“Shh, it’s all right, pet. We’ll get through it together.”
“I trusted him,” she whispered, her pained voice ripping at his heart. “I believed him. Why would he do that to me? I gave him a second chance and it’s like he didn’t care.”
“I don’t know, pet. Some men are just assholes.” At least she snorted a little laughter through her tears.
She finally looked up at him. “How do I get over this? How do I know I won’t screw up somewhere down the line and misjudge someone again like that?”
He tucked her hair behind her ear. “I don’t have an answer for you there, pet. Sometimes, people suck. Fortunately, not everyone is like your ex.”
“But what if they are?”
“I’m not.” He made her look at him. “I feel horrible about the other night. I feel rotten that I made you feel bad. And I hate that we fought.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“But.”
She wore an expression of anticipation.
“You were disrespectful. I think punishment is in order, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“We can move on from this point, but there will be punishment. Tomorrow, not tonight because you’re too upset, before we go to dinner and the club. You have to understand that I don’t mind disagreements or anger or any of that, as long as it’s handled in a respectful, drama-free manner. You need a reminder of that. Deal?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Good girl.”
* * * *
They talked for over an hour before they ate. She managed to pull herself together, but he still sat on the same side as the booth with her, allowing her to sit cuddled against him, his arm around her.
After dinner, he followed her back to her apartment where she quickly stripped and put her collar back on before giving him their greeting.
And she received a spanking over his lap on the couch.
Followed by three orgasms.
And another round of tears he held her through.
Before he left, he gave her instructions for the next day. “I want you to wear your hair in a ponytail tomorrow. Be at my house promptly at two, understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Sundress, no panties. Sandals. Punishment will happen first and then we’ll move on and put this behind us. I also promise I will not violate your privacy again. But you have to promise to talk to me and not blow up. Code and talk. Okay?”
“Yes, Sir.”
When she finally crawled into bed Friday night, emotionally drained but happy, she was almost asleep before she remembered she hadn’t checked her mailbox since Wednesday.
Dammit. Add that to the list of things to do tomorrow.
Shayla was so eager to get to Tony’s on Saturday that she rushed out before remembering to check her mail again. He’d told her to meet him at his house at two and not to be late, and that was what she’d do.
She suspected the punishment he had in store for her was something he didn’t want to deliver at the club in front of others.
She didn’t care. She’d take it.
As her mind wandered, she realized no matter what the punishment, she’d be glad to have a chance to make amends. She hadn’t irretrievably fucked up their quirky little whatever it was they had, and that was all that mattered to her.
She pulled into his driveway at five minutes ’til two and felt relief wash over her that he wore a smile when he opened the door for her.
“Come in, pet.”
“Thank you, Sir.” She put her purse, phone, and glasses on the counter and turned to face him, ready to drop to her knees at his signal.
Instead of the expected gesture to kneel, his hand shot out and grabbed her ponytail.
Now she knew why he’d ordered her to wear her hair that way.
He forcefully pulled her head back, so she had to bend her knees to follow the movement. It forced her to look up into his eyes as he leaned in so close she could feel his breath.
So close she could kiss him if he’d just lean in a millimeter closer.
His voice dropped to a deep growl. “You were a very disrespectful pet Wednesday night.”
Her juices flowed as fear and desire struggled for domination in her body.
Unfortunately, desire fought dirty and kicked fear in the balls before locking it in a closet.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she whispered.
“I know you are. Not as sorry as you will be. You agreed to punishment, correct?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Punishment does not include a safeword. Not this time. You have two choices. You accept my punishment, or you leave and we part amicably.”
“Punishment, please, Sir.” The words left her without hesitation.
The hint of a smile returned. “Good girl.” He marched her by her hair, still bent over, to the playroom.
He took her to one of the spanking benches and forced her across it. “Stay.” When he released her hair, she froze in place, barely breathing and wondering if he could smell how wet she was.
He buckled the leather cuffs around her wrists and ankles and then grabbed her hair again, pulling her back into a standing position. “Dress off.”
She lifted it up. He switched holding her ponytail with his other hand so he could take the dress from her. He tossed it onto the floor, then bent her over the bench again.
“Hands down, and hold on to the bench.”
She reached down and grabbed the base on either side.
“Legs spread apart.”
She did.
Only then did he let go of her ponytail. He knelt next to her. “You are accepting your punishment. I will not restrain you. If you fight me or get up, the session ends and you leave. If you really want to continue, you will take every stroke I give you. I will not force you to take them. You will choose to take them. That’s why you have no safeword, because you are free to get up and walk away. Understand?”
Her fingers tightened around the bench. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered.
He stood and walked behind her. She couldn’t see where he went, but when he returned and she heard the first
zwip
cut through the air, she knew exactly what he held in his hand.
Only a rattan cane made that sound.
“Twenty-five for disrespect. Count every one out aloud. If you miscount, I start over. We will stay here as long as it takes, even if it means missing dinner and the club, for a full count of twenty-five. Understand?”
She felt the endorphins kicking in already. “Yes, Sir.” She tightened her grip on the bench even more, knowing these would hurt like a motherfucker.
