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thinking about it, even knowing it was only make-believe, hurt. How in the world must he have felt last night not knowing what was going on?
Then I made myself explore the idea of how it would feel to know he was in danger and be unable do anything about it. The terror of knowing everything was fine would be only marginally lessened when the potential outcomes were considered. And those feelings would be only intensified with him. As a Dominant, it was part of who he was to be a protector.
Then, to add insult to injury, I’d been drunk. That was another circumstance that was completely within my control. No one forced me to drink; I’d made the choice to continue.
When I combined all those things together and looked at them objectively, I began to see outside of my perspective and understood his wrath and fear. And I hated the way my actions made him feel. One of my greatest joys was serving him: anticipating his needs and meeting them. Last night, even though it had not been my intention, I’d failed miserably. The problem was, I’d been distracted by the thrill of my new job and had let myself forget I was first and foremost his sub.
Just as I had that heart-wrenching thought, I felt the surprising touch of his warm thumb wiping away tears I didn’t know were falling.
“Why the tears, my lovely?” he asked. His voice was gentler than before.
“I’ve realized how much pain I caused you last night.” I blinked away the wetness still gathering in the corners of my eyes. “And I know what I’ve imagined in no way comes close to what you actually felt, because you had to live it.”
He brushed the other cheek. “I would give up all I have to keep you safe.”
I nodded, unable to formulate words that could convey the true depth of just how sorry I was.
“Look at me,” he said, cupping my chin in the palm of his hand. When I met his eyes, he continued. “You’re going to write lines.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Two hundred times: ‘I will not drink irresponsibly and I will not go to a club without being in the presence of my Master.’”
I hated writing lines. It was humiliating because it made me feel like a ten-year-old. And the tediousness of it, the same one line two hundred times? But the reality was it sounded reasonable and he was really letting me off rather easy. The encounter I had must have really thrown him. “Yes, Sir.”
“I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. Don’t do that again.”
“I won’t, Sir.” But I realized this didn’t feel right. I had really wronged him, and I needed to feel harsher consequences to be able to feel right with him again. “But, please, will you use the cane?”
His lips parted in surprise. “What?”
“I won’t feel like this is behind us if I just write lines. I need you to cane me. My offense was too serious for less.” Part of me was thinking I was certifiable to be begging for this, but deep inside I knew only that would let me move past last night. And I thought he probably would feel the same if he could get past his fear and upset.
“You know you don’t have to do this?” he asked.
I nodded. “I want to. I need it.”
He studied me for a time before finally agreeing. “Three strokes of the cane.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“If I’m going to cane you, you’re to address me as Master.”
I smiled despite the somber situation. “Yes, Master.” I freely took his love and support and, at times like this, took his pain. I knew from experience when it came to pain, feeling the physical would ease the emotional.
“Underwear down to your ankles and hands against the wall.”
I slid my panties down, baring myself in offering to him. Filling my lungs deeply, I put my hands on either side of my head. He’d had me stand like this the previous time he’d punished me with a cane. Sensual scenes were done lying down.
“These will be hard and fast,” he warned. “Neither one of us will enjoy this.”
“Thank you, Master.” I was glad he would go fast; at least that way it’d be over sooner.
He didn’t reply, but took a step back. I braced myself, trying not to tense up even when I heard the thin reed whistle through the air. The first one landed on the fleshy part of my butt and I gasped at the bite it left. The second landed directly under it and I hadn’t caught my breath before the last and hardest fell under the second.
I choked back a sob.
“Hold position,” he said and I concentrated on not moving a muscle. His words were the only thing that could persuade me to do so. Without his command, I’d have reached behind me in an attempt to ease some of the ache left by the cane. I’d learned, though, that just as his role was to enforce our rules, so it was his role to ensure we made our way back together afterward.
From behind me came the sound of movement, and within seconds he was at my side. His hands stroked leisurely, applying lotion across my skin. He didn’t say anything, but I felt his emotions in his touch. If taking pain from him eased my own, then accepting his tender massage allowed me to let everything go.
“Turn around,” he whispered.
Without hesitation, I turned. He put his hands on my shoulders and ran his hands down my sides. My body relaxed under his touch and he recognized the second it’d done so. His lips started at my cheek and inched their way down my neck. He cupped my breast and unclasped my bra. He bent low and eased my panties all the way down and off my legs.
“Come with me,” he said, holding out his hand. I took it and we walked to our bedroom. Once there, he had me climb into bed while he undressed.
He slipped his shirt over his head. “I need you.” His pants joined the shirt on the floor and he crawled up on the bed facing me. “I need to show you what you mean to me.”
He took me in his arms and our joining was sensual and slow. His fingertips danced along my body, touching me everywhere, claiming every part of me. I was content to simply let my hands roam over whatever part of him was close.
His lips were soft as he tasted my skin and I sighed against him. But even though he was gentle, there was no weakness to be found. Every caress, every brush of his flesh across mine whispered one truth.
You are mine.
And my own confessed in return.
Yes. Always.
* * *
Later that afternoon, I was in the middle of writing my lines at the desk we had in the bedroom when Nathaniel popped his head in.
“Meagan’s here to see you,” he said.
My stomach fell to my ankles. I knew we had to talk, but did it have to be so soon?
“You spoke to her this morning,” I said.
“Yes,” he stated. “She’s waiting in the living room.”
I put my writing down and followed him. Instead of sitting on the couch, we found her pacing in front of the window. She turned when we entered, but didn’t say anything. She looked horrible, her complexion paler than normal and her forehead creased with worry.
“I’m going to go for a walk,” Nathaniel said. “To give you two some privacy.”
She waited until the door closed behind him to speak. “Abby. I am so sorry.”
The easy thing would have been to tell her it was okay and that everything was fine, but it wasn’t okay and everything wasn’t fine.
“That was a rotten thing to do last night,” I told her. “I was in a place I didn’t know, drinking, and I had no idea where you were.”
“It was completely irresponsible of me and there’s no excuse for it.”
