CHAPTER 101: The Virgin’s Summer, Part 41
I know what I need to do.
My Master is in the lounge, sitting in an armchair. Hands behind his head, long legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, he stares, pensively, into space.
“Master, may I... come in?”
He tilts his head at me, expression sombre. “Of course you may, Charlotte. It is hardly for me to tell you where you may, or may not, go.”
I am wearing only the lightest of clothing, a beach robe, nothing underneath, my hair long and loose.
As I approach him, I slip off the robe, letting it fall to the floor. I kneel, naked at his feet, head bowed, hair spilling around me.
“Master, I’m sorry.”
“It’s done, Charlotte. Let it pass. Michael was right. The problem is mine, not yours.”
“No, it isn’t done, because you are still thinking about it. I hurt you, even if I didn’t intend it. I want to make it right between us again.”
“And how do you propose to do that? I am what I am. You are what you are.”
“I think you want to punish me, Master...”
He is silent.
“Master, punish me, however you want to do it. Whatever it is, I’ll simply accept it. I won’t make a fuss, and I won’t run afterwards.”
He is silent. I don’t look up.
“Master?”
“You waited until Michael was not here?”
“Yes, Master.”
Again, a long silence, then, “Charlotte, go up to the bedroom.”
I rise and go upstairs, keeping my head bowed. He follows me.
“Bend over the end of the bed.”
I bow down, my breath fluttering, heart thumping. I flatten myself against the counterpane, stretching out my arms, spreading my ankles.
“Raise your hips.”
I arch my spine, presenting myself.
My Master stalks through the room, searching for something. From my awkward view, I see him as he finds it: a belt. Thick leather, almost three inches wide, with a wide brass buckle. He snaps it against the wall with a crack, and I flinch.
“You’re trembling.”
“Sorry, Master.”
“You’re afraid?”
I swallow hard. “A little, yes, Master.”
“Of me? Of what I’m going to do?”
“Yes.” My voice is a whisper.
“You still want to do this?”
“If it makes it right between us, yes, I want to do this.”
“Open your mouth.”
I part my lips, and he pushes something between, a tie I think. “Between your teeth. I don’t want you biting your tongue.”
Heart drumming against my chest, I bite down hard. My head sideways down on the bed, I see my Master test the belt again, against the wall. It whiplashes against the plaster, leaving marks in the paintwork, and I wince, quailing inside, but I don’t move. I must endure this if I am to have my Master return to me.
He moves behind me. “Charlotte, firstly, whatever you say, you did lie to me, by omission at least. Secondly, I asked you... I asked you, to tell me about what had happened to you when we were out on the site. You said you would, but you didn’t. Thirdly, when Haswell asked you, you told him immediately. Three things Charlotte. Three things. None of them had to happen. Do you want to say anything?”
I mumble through my stuffed mouth. “No, Master.”
“Three things. Two strokes for each one.”
I nod. Trembling violently now, I bite down hard... and wait.
The leather thrumms through the air, and I inhale sharply, waiting for the strike, the pain. The belt smacks into the timber of the bed frame with a loud thwack, and I start violently at the brutal sound, the rocking of the bed.
But I am untouched.
Shaking, I hold my position, waiting...
There is another crack and another. Six strokes, ricocheting against the bed-footer, echoing through the room, and despite my savage trembling, the belt has not touched me.
There is the gentle tap of a hand on my rear, almost a caress, then another. Four more follow.
Still shaking uncontrollably, lungs heaving, I sag over the bed, but hands reach under me, sweeping me upright. My Master enfolds me, embracing me, his face close to mine. “How could I punish you, Charlotte? When you give yourself to me like that?”
“Master?”
He almost crushes me to him, mouth fastened over mine, his face pressing hard against me. I struggle against him. “Master... Master... I’m sorry, but I can’t breathe.”
He releases me, and I stand, panting, trying to divine what has happened.
“Master? Are we… are we good now?”
“Yes,” he says softly. “We’re good.”
Hours later, we are lying in bed together, loosely embracing, entwined in the sheets; naked, caressing, stroking, in a sensual Never-Never Land.
We have not made love, although it’s coming, but we have talked...
And talked...
“I’m not proud of what I did, Charlotte. And Michael hitting the nail on the head about my pride didn’t help... At the time, it just seemed like a fun thing to do, to Buy a Virgin. I had the money and the, um, fantasy. It never occurred to me to question what might have brought you there. I simply thought of you as a young woman, in need of money, which I could provide. What Michael missed yesterday, was the shame I felt when I watched that video of you again, thinking of how you must have felt with Haswell seeing it, sitting right next to you.”
“Michael watched it too. Did you know?”
“I didn’t. How did he react?”
“He was quiet. Didn’t say much at all. We talked a bit, but he wasn’t comfortable.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Master, truly I didn’t. It’s just that... things have happened so fast over the last few weeks and.… things that I’ve kept... aside... for years, suddenly became important again. I… wasn’t ready to deal with it.”
He strokes my stomach, his face resting on my breast. “Nor me, Charlotte. Nor me.” He kisses the breast. “I never expected, at my age now, and, especially, in the way in which it happened, to meet the woman who would turn out to be the love of my life.” He sighs, stroking the breast. “I was unprepared for the... tumult in me.… when...”
“... when I’m not your perfectly obedient little sub?”
He snorts. “Touché, Madam. Yes, if I’m honest, that’s part of it.”
“It’s alright Master. We’re both learning to deal with things...”
“Tell me about this teacher of yours.”
“Mr Kalkowski? He was great. It didn’t matter what I asked him about, he could always tell me something. Or if he couldn’t, he had a book about it. He was the one who said I should go to college. but my foster family didn’t like him much…”
“No? Really? Why not?”
“They’re pretty religious up that way. It’s all.… God created the world six thousand years ago, and that sort of stuff. When he started teaching me geology, and I was reading his books about things that happened millions, and billions, of years ago, they didn’t like it. Told me I had to stop.”
“Did you?”