And she’d show him she could take it.
She’d show him how sorry she was.
She’d prove it.
“Here we go.”
She closed her eyes as she heard the cane’s path even as it struck her squarely across the ass. She let out a cry as a stripe of fire seemed to follow in the same breath. “One, Sir,” she said with a shaky voice.
She was sobbing by the time he hit five, and suspected the endorphins had really driven her deeply into subspace because every stroke, while painful, felt lighter than the last from number ten on out, although they all hurt like a son of a bitch and drew a loud cry from her with each impact.
By the time they reached twenty-five, she hadn’t missed a single count and she was sobbing so badly a puddle of snot and drool had formed under her cheek where it pressed against the bench.
He grabbed a towel and walked over to her, tenderly tucking it under her face. His hand lightly stroked her ass and thighs where she knew there would be welts and marks visible to the whole dungeon that night.
But she’d done it. She’d taken them for him. The fire in her ass from every stripe he’d laid in her flesh was worth it.
He gathered her against him. “That’s my good girl,” he softly said, rocking her in his arms. “There’s my very good pet. All the bad gone. The board’s reset, and my pet’s all good again.”
She sobbed even harder, so relieved to hear the tenderness return to his tone. She clutched at him. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’m so sorry.”
He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “All’s forgiven, pet. In the future, you will code and talk to me, no matter how uncomfortable it feels. I will be patient with you, but you cannot fight me like that. You have to talk to me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
* * * *
Tony wondered how long it would take her to discover the ruse. She’d howled like she’d taken a hell of a beating, and in her distress that was what she thought she had.
She had two, maybe three cane stripes on her ass that would probably fade by the end of the night. The rest were light strokes he delivered with a thin metal rod he’d grabbed from the freezer in the utility room just before he started. In her deep subspace, she’d processed the cold as pain, especially when he’d combined it with swishing the real rattan cane in the air with his other hand to make the sound as he’d touched the cold rod to her ass.
When he saw she genuinely wanted to atone, he’d gone for the mindfuck, glad to be able to use it and not having the heart to truly whip her ass. Mark her head to toe in fun?
Sure.
Punishment?
He hated having to do it. She’d obviously beaten herself up mentally far more than he could ever in good conscience beat her physically.
And she hadn’t let go of the bench once. Not even after the first couple of blows from the rattan cane, which were physically the hardest strikes he’d delivered.
When she finally calmed, he waited until she blew her nose in the towel to point to the floor. She slid to her knees.
“Greeting, pet,” he softly said.
She immediately bent to kiss his feet, the sight of her rounded back as she did stirring his cock. Then she kissed the backs of his hands.
Then she nuzzled the front of his slacks before looking up at him, eyes red and puffy from crying.
She was beautiful.
He helped her to her feet and handed her dress to her. “Good girl. Go clean up, pet, and meet me in the living room.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He was sitting on the couch when she walked in a few minutes later looking confused.
That didn’t take long.
“Problem, pet?” He patted the couch next to him and had her curl up with her head in his lap.
“I’m confused, Sir.”
He bit the inside of his lip to stifle the laughter. “Why?”
“You gave me punishment.”
“Yes?”
“And I counted out twenty-five strokes.”
“Yes?”
“I only have a couple of marks, Sir. Not that I’m complaining,” she rapidly added.
He laughed. “Oh, my sweet pet. Let me tell you about the art of a truly fine mindfuck.”
* * * *
Shayla awoke late Sunday morning with a sore ass and a happy heart. She’d laughed along with Tony when he explained the various ways to mindfuck someone in a scene. Including relating a firsthand anecdote he’d read from someone who’d been convinced they’d had chunks of their flesh taken from their body, which was then cooked and fed to them, only to find out a few minutes later they didn’t have a scratch on their body.
Obviously, that had been the extreme end of the scale, but after having been through it she could understand it.
Then they’d had another talk. About James.
About the emotional debris she still worked to clear from her heart and soul despite knowing what he’d done wasn’t about her as much as it was about him.
She also resigned herself to the fact that she never would understand why he did what he did. There would never be a clear-cut absolute she could cite with any certainty.
“The
only
thing for you to keep in here,” Tony said as he looked down at her and touched his index finger to the spot between her eyes, “is that
nothing
you did or could have done would have changed what he did.”
“If I hadn’t given him a second chance—”
“
Stop
, pet.” He tapped her forehead. “You’re giving him rent-free space in here when he damn sure doesn’t deserve it. I know you can’t turn emotions and pain off like a light switch. But the first step to getting over it for good is accepting it’s not your fault. And in this case, it isn’t. You’re a good woman, with a good heart, and at the time, for you, it was the right thing to do. Maybe it wouldn’t have been the right thing for someone else. But tell me this, had you left him the first time, do you think maybe you would have been tempted to keep agonizing over the ‘what if’ option of giving him a second chance?”
She hadn’t thought about it like that. She had considered leaving James the first time around.
Then he’d proposed.
And she’d felt too much shame the first time at the thought of admitting to her full circle of friends and extended family why she was leaving him, didn’t know enough about porn addiction at the time to understand it.