God.

  The bailiff, fairly tall and looking official in his crisp uniform nodded to her and she sat in the old-fashioned wooden chair. To her right, the judge in her black robes kept a neutral face as the prosecuting attorney stood and came forward. To Sarah’s left, the twelve members of the jury sat in comfortable chairs, more modern in appearance than the one she sat in now. A brief thought flitted through her mind. Was there was some psychological reason for their sitting in comfort while she sat ramrod-straight, her hands demurely clasped on top of her conservative gray skirt?

  Phillip hadn’t picked out this outfit today—she had. Not that she didn’t trust him. She wouldn’t be here as a hostile witness if she didn’t. The modest skirt came to just above her knees, the blazer cut wider at the shoulders to accentuate her still-narrow waist. She wore a cream-colored silk blouse that buttoned high but not so high they couldn’t see the strap of leather she wore tied around her neck.

  She’d debated about the going-out collar. Would it be too much? It wasn’t the same leather strap she’d worn that fateful Monday. That had been lost at the hospital. Phillip had bought this strip at the fabric store shortly after the order of protection had expired and she’d worn it every day since.

  Ray Miller, Phillip’s lawyer, had already told her to say as little as possible about their sexual preferences, forbidding her to use the word “slave” at any point. “Juries get funny when words like that are brought up,” he had explained to her yesterday. “Just keep referring to your sexual lives as private and your kinks as exactly that. Stay matter-of-fact and nonjudgmental because that’s exactly the way we want the jury to be.”

  The prosecuting attorney stepped up to her now. “So, Mrs. Simpson–Parker, what is your relationship with the defendant?”

  Sarah kept her voice level and calm. She’d show them just how strong a woman she was and that she wasn’t a spineless little wimp to be pushed around—not even by Phillip. She answered the question with no embellishment. If he wanted more, the damn lawyer would have to ask her.

  “Phillip Townsend is my fiancé.”

  “And do the two of you currently live together?”

  “No.” She said nothing of the fact that she spent weekends at his cottage.

  “Are you sexually involved with him?”

  “Objection, Your Honor.”

  Sarah kept her face impassive, but she couldn’t help the tiny smile that turned up a corner of her mouth when the judge proclaimed, “Sustained.”

  The prosecutor nodded at the judge before turning to her again. “Mrs. Simpson–Parker, when you were taken into the hospital, you had several wounds across your…” The lawyer paused as if searching for a proper word he could use in a courtroom. “Derrière.”

  He didn’t fool her. She knew exactly what he was doing. By seeming to have to search for a delicate term, he denigrated the action into the realm of pornography. She remained still, not taking the bait. Only when he asked her a direct question did she have to answer him, though her blood began to boil.

  “Please tell the court who gave you those wounds.”

  Sarah glanced over at Ray who nodded. Knowing full well her words were damning without a qualifier, she spoke a little quicker than she meant to. “Phillip gave me the three stripes across my…derrière…at my request.”

  “You requested them?”

  “Yes, I did.” A note of defiance crept into her voice.

  “Why?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Your Honor, I would like to submit to the court Exhibit A…a photograph of Mrs. Simpson–Parker taken at the hospital at the time of her admittance.” With a theatrical flourish, the prosecutor held up an eleven-by-fourteen photo showing her on her side, the three red stripes across her ass glowing in full color. He made sure the jury got a good look before he turned back to her.

  “Are you telling me that you asked to be beaten?”

  “Objection! Three lines across her rear end scarcely qualify as a beating. Your Honor, Mrs. Simpson–Parker is not on trial here, and what her reasons were are not important.”

  “Do you object to Exhibit A, Mr. Miller?”

  “No, Your Honor. Only to the question.”

  A tense ten seconds passed as the judge considered before finally nodding toward Ray and Phillip. “Sustained. Mrs. Simpson–Parker’s reasons are not germane to the case.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief, even though she would have enjoyed telling this lawyer just what he could do with his questions prying into her sexual preferences. Her cheeks flamed, mostly in anger, but with a little embarrassment mixed in to have her kink so nearly exposed.

