Protege

by Lydia Michaels

  Her breath accelerated as her words collided in her mind and came out as, “I’m sorry, Sir.” It was the unburdening she needed but didn’t want to allow. Damn him and his mind games.

  “Why are you sorry?”

  Her mouth compressed. She just wanted to stand up straight. “I’m sorry I didn’t finish my hour in the gym and I’m sorry I took an attitude with you.”

  “Sit down.”

  She sighed and eagerly stood, the relief to her muscles and spine immediate. She hesitated to sit, glancing at him, and seeing she’d better do as he instructed, she lowered herself into the chair and waited.

  “We must discuss punishment, peach. Your tone was disrespectful and that’s unacceptable. You also agreed to these terms, which I expect you to honor unless you’re physically ill and incapable. Now, your cycle should start this week, so perhaps you aren’t feeling your best, but that doesn’t justify lashing out or shirking your responsibilities.”

  She was getting her period. The urge to smack herself in the head was hard to ignore. No wonder she was so irritable. She had PMS. How would that affect their schedule? The new worry became a major concern, making it difficult to focus on what Jude was saying. Above all, she was impressed he was so aware of her cycle. Of course she’d written the dates in her paperwork, so it wasn’t like he was psychic.

  “. . . It is my duty to correct any misbehavior I see, Collette, and you’ve expressed a need for a certain kind of relationship that applies various levels of consequence. Your actions today were an infraction of the rules we agreed upon. Do you agree?”

  She didn’t know if all of this was necessary since she’d apologized. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Misbehavior introduces unwanted feelings that cloud our judgment. Those feelings must be addressed, corrected, and forgiven so they can be expelled. Harboring negative feelings stirs resentment. I’d rather not revisit this topic again, so let’s discuss the cause of your behavior.”

  He paced and she frowned. “I think I’m just dealing with PMS.”

  Shaking his head, he said, “If a man were to blame a woman’s behavior on such symptoms, she’d be offended. While you might be more irritated around this time of the month, that doesn’t define the source of your irritation. Go deeper.”

  Every aggravated thought she had in the gym came back to her, but she lacked the courage to utter a sound.

  When she remained silent, he asked, “Don’t you want my forgiveness, peach? I can’t grant you forgiveness until you’ve confessed what you’ve done. Come now, out with it.”

  A lump formed in her throat as she lowered her gaze to the floor. He tipped her chin up, bending her neck as far as it could go. “You’re trying my patience, peach.”

  “I was mad at you,” she huffed.

  Not letting go of her chin, he asked. “Why?”

  She shrugged, unable to vocalize her confusing emotions, and he released her.

  “Very well. On your feet.”

  She stood and he paced in front of her. “The issue with harboring resentments, Collette, is they fester and turn into unmanageable cancers within a relationship. You’ve given your word to communicate honestly with me, yet you’re hiding something.”

  She really wasn’t. It was just her own issues ganging up on her because she was in a pissy mood. Her eyes followed him as he walked to the counter and opened a drawer, removing a wooden utensil of sorts. He held it where she couldn’t completely see and she—her eyes widened. Not a utensil. A paddle.

  Taking a step back, she stared at the wide, wooden oar and panted.

  “Now, do you want a relationship with secrets?”

  “No,” she croaked.

  His head tilted, his eyes showing a flash of exasperation. “No . . .”

  “Sir.”

  “Because when a sub doesn’t communicate honestly and openly about her feelings, what can happen?”

  “Resentment develops.”

  “I’m a lot of things, peach, but I’m not a mind reader. Are you ready to share your feelings?”

  No. She swallowed and remained silent.

  He stood in front of her, his eyes searching hers. “Peach, there’s nothing you could say that I probably haven’t heard before. Don’t be afraid of your feelings. Express them and let out your frustration. I’ll help you. But you have to open yourself up and be honest with me.”

  Her eyes turned pleading. “Why do you have a paddle?”

  Without pulling his gaze from hers he said, “Because you broke a rule and have to be punished.”

  “But I said I was sorry.”

  He nodded. “A half apology when you still won’t confess the whole of what you’ve done. I’ll remind you, you were the one who asked for a relationship where the head of the household would take you in hand. I’m only doing what any Dom would do in such a situation. Submissives typically drag out internal punishment. That’s not your job. It’s mine. This will help you accept my forgiveness and move on.”

  “I don’t want you to hit me. You said you’d never abuse me.”

  “There is a difference between domestic abuse and domestic discipline. You chose this. Do you need your safe word, Collette?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then let’s continue. Resentment often comes from a sense of inadequacy. Are you feeling inadequate?”

  Her body began to tremble. This was all because he wouldn’t share her bed at night. She just wanted to know why.

  “I asked you a question, Collette.”

  Her jaw locked as her tongue refused to move, her voice not making a single peep.

  “Is it a fear of rejection that worries you?” he asked. “We’re almost halfway through our experience and I can assure you we will be finishing our time unless you use your safe word to end it. As far as future relationships are concerned, your application will only be viewable to partners interested in long-term arrangements compatible with your needs. Chances of rejection are minimal and we’ve already received several requests about your preferences.”

  Her worry over the paddle sidelined as his words hijacked her focus. “You have?”

  His eyes narrowed with satisfaction. He’d tricked her into speaking. “Yes, but we’ll discuss that later. Your preferences haven’t been determined yet, so any requests are irrelevant at this point.”

  She wondered who’d asked about her. The one single man she’d met, Brys, seemed very interested in her, always watching and—

  Jude snapped his fingers. “Your attention on me, Collette.”

  “Sorry, Sir.”

  “I’m waiting for you to tell me what caused your upset. We can stand here all day, or perhaps you’d like to put your palms on the chair again.”

