Faith (13 page)

I offer a brief nod to indicate I understand. And accept.

Ewan continues. “You’ll struggle, but you can’t get up or move to avoid the crop. You’ll hate what I’m doing to you. But you will survive it, and I’m confident you’ll find the spanking crop delivers a memorable lesson. Now, are you ready to start?”

“Yes.”
No!

I hear the slight creak of the floor as he shifts his position, then I let out a shriek of surprise as the first spank lands. He said warm-up, so I anticipated something light, not unlike my spanking at Fairlawns. This is nothing of the sort. I wriggle and squirm as he rains sharp, stinging slaps across my bare buttocks, each stroke leaving a sizzling burn across my skin.

“Ow, Ewan, that hurts. Please…”

“Scream and sob if you have to, but unless it’s a safe word, I don’t want to hear anything else from you.” His tone is clipped and business-like, and he doesn’t let up one iota.

I’m clenching, squirming under the onslaught. My body struggles to endure the intensity of the spanking, whilst my head tells me this is only the first course. The main is yet to come, courtesy of that bloody crop.

“I’m warm. Ewan, please stop now.”

“Safe word or shut up. I’ll decide when you’re warmed up enough, and you’re nowhere near yet.” Despite his harsh words, he does relent enough to lift my hair from my face. I turn my teary gaze on him. “I know this hurts, but you will thank me for it tomorrow when your bum has nothing more to show than some red stripes. Trust me. Grit your teeth, and get it over with.”

I manage a tear-streaked nod, amazing myself that I’m actually prepared to go on with this.

It feels like forever, though in reality I suppose I lie there for just a couple more minutes as he administers a succession of intense, rapid slaps to my buttocks and the backs of my thighs. Ewan leaves no spot neglected, even turning me slightly in order to reach my hips on both sides. At some stage I give up any thoughts of protest, allowing my head to sink into some weird state of acceptance. I lie still, limp, as the blows continue and my bottom heats up from an uncomfortable burn to sheer, sizzling agony.

By the time Ewan straightens, satisfied with his work. I am whimpering, but even so I feel oddly relaxed. He lays the palm of his left—non-spanking—hand across my smarting skin, cool and comforting as he caresses my tender bum. I offer no protest, just a sigh as I quiver under his light touch.

“I think you’ll do. Your arse and thighs are a glorious shade of deep crimson. All over. And there’s plenty of heat coming off you.”

I can think of no sensible comment to make, so I remain silent.

“You could thank me for my efforts on your behalf.” His tone carries a hint of dry humour, but only the merest suggestion. I decide to take no chances.

“Thank you, sir. I’m grateful.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. Now, as it’s your first time and I expect you’ll find the whole thing somewhat of a challenge, I’m not going to ask you to count the strokes with the crop. You’d only lose count, then I’d have to start all over again. You’ll find this easier if you can manage not to clench your buttocks too much, allow the pain to sink in and just absorb it. Accept it and learn from it. Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.” And I am, I truly am.

Despite my emotional and physical surrender to what is happening to me, I still let out a shrill scream as the first stroke lands, cruel and sharp across my flaming right buttock. I’m panting, shaking as I lie still and await the next. It is preceded by a whooshing sound as Ewan swings the crop, to land across my left side this time. I squeal again, the pain is blinding, but bearable still. I close my eyes, try to sink into the leather upholstery under me, my senses drifting as Ewan continues to apply the crop to my buttocks and thighs. Despite his assurance that I have no need to, I count anyway.

Five, six, seven… He is alternating between my buttocks, and as far as I can tell he is laying the blows in a slightly different position each time, managing not to hit the same spot twice. I wonder if that is deliberate, though I can’t imagine this beating could possibly hurt any more than it does.

Ten, eleven… oh, God, only just over halfway. I can’t see this through to the end. Disappointment assails me as I realise I will be using my safe word. I have to, I can’t bear this…

Without warning Ewan stops. He lays the crop back on the cushion and steps away. Moments later he is back at my side, this time with a small bottle of water. He unscrews the top and holds the neck to my lips.

“Take a few sips, love. Don’t try to move yet.”