  The prosecutor barely gave her time to finish her sigh, however, before he attacked again. “That wasn’t the only time he beat you…you bear older marks on your breasts, similar marks.” The damn lawyer picked up another photo from his table and held it for the jury to see. Phillip started to rise in protest and Ray pushed him back down into his seat. Sarah’s cheeks burned in anger and shame. She didn’t need to see the picture to know her breasts were on display for the world to see. The prosecutor rounded on her. “How often does he beat you, Mrs. Simpson–Parker?”

  “He doesn’t beat me.” The words came out in anger. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ray look at her in warning.

  “And yet you admit he gave you those marks?”

  “Yes. He gave me those because I asked for them.”

  “How did you ask for them? On your knees, begging? Or did you simply do something that, in your eyes, was wrong? You did something you felt you needed punishment for, isn’t that right?”

  “No, that’s not right. That’s not it at all.” Her voice rose as she defended the man she called Master. “I asked him to cane me because I wanted to know what it felt like. I wanted to feel the rush. It’s my kink, counselor, and it’s none of your business.”

  Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she realized the lawyer had gotten her to admit her kink after all, but she was damned if she was going to sit here and insinuate that either of them had done something wrong. She stuck her chin out in defiant pride. Her journey with Phillip had taught her so much and she was not about to let some lawyer demean her life just because she liked her sex accompanied by whips and chains.

  The prosecutor seemed to sense she wasn’t going to be the dishrag he hoped she would be. Turning away from her, he addressed the judge. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  Ray shook his head and the judge turned to Sarah. “You may step down.”

  Her hands shaking, Sarah stood, partly relieved, partly disappointed. In some ways, she felt like a kid who’d been promised a ride on the roller coaster and gotten a ride on the merry-go-round instead. Somehow she had envisioned her giving a rousing speech that totally exonerated Phillip—a speech that would cause the courtroom to erupt in applause and instant exoneration. But the prosecutor hadn’t asked her the right questions. He’d focused on her instead of on Phillip and she felt she’d tripped over her own tongue in trying to answer him. Giving Phillip a searching look as she passed his table, she took her place between Will and Jill in the spectator seats.

  * * * * *

  Waiting for the jury to return had to be the absolute worst part of the trial. Phillip sat up front with his lawyer beside him. Until the trial, Sarah realized she’d never seen him in a full suit before. His everyday wear tended to be casual, though he r
arely went for the jeans and a sweatshirt look. Sarah liked that. Mostly he wore dark pants and plain white shirts that ended up looking anything but plain on him because he had them tailored to fit his wide shoulders and narrow waist. Phillip might be pushing forty in a few years but he kept the shape of a much younger man.

  The three-piece he wore today was a gray Hickey–Freeman. Sarah only knew because he’d left the suit hanging from the beam of the four-poster last Friday. He’d told her to hang it in the closet as he had prepared the bed for playing. That night he’d tormented her with a feather in some spots she never even knew were ticklish. When she had hung the suit, she hadn’t been able to resist sneaking a peek at the label.

  He looked so calm compared to Ray, who sat drumming his fingers on the wooden table. Sarah knew the calm wasn’t just for effect. They’d kissed that morning before leaving separately for the courthouse and he’d shown not a single sign of nerves when he’d said, “Remember, Sarah-my-slave—I love you always. Tell the truth and set me free!”

  She bit her lower lip to keep from smiling in the courtroom. It might not be seemly to sit there grinning like a fool, remembering her intended’s sweet embraces as they waited for a decision that would plot the course of their lives. The same quiet confidence he brought to their sexual lives, he brought to the courtroom and Sarah had long ago realized it was simply a part of his dominant nature.

  Not arrogance, though. Confidence. She watched Ray stop the drumming and pick up a pencil to twirl between his fingers instead. Impatience was a trait Phillip had never shown with her. He didn’t show it now and according to Will, he had never shown it with anyone but himself.

  How long was that jury going to be out? Sarah checked her watch. Only half an hour so far? Well, the judge hadn’t dismissed the court, so even though the afternoon wore on, she must have hopes that they’d reach a verdict fairly quickly.

  Her mind began to drift again, going over her testimony, then floating around to when she should tell her boss she was finally going to take that vacation and go on her honeymoon, then jumping back to the apartment and the landlord’s goodwill in letting her go to a month-by-month lease until things got settled. She was just starting a mental grocery list when the door to the back opened and the bailiff called out, “All rise.”