After three more times, my body could take no more. He was holding me up with an arm around my waist. My orgasm was so close I could taste it. He must have known because he ceased the spankings.
My ass was on fire. I loved and hated it. I pressed my head against my elbow, feeling sweat from my forehead transfer to my arm. I whimpered as Drake released me and moved the chain from my wrists so that it was hooked above me on the ceiling grid. It was secured further back towards the corner so I was still slightly bent over, but my arms carried my weight now instead of relying solely on my legs.
He switched to dragging the ends of a flogger across my butt cheeks. He alternated between swatting one cheek and then the other. I pressed my ass out to him as best as I could. Begging for more. Relishing the pain and the inability to reach the point I needed to.
He kept up the torture of hitting my ass, stopping and switching to another method when my body betrayed I was close to an orgasm.
I had no concept for how he endured unless he was running on pure adrenaline by now. My exhaustion was consuming me. My arms ached. My ass was numb. And my feet were starting to tingle.
I rarely used the safe word, but it was on the tip of my tongue. Suddenly, I felt his cock slide into me once more. I screamed despite his warnings to be silent. I was just too sensitive.
A ragged moan escaped as he bottomed out and his hips brushed against my raw ass. I cried softly when his arms surrounded me, pulling me against him. His face nuzzled the back of my neck. One hand cupped and stroked my breast while the other fingered my clit.
I whimpered my appreciation of the extra support he gave my body. It gave me the encouragement to hang on a little longer. As did the slight movements within me as his cock reacted to the pulsing walls of my pussy.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When my orgasm finally came, I was half out of it. I felt the slackening in my limbs as he released them from their bindings. And then I was crouched down on the floor of the alcove, the coolness of the bricks penetrating my skin.
"Come to bed, Lady Daphne."
If I'd had the energy, I would have laughed. He hadn't meant upstairs to our bedroom where I'd wanted to be all along. The "bed" he referred to was where our aftercare took place when we'd had an intense session like this one. It was a day bed on the opposite side of the room, piled with the softest blankets and pillows to bring me as much comfort as possible. It was also hidden by a black curtain so to block out the sight of any of the accoutrements and devices we used during play.
Normally, I enjoyed that time with him. But sometimes our cooling down led to making out and cuddle fucks. I didn't want the risk of any of that right now.
I swatted his hands away as he tried to help me stand. "Don't touch me."
"Daphne..." His tone was laced with warning, but I didn't care.
I curled into a tighter ball and wrapped my arms around my legs. Warm tears trickled down my cheeks. I didn't want to move. To be comforted. I wanted to linger in my pain.
To my surprise, he didn't persist. But he did attach and lock a chain leash from my collar to a hook in the wall. The lights went out completely. I heard him get dressed and clean up the contents that had been on the table. The water in the small sink he'd installed turned on briefly. And then the door closed.
In the darkness, I came down from my high on my own. It was much slower than I had anticipated. After such a forceful session, I would have expected a quick drop.
As my senses came back to me, so did Becca's words. She hadn't provided explicit details, but she had said enough for me to imagine what she had gone through with Brian. How he'd repeatedly used her...and left her in a pile like a discarded animal.
Much like I felt right now. Curled up on the hearth in the chill of the basement. Chained to the wall.
Becca had not deserved it. She had done nothing wrong. She had not wanted any part of how Brian had treated her.
Yet here I was, willingly putting myself in that exact position...practically begging for it every single, fucking day. I had gotten so I felt I couldn't exist without being controlled by Drake. Was there a line where it went too far? And what happened if we went over it?
I shuddered as I turned and headed back to Becca's house, watching the sun rising higher on the edge of the ocean, still reflecting on that day of our return from Chicago. I'd spent most of it dozing on and off in the basement on the brick platform, completely naked. More than once I told myself I should have listened to Drake. I could be upstairs sleeping in comfort. I'd made a decision, though, and I had to live with it.