I gulp the cool liquid down, my throat working to swallow. My mouth is dry, my tongue and lips parched, unable to form any response. I must have safe worded, though I can’t recall saying anything. I squeeze my eyes shut, my misery more connected to my failure to accept all of my punishment like a true submissive than to the searing pain now radiating across my tender bottom and thighs. How many did I manage? Will Ewan insist on delivering the remaining strokes? I start to weep in earnest at that prospect.

Ewan’s arms are around me. He lifts me from the sofa and turns to sit down himself, cradling me in his arms. My wrists are still bound but he must have released me from the restraints securing me to the sofa. I never saw or felt him do that.

His arms tighten around me, his lips are in my hair. His voice is low, sexy, so warm as he murmurs sweet nonsense to me. I curl around, my cuffed hands grasping at his shirt as I hang on to him like grim death. He is the one solid thing in a universe of pain, my yearning for his solid, comforting presence greater than my need for oxygen in that moment.

Ewan does not let me down. He holds me, naked, shaking, sobbing, cradled against his chest. He makes no attempt to soothe me or to disengage, just allows me to express my anguish, to pour it out onto him.

Long minutes pass, or maybe it is hours. I lose track of time as I cling to my anchor. At some point Ewan stands, still with me in his arms, and crosses to his bed. He lays me on it and stretches out alongside me. He strokes the tangled hair back from my ravaged face and kisses me, first my forehead, my eyes, my cheeks, then at last, my lips. It’s a chaste, gentle kiss, a kiss to reassure, to affirm.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. And I’m so sorry.”

“I know, love. It’s done with now.”

“I used my safe word. I didn’t want to, but…”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did. I tried to get to twenty, but it was too much.”

“I know. Enough’s enough. You didn’t safe word though. I stopped.”

“You stopped? Why? I mean, I thought you said…” I’m baffled. He was so definite that he would not stop, no matter how much I might plead and scream.

“I did. But I also told you that I hoped you’d never need to actually use your safe word, that I’d know before you reached that stage that you needed me to stop. Like I say, sweetheart, enough’s enough. Twenty strokes was always going to be too much for your first time.”

“You don’t mind? You’re not disappointed in me?” I can’t quite believe this. Perhaps there isn’t after all to be any continuation. Is it really over?

“Not disappointed, not in the least. I’m delighted with you. You’re a sexy and brave little sub, and now, I think, a suitably chastised one too. Am I right?”

By way of an answer I bury my nose in his chest again and resume my sobbing. It’s a subdued, calm outpouring now though, the final purging of any residual guilt and shame. My confusion and ambivalence about this lifestyle slide away too, to be replaced by a sense of belonging, or purpose, of sweet, solid certainty. Ewan’s palm is on my back, tracing circles between my shoulder blades. He says nothing as my weeping subsides into occasional gulps, then finally silence.

We lay still for a few minutes. My head’s whirling, I have even more questions now. But emotionally I feel alright, more alright than I can remember in a long time. My connection to Ewan is stronger than ever. I am content.

“Hungry?”

My stomach clenches and growls, leaving no room for doubt.

“Starving.” I struggle to sit up, still in Ewan’s bed. I wince as my weight settles on my abused bum. “Ow.” I roll to my side and reach down to lay my palm across my smarting buttock, amazed to feel the heat still radiating from my skin.

“Sore?”

“Mmm, but it’s okay.” I shift my weight, only now noticing the aroma of bacon wafting my way. “Did you bring food up?”

“I did. Here.” He passes me a plate. “Crispy bacon, granary roll, a smudge of brown sauce. Suit you?”

“Lovely.” I grab the sandwich and take a bite. I chew, swallow, then gnaw off another lump. Ewan is a master with a spanking crop, as I can now readily testify, but his skill with a bacon butty is equally impressive. I glance at him, his expression amused as he perches on the edge of the bed and contemplates my enthusiastic response to breakfast.

Except, this isn’t breakfast. It’s dark outside. Not morning. I frown at Ewan as I attempt to reassemble my thoughts from before I flaked out in his bed, exhausted.

“How long was I asleep?”

“A couple of hours. It’s almost ten now. You
will
be staying over, I assume.”

I nod and bite into my sandwich again. “If that’s alright with you. I mean, I don’t want to just assume…”

“Assume away, love. Maybe we should think about knocking through.”

“What? You want to join up our houses? How would that work?”

