She has her bath, returning an hour or so later scented of lavender and rose. We drink, but not too
much. We eat, sharing Charlotte’s favourite treats; cheese, bread, olives, strawberries and cream. She
sits on the rug by the fire, not hitting the food the way she normally does, but nonetheless, she eats.
Then she sits, inert, leaning back against my legs as I stroke her hair.
Over her head, James cocks a brow to me, tilts his head. I nod.
He rises, takes Charlotte’s hand and pulls her upright, then kisses the fingers. “You are going to go
downstairs now, undress and wait for us. Michael and I will join you in a few minutes…” She
hesitates… “And the next words I expect to hear from you are ‘Yes, Master’.”
She bows her head. “Yes, Master.”
“Good.” I pass her a glass of Rioja… “Now, drink your wine… And I want you to have another glass
after that.”
*****
Downstairs, in the basement, James’ ‘playroom’, the demesnes of a Master, she’s waiting for us. As he
instructed, she’s naked, kneeling, head lowered and the glass she took down with her, empty.
She’s goosing a little. The heating hasn’t quite dispelled the chill yet, but that won’t matter. With what
James has in mind, I’m sure she’ll soon be warm.
And the hearth glows; old logs dropping to embers, new logs flickering new flames. The light shimmers
gold and amber. Candles reinforce the honeyed glimmer, sending dancing shadows over wall and arch.
James gestures me towards her and then to a ceiling hook. “Charlotte, stand up.”
She rises, chewing her lip, trembling slightly…
Cold?
… Or nervous?
Stepping close, I wrap arms around her, holding her against myself, giving her the heat of my body.
One hand winding into her hair, with the other I caress the smooth skin of her back and shoulders,
“Shhh… It’s alright. Calm down.”
“What’s going to happen?”
“Remember your safety words. You may need them.”
She jolts. Her eyes dart. “Is he angry? Is he going to punish me?”
“No. No, he’s not angry... You’ve done nothing to be punished for. But he is very concerned for you. We
both are.”
“What then?”
How to say this?
“He’s going to take you out of yourself, then we’ll both bring you back home. You understand?”
“Alright.” But there’s still a tremor in her voice.
My hand cupping her cheek. “You can always say ‘No.’ Do you want to? No-one is going to force you.”
She falters, then dumbly, she shakes her head. Taking her hand, I lace my fingers with hers. “Come on.
You’ll be fine. And you’ll feel better afterwards.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. You trust James, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then trust him now. Let him take you the way you need to go.”
Passive, she follows me as I lead her to where James waits, a flogger in one hand, swishing it casually.
I suppose to any that didn’t know him, he might appear severe, frightening even, but as his eyes follow
her, I see the softness there…
… the pity…
Positioning her under the anchor point, I press my lips to hers before, loudly enough for her to hear
clearly, “Rope, cuffs or spreader?”
“Cuffs will be fine.”
As I walk by him to the racks, quietly, “She’s jittery. Be careful.”
“I will,” he murmurs, “And she’ll be more herself afterwards.”
“Just what I told her myself.”
A pair of cuffs are a snug fit to her wrists; a carabiner and a length of rope connect her to the hook,
restraining her tautly upwards. “Open your legs, Charlotte.”
Meekly, she obeys, and I check her colour; hands, fingers, face, then casting across to James he
micro-nods me to her.
Moving around her, I let my hands drift over her upstretched body; her hips, her waist, her breasts.
Muscles tremble and quiver. And she smells cool, with no scent of arousal. Drifting fingers between her
thighs I test her, then “I’ll just be a moment.”
I head for the cupboard where I keep a store of massage oils. Passing James, I murmur, ‘Dry.’ He slow-
blinks understanding.
A little neutral oil on my palms and I run my hands over her again; seducing her, coaxing her arousal.
My hands on her waist, my fingers almost encircle her as I work her spine with my thumbs. Then
slipping upwards; her ribs, her muscles, her shoulders; gradually I ease her, rubbing in, digging into the
tension knotted there, making her feel me; making her know I am there.
And all the while, as I massage her, soothe her, James stands to her fore. My hands on her, she
watches him. He moves unhurriedly, deliberately; removing his jacket to hang it neatly over the back of
a seat. His tie is next. Tugging at the knot, he loosens it, unravels it, then unfastens the top button of
his shirt before draping the tie over his jacket.
Reaching around, I cup a breast, nuzzling into her hair and her neck. “You’re so beautiful. I never forget
how beautiful you are. Or that you are my wife. Or that I love you. And I will never let anyone hurt you.
Never. And neither will he.”
She watches him, her breathing accelerating as I caress her. My hands cupping and stroking, my chest
pressed to her spine, I love her with my body.
James, one at a time, removes his cuff-links, again setting them to one side, then unbuttons his shirt
and kicks off his shoes. Barefoot now, stripped to the waist, he takes up the flogger again, holding it in
one hand, resting it on the other as the tails swing by his thighs.
And he watches. And he waits.
Her Master…
Her tension is easing; the anxiety flowing away, the tremble dying away. And slowly, smoothly, the
perfume of her arousal curls up and out and around, like smoke in the air, hazy and drug-like. One
hand rubbing circles on a nipple, I venture south again with the other…
… and this time, she’s warm; dampening…
That’s my girl…
I slow-blink to James, still silently watching, toying with the flogger. He eye-points me away from her
and I position myself to watch, close enough to see her face clearly and to hear her.
Pushing the flogger into his belt, he approaches her, standing to her fore. His hands cupping her face,
he kisses her, at first softly, but then with increasing passion, forcing her mouth open with his.
Then, still pinning her cheeks between his hands, “You are mine,” he says. “And you are Michael’s. You
are not his. You have never been his. You never will be his as long as you exercise the choices which
are yours. You understand me?”
Charlotte swallows and nods. Already, she’s wearing that semi-mad expression she has for him.
When she looks at him like that, she's already halfway there...
The flogger handle under her chin, he tilts her head back. “Say it. I want to hear the words.”
Her breathing ripples. “I’m not his. I’m yours. And I’m Michael’s.”
“Good. That’s better. And the last point…” James pushes up with the handle. “…The most important
point is that you are yours. You belong to yourself. No-one ever succeeded in taking that from you,
even as a child. You have always been too strong to let that happen. Don’t let it happen now.”
She doesn’t reply, but her eyes are huge green-rimmed pools, pupils dark as the night sky.
He regards her for a long moment, then lowers the flogger, releasing her. “That’s better.” He touches
her arm. “You’ve stopped trembling. That’s good too. Now…” He stands back, flicks the tails over her
belly and breasts, a mere kiss of supple leather that sends a shiver over her skin… “… this is where
you fly…”
He moves around behind her and with a twist of the wrist, catches her on the calves with the tails. She
jolts and gasps…
Did he mean to start that hard…?
But he repeats the motion on the other calf. It’s got to sting, and she whimpers.
*****
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