CHAPTER 75: The Virgin’s Summer, Part 15
… in the hands of an expert, they will bite.
And my Master is an expert.
Trembling hard now, my quivering is not from arousal. Never have I seen my Master in this mood, and he is scaring me.
The tails of the flogger lash, hard over my buttocks and thighs, and I scream.
“Please, Master, stop. Red. Master, Red.”
But he does not stop. “The lash comes across my skin again. Bound as I am, I can do nothing but scream. “Red, Master, Red. Please.”
“That’s enough,” says Michael. “She’s given you her safety words. That’s what they’re for. Now stop.”
Once more, the lash licks across me, burning into my skin.
My Master swings me around again to face him. His expression is…what? Wild? Fearful? I’m not sure.
But he strokes my face, his dark eyes unreadable, then fastens his mouth over mine.
Hitching me up at the hips, he takes my weight, swinging me up. Reflexively I wrap my legs around him as he plunges into me, fucking hard.
This isn’t lovemaking. It isn’t fucking. It isn’t even ‘discipline’...
Whatever that means...
After only a short while, he cums, spurting into me, as I try to keep the tears from my eyes.
“Michael, your turn.”
“I don’t think so.”
Michael reaches up, untying me, and I drop to the ground, landing on my knees, crying and shaking.
Michael scoops me up and puts me in the bed, where I lie, sobbing.
Michael is to one side of me, my Master to the other, both sleeping, I lie in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. I cannot sleep.
Perhaps a hot milk would help...
Moving as quietly as I can, I slide out of the bed, slip on a robe and pad downstairs. In the kitchen, I put milk on to heat, adding nutmeg and cinnamon to make it more of a treat. Maybe it will cheer me up.
Steaming mug in hand, I pick up a large beach towel and, at the last moment, a cushion as well, and walk out onto the beach. Sitting on my towel and my cushion, I cradle the mug, staring out to sea.
There is only the slightest of breezes, blowing wisps of hair around my face, and the only sound is the rushing of the surf, a little way away.
The night is bright and moonlit, bright enough that I cast a shadow on the sands.
What did I do wrong?
I want to cry...
“May I join you?”
It is my Master. I do not speak, just shuffle up the towel to make room for him, wincing at the sting in my buttocks.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte. I owe you an apology.”
“Master?”
“You didn’t do anything. None of us can help how we feel inside. It’s how we deal with those reactions that counts. And I didn’t deal well with my own reactions today.”
I gulp down my milk, not knowing what to say.
“That smells good.”
“Would you like some of it, Master? Or I can make some more.”
“In a while, perhaps.”
Trivial words... they don’t mean anything…
“If had been just you that was angry at me Master, it would have been bad enough, but when Michael was mad at me too, I thought…”
“I love you, Charlotte. Perhaps too much.”
I gulp another mouthful.
“And Michael loves you also.”
“Yes, he does.” says a voice from behind me.
Another beach towel ruffles up next to me, settling on the sand. Michael sits beside me.
“I came to apologise too. Neither of us behaved well today. And my behaviour was worse. I knew that how James reacted wasn’t right, but I let him do it anyway because I was jealous too.”
My Master continues, “Next time you meet Haswell, just do what any sane woman would do: be polite and remember that he’s a married man.”
“Who, incidentally,” says Michael, “has a reputation for adoring his wife; worships the ground she walks on apparently…”
I nod, unspeaking.
“It’s late,” says my Master. “Come back to bed?”
“In a while.” I stare out to sea, not looking at either of them. After a few minutes’ awkward silence, they both return to the house.
What am I doing here?
What kind of woman sets up with two men? Tries to make a threesome work?
Perhaps I should go... I could make an early start on next year’s college work...
Quietly, I go back to the house, pack my laptop and a few other essentials into a rucksack. My clothes are mainly upstairs in the bedroom. I don’t want to go in there. I might wake them.
Putting on my stoutest shoes, walking boots I packed in case we went hiking in the mountains, I sling the rucksack over my shoulder. Slipping the two rings from my finger, I leave them on the mantle and slip out into the night.
It is a good distance to the City, at least thirty miles. I’ll not do it in one stretch. But I recall a twenty-four-hour diner at about the halfway point. When I get there, I can stop to eat and sleep a bit. Once I get to the rail station, I can get back to my university from there.
The road is not lit, but in the clear night, I can’t get lost. If push comes to shove, all I need to do is keep the sea to my right and I’ll end up in the City. But there is no problem. Just as the dark of the horizon fades to a grey, pre-dawn light, I reach the diner I was aiming for. I am tired, but plenty of coffee and a hearty breakfast revive me, or so I think…
I wake, with a stiff neck from sleeping leaning up against a wall. Rubbing it and cursing under my breath, I sit up to see Michael and my Mast... no, not my Master... Michael and James sitting opposite me, waiting for me to wake.
“Sleep well?” asks Michael acidly.
Rubbing my sore neck, “No, not really. What are you two doing here?”
“What are we doing here?” says James. “What are you doing here? You scared the hell out of us this morning. Where d’you think you’re going?”