He shrugs. “Not sure. We’d have to get someone to draw up some plans. Or maybe we could just sell up both places and buy somewhere else. Together.”

My brain is doing cartwheels. This I didn’t bargain on. “You mean you want us to live together?” Unwelcome images of the casual setup he enjoyed with Caroline spring to mind.

He passes me a cup of tea to swill down the remaining couple of mouthfuls. “Maybe. I haven’t really thought it through. We more or less live together already. Except when I’m away, obviously.”

Obviously, and that’s a sobering thought. “How long before you need to go away again?”

“Week after next, but not for long. A few days probably. Then next month I need to go to South Korea for a couple of weeks at least.”

“I’ll miss you. I always miss you when you’re not here.”

“I’ll miss you too. Is there any chance you could come with me?”

I shake my head in genuine regret. “Not this time. I need to work on my business, get myself established. I want to make a go of
Faith,
and I’m at such an early stage…”

Ewan grins at me, all dimples and sexy mischief. “I knew you’d say that. I quite like the idea of making a go of Faith myself, starting here.”

Ah, this sounds promising. Or ominous. I drain my cup and pass the mug back to him. He places it on the bedside table with his own then turns to face me.

“You took your punishment well, for a newbie. Now that you’ve had a rest, you deserve a little fun. I want your first real taste of this lifestyle to be rewarding as well as educative.”

I gaze into his dimpled, seductive smile, my pussy already starting to dampen despite my lingering soreness. Will this involve more spanking?

“Don’t look so nervous. I have something a bit different in mind for you this evening. It’ll be intense, and you may not like it at first.”

I can come up with no ready answer. I simply stare at him. Already though, I know that whatever he suggests I will be doing. I can’t say no, I have no wish to refuse him. Anything.

“I intend to make use of your tight little arse. I’ve been admiring it for a while, and now… I think it’s time to explore a little. Push back a few more barriers.”

Again, I offer no comment, though my mind is racing at the wicked prospect. What does he mean? Exactly?

“A butt plug, I think. Just a small one to start with.” He rolls off the bed and strolls across to a chest of drawers. He crouches to open the bottom one, the deepest, I note. “I have a lot of interesting toys in here. Feel free to have a rummage some time.” He tosses the words over his shoulder at me as he makes his selection. “We’ll be using all this kit at some stage, but you might have some ideas of your own. I’m not promising to carry out your requests, but you can always ask. You never know.”

He returns to the bed. I draw the duvet up in front of me, the gesture defensive if rather belated. It seems to amuse Ewan.

“Ah, the coy virgin. I like that. Occasionally.”

“I am a virgin, at least…”

He regards me from the foot of the bed. “I see. I did wonder. Thank you for mentioning that. We’ll take this slow then. And use plenty of lube.”

“Will I be tied up again?”

“Would you prefer that?” His voice is lowered, the tone gentle.

“Yes, I think I might.” If he presses me on this, if he demands an explanation I might falter. But already I’m starting to recognise the illusion of powerlessness created by restraints, the sense that I am helpless, not in control, and the heady arousal this causes for me. I will be in his hands, quite literally. And that thought is sexy as hell.

“Drop the sheet then, and kneel on the bed.”

I do as he tells me. Ewan tosses the butt plug in front of me, along with a tube of lubricant. I notice the plug looks to be an unusual shape, though of course my frame of reference is limited. There is what I assume to be a finger grip at one end, but that appears to be set off centre. I wonder about the protocol of asking for further information, some explanation of how the items will be used. Or do I just wait and see, and trust Ewan to know what he’s doing?

Ewan goes back to his drawer and retrieves a length of black rope, maybe three feet in length. He returns to his position at the end of the bed, and with an imperious swirl of his upraised finger instructs me to turn around.

I obey again.

“Place your hands behind you, please, in the small of your back.”

I do it. Ewan wraps the rope around my wrists and fastens it with a secure knot. He slips his fingers under the rope, testing it.

“Tell me if you feel any discomfort, any tingling at all.”

“Yes, sir.” Apart from restraining my movements, the sensation of having my hands tied sends me instantly into a submissive mind set. The impact is emotional, intellectual, as well as physical. I’m content, relaxed, ready. I bow my head, awaiting further instruction.