But I had woken at one point to hear someone snoring nearby. I'd rolled toward the noise, my body sinking into softness. It had taken me a few moments to realize that I was in my own bed with Drake. I'd wondered when my husband had returned to carry me upstairs. Why he hadn't just moved me to the aftercare bed.
I'd pushed away my thoughts and snuggled up against his warm back to drift back to sleep after that. We didn't speak of our trip, Becca, or Malcolm again. As if it hadn't happened. As if they didn't exist. But that didn't mean I didn't think of it...of them.
Now, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my shorts. My fingers wrapped around cold metal. I pulled the object out and dropped it at my feet, as if it were on fire. In my haste to get away, I must have shoved it into my pocket.
My shoulders shook as I stared at the silver locket—split in two—and the thick chain of the choker. Even in the growing sunlight, they looked lackluster, like my life. I tasted the salt of my tears as I thought about yesterday morning. What I felt I'd had no choice in doing.
As I sank to my knees on the sand, two thoughts kept circling in my brain.
First, there was the fact that once, Drake and I had discussed everything together. Even if it was something banal, we talked. I loved the sound of his voice. But the longer we were married, the less vocal we had both become. I had thought it was because we knew each other so well. Maybe, though, it was because we were slowly shutting down, closing ourselves off from each other.
Second, I missed having a normal marriage. I loved being kinky. But sometimes, I also wanted to be...well, vanilla. To not have sex be all about the give and take of power. To not be so regimented in our schedule. I wanted to sleep in on a Saturday, or wake up to have morning sex and then lay in bed all day with my husband. To have a little romance mixed in with our ropes and chains. To not be so concerned if I didn't feel like being at his beck and call that day.
I was a little surprised at how soon Drake had contacted Malcolm. What had made him think his old buddy and now brother-in-law could help? Especially on the opposite coast?
The chill from the sand beneath my knees seemed to seep into my bones as I thought about what my husband had been thinking...doing...since he'd woken up. I'd intentionally left my cell phone at home. Had he called it? What had he thought when it rang in the house?
How long had he waited for me to walk back through the door? What had clued him in that I wasn't just out running errands? That I wasn't coming back right away? Had he realized that I'd drugged him? Did he factor his own actions into any of what had transpired in the past twenty-four hours? And was he truly worried about me or merely upset that I'd thrown a wrench into his weekend schedule?
Drake liked consistency, though it didn't always make sense to me.
He ate breakfast at quarter to seven every morning, regardless if he wasn't working that day. During the week, he wanted to be at the office by eight where he was the head of marketing for the financial firm he'd previously worked at in Illinois. Lunch was on our own, but we always had dinner at six sharp. What he actually did at work was a complete mystery to me, and I was fine with keeping it that way. Leaving the office at the office seemed to make it easier for him to relax once he was home.
After our evening meal, we'd go down to our private room for an hour or so—maybe watch some TV upstairs—and then we'd go to bed by ten and get up again at six to start the cycle over. Even if we
had no plans for the day. On the weekends, if he was around, we had longer sessions during the day, but the evenings were the same unless he had made plans for us. At least he was predictable.
He'd accumulated several weeks of vacation over the years since he'd started with the company. Back home—I would always consider Chicago and the surrounding area home—he'd scheduled at least a week of his time off around Malcolm's breaks from school so we could play together. It had worked out well. Especially when Becca had needed her brother's help. Drake had continued the habit after we had four in our group. But, now that we were miles away and on our own, that had ended.
Becca had been right. Jimmy was a problem, but this had started before him. And I hated that I didn't know what the trigger had been to begin this spiral that ended with me on other side of the country gasping for breath as my fingers clutched at wet grains of sand. A rush of icy water against my hands startled me from my daydream. I stood and started my return path again.
I was ten steps away when I stopped and remembered the necklace. Part of me wanted it to be buried...maybe it would be swept out to sea where it would eventually rust and become a slave to the ocean floor. But another part said I wasn't ready to give up my submissive side—which is what the choker represented. I just needed to break away from it so I could think. And I'd done a lot of that over the past day. Not enough, but I'd had a good start.
With a groan, I dug up the chain, swept my hand through the surf to wash off the sand, and stuffed the choker back in my pocket.
Becca was cooking breakfast when I walked in from the massive front porch.
"Can I help?" I leaned on the island and watched her chop up green onions and slice fresh mushrooms. There was a bowl of raw, red and white seafood meat on the counter next to the stove as well as a tub of sour cream, a bag of shredded cheese, and a yellow tin of Old Bay Seasoning. "Is that the famous Maryland blue crab?"
"Yep. It's one of Malcolm's favorite omelets." Becca added a little olive oil to a skillet and tossed in the onions and mushrooms. She chose a wooden spatula from a container on the counter but paused with it hovering over the sizzling pan. "Do you even like crab? You're not allergic are you?"
I gave her a half smile. It felt nice to be asked if I liked what we were eating. That I had some say. "I love crab and just about any seafood."
"Oh, good!" She stirred the onions and mushrooms for a moment. "You can set the table if you want. Juice is in the fridge. Or I've got the Keurig if you want coffee. Feel free to wander around."
I followed when she indicated in which cupboards and drawers I could find plates, glasses, and utensils. I set places at four of the six chairs around an oak table situated vertically between the kitchen and the living room area like a divider in the open floorplan. Then I made a cup of coffee and set off on a self-guided tour.
The house was strangely devoid of any nautical theme. All of the rooms had either neutral browns with pops of red or were painted and decorated in dark blue and gray tones. The wood was mostly black, not the typical white-washed treatment seen in most beach homes. It was very warm and cozy, yet the view out almost every window made sure you knew you were still by the ocean. It was the kind of beach house I would have liked to have had.
When Malcolm found me, I was reading the book titles on a built-in shelving unit framing a fireplace in what appeared to be a library or den.
"How are you holding up?"
I turned to see him standing in the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
My lower lip trembled. For a split second, I almost ran to him and flung my arms around his neck like I had done yesterday. But I stopped myself and took a sip of my coffee. My hands were shaking, and I had to use both hands to hold the mug. Something flashed in his eyes, and I couldn't tell if it was disappointment or relief. He walked slowly toward me, his eyes never leaving my face.
"Daphne?"
"I've been worse." I turned back to the books and sighed. I could feel the heat of his body as he stopped behind me.
"Did it help to talk about it?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "I would feel better if I knew he wasn't going to walk through the front door in the next few hours."
Malcolm's warm hand turned my chin and lifted it up. "Has he ever hit you? Like Jimmy?"
"Not on the outside." I pressed my free hand to my chest as tears rolled down my cheeks. Just thinking about it produced a pang beneath my breast bone. "But hurt is hurt, right? No matter how it's done?"
"Oh, Daphne. I'm sorry." Malcolm took my cup and set it aside. Then he hugged me. Held me tight against him.
I sobbed against his chest. When I could find my voice, I mumbled, "What am I doing wrong?"
"You need to learn to speak up."
"But I'm a sub."
Malcolm loosened his embrace and stepped back to stare at me. "Have you forgotten all that I taught you? All you've been through?"
What I'd forgotten was how close we were in height. It was hard to think of myself as lower than him when I didn't have to look up at him. I swallowed heavily and shook my head.
"Even a sub has feelings, Daphne. Needs. Desires. You should not feel like you don't exist...or you don't matter. If you are uncomfortable about something, say it. Stand up for yourself. You are not a doormat."
"I had to drug him, Malcolm." I barely heard the words I spoke them so softly. "I had no choice! He refused to listen to me. I had to get some air. And I couldn't—"
"You considered your options and took action." Malcolm's eyes were glossy now. He pulled me back into his embrace. "You should never feel you have to stay in an abusive relationship, even a marriage. Never. Do you understand?"
I nodded. He may have wanted to say more, but we heard Becca calling that breakfast was ready.
The meal was delicious, and I kept my head down while Becca, Malcolm, and Darryl talked about a convention they were going to in November. It was apparent to me that they were trying to distract me from what we knew was coming. I was grateful.
We had just cleared the table when the doorbell rang. Malcolm went to answer it while Becca ushered the rest of us retire to the living room. The dishes could wait.
I fidgeted, clenching and releasing the edge of the cushion with one hand. Becca held my other hand, whispering in my ear to breathe in and out slowly. Darryl stood between the couch and one of the chairs, staring out the windows facing the ocean, his hands in his pockets.
We all gasped at the sound of male voices. He wasn't yelling, but Drake's voice was raised. The sound carried easily to the back of the house. Then it was so silent for a moment, I could hear the clock ticking on the mantel. Or maybe it was my heart beating in my ears.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I half expected Drake to come stomping down the hall. To storm into the room. So I was startled when I felt eyes upon me and I looked up to see him standing in the doorway. As our eyes met, his widened, as if not believing I was really there.
"Daphne!" He stepped forward.
"Wait!" Malcolm said, his hand on my husband's left arm.
Drake did stop, but he stared at me. His slouched shoulders and relaxed hands made him appear to be relieved. Drained from his trip. But I could see his clenched jaw. He was carefully controlling his emotions and his body language. Like an established Dominant.
I cringed, shrinking further into the corner of the couch. Becca still clasped my hand. Her grip tightened as she wove her other arm around mine, her body pressing against me. And I noticed that Darryl had moved closer to my end of the couch.
"Are you alright?" Drake's voice actually cracked as he spoke.
I felt nauseous. Was it morning sickness? Breakfast? Or my husband's presence? I'd never been truly afraid of my husband before. But I hadn't thought of what he would do once he found me.
Now that he was standing in the same room with me...I was just glad I wasn't alone. Was he upset because he had been worried about me? Or was it the fact that I had been able to get away success
fully? I prayed I wasn't the only one who considered this may all be a façade.
I nodded slowly.
He looked me over. "Good. Where's your bag? We should get on the road."
I shook my head.
"No, what? You're not packed?" He raised his right hand and raked his fingers through his short hair, his first sign of impatience. "You knew I was coming."
A small voice inside of me said to get to my feet. Literally stand up for myself. But it went against everything I knew. Hell, I couldn't even leave him without incapacitating him first. Besides, I couldn't feel anything beneath my waist, as if my legs didn't exist. The most I could was straighten my back and lift my chin.
Drake's eyes narrowed.
I didn't lower my gaze, which is what he wanted. He wanted me to humble myself before him. I chose to be defiant in the only way I was capable right now.
"Daphne." He was used to merely saying my name and I would fall into line. When I still didn't move, his tone changed to a growl, "Get your bag. Now!"
I pulled mine and Becca's entwined fists to my chest. I could feel my heart beating against the back of my hand. "No."
Drake's face turned scarlet as his eyes widened. "You will do what I say, Daphne! You are my slave!"
"She is your wife!" Becca and Darryl yelled at the same time.
"Enough!" Malcolm's voice was a loud bark.
It made me cringe. I saw Drake flinch. Even Becca beside me seemed rattled as she dropped my hand.
"This is my home! When you are here, you are under my rules! Now sit down, Drake. No one is going anywhere," Malcolm said, pointing to an empty chair that we had strategically moved further away from the couch. He pressed a hand to his chest and seemed to be trying to catch his breath. As if he'd been surprised by his own response.
The fire in Drake's eyes did not lessen, but he moved to the chair. He never took his eyes off of me, even through Malcolm's rebuke. Strangely, it reminded me of our first encounter, where neither of us seemed to want to break eye contact. Oh, how he was a different person then. How different I had been, too.
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