  Her eyes widened as the trembling turned into tiny quaking jolts. “I . . .” His eyes watched her intently as emotion stirred and bloomed inside her. “I was mad at you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . .” Her vision blurred and she blinked rapidly, hating her display of emotion. “You shut me out at night.”

  His expression slowly softened as he comprehended her issue. Expression gentle, he said, “It’s not uncommon for D/s couples to have separate rooms. Some subs appreciate the space and privacy.”

  She did too, sometimes, but not all the time, and why did he have to lock the door? A tear tripped past her lashes before she could wipe it away, and he frowned.

  “Collette, allowing moments of absence provides us time to reflect and decompress. It isn’t a punishment.”

  “I know, but sometimes I want to go to you and I can’t because the door’s always locked and I don’t feel welcome.”

  In the silence, she worried he might be thinking, you’re not.

  Her feelings, exposed and raw, became more vulnerable the longer he didn’t deny her accusation. Finally, he whispered,
“In time, perhaps another man would open doors, but I’m not that man and we don’t have that sort of time. You can’t rush a privilege that takes more than the right setting, peach. I’m sorry. The door remains closed.”

  And that was why he was on her shit list. Stifling her emotions, she raised her chin. “Well, now you know how it makes me feel. I don’t like it.” She wanted to make a snarky comment about the right man to see if he reacted, but she lacked the courage to poke the bear—still holding a paddle in his paw.

  “While I’m very glad you’ve shared your feelings and I’m sorry I can’t correct what’s bothering you, I still regret that you acted out without communicating your emotions honestly from the start.”

  She scowled at him. “What?”

  “Your tone, Ms. Banks. It’s what got you here in the first place.”

  Taking a step back, she continued to scowl. “I told you why I was upset. I went back to finish the exercise, but you made me come here. I stood hunched over on that chair for almost twenty minutes—”

  “And you are still speaking to me in a disrespectful tone.”

  Her mouth snapped shut.

  “I won’t allow it, Collette. Not from a colleague, a friend, and especially not my submissive. I don’t take that tone with you, nor do I vent my emotions without giving you the opportunity to listen and talk through a situation. These are crucial practices you must learn to control. And because you are my protégé, it’s my responsibility to teach you.”

  “By spanking me?”

  “The spanking is the punishment. The lesson comes each time you struggle to sit comfortably, a not-so-gentle reminder of this conversation. You’ve disrespected your Dom, and there will always be a consequence for that. A sub who lacks respect lacks a partner; remember that the next time you want to storm off and throw a fit.”

  “It’s going to hurt,” she said softly, fear twisting her belly.

  “Yes.”

  How could he do this? How could he hurt her when he’d said he never would? “I’ll fight back.”

  His eyes narrowed with all the surety in the world. “No, you won’t.” He placed the paddle on the counter. “When you’ve dealt with your fear and come to terms with my decision, come find me. I want to forgive you, Collette, but you’re not allowing us to put the issue to rest. This is what you signed up for. I refuse to sit here and debate my conditions.”

  “But . . . what should I do?”

  “You want to argue about my edicts? You decide.” With that, he exited the kitchen, leaving her there, stark naked beside the chair and the paddle.

  Should she dress? Start prepping dinner? Her eyes drifted to the paddle and back to the door. Slowly, she lifted the wood and tapped it against her hand. Looking over her shoulder, she gently smacked her butt with it. That wasn’t too bad. Glancing back at the door, she walked to the oven and stashed the paddle inside.

  She prepped everything for dinner, seasoning the fish and chopping potatoes, slicing tomatoes and garnishing them with fresh basil. The fish would only take a few minutes to bake. They usually ate around five thirty, so she decided to shower. Popping the potatoes into a pot of water, she went to freshen up.

  On her way back to the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed in a simple blue tunic dress, she slowly passed the library. Jude was at his desk going over papers. He seemed totally unconcerned with her whereabouts.

  She mashed the potatoes and preheated the oven for the fish, remembering at the last moment to grab the paddle out of the oven. She stashed it in the pantry between the cereal boxes. After setting the table and filling the glasses, she waited. The fish was about ready, and Jude had yet to make an appearance.

  Deciding to go find him, she walked to the library and quietly knocked. “Come in.”

  She waited at the door, but he didn’t look up from what he was reading. “Dinner will be ready in five minutes.”

  “I’ll eat later. Thank you.”

  His words hit her like a punch, cold dread tightening her shoulders. Thinking of anything she could possibly say to persuade him, she frantically tried to understand what his refusal to eat with her meant.

  “You may return to the kitchen.”

  Dismissed and wounded, she slowly stepped out of the room. When she returned to the kitchen, the fish was ready. She pulled it from the oven and stared at the two fillets. Unsure what to do, she made up their plates and covered his with foil. When she sat at the table, she simply stared at her dinner, no longer having an appetite.

  Wrapping her plate as well, she placed it in the fridge beside his and did the dishes. Guilt and confusion gnawed at her as she thought over the day’s events. All of this because of her temper tantrum. This was what they meant when they called subs brats. She’d acted like a petulant child, taking her sour mood out on Jude when he’d done nothing out of the ordinary or unexpected.

  She resented him for her own expectations, beliefs that events would naturally occur when he’d never promised such things. Jude had been very understanding and caring with her, and she’d gotten greedy with his generous patience. They were not true lovers. This was all training, a process to better identify her true partner. When would she get that through her thick head?

  Once the kitchen was clean, she went to the pantry and removed the paddle. She sat for a long time in the silent kitchen, holding the weighted board in her hands. No one had ever spanked her before that she could recall. It wasn’t easy to voluntarily surrender to a punishment that would inflict pain. She didn’t like pain, not the kind that came with intent to punish. There could be good pain, but this was different.

  “Collette.”

  Her head jerked up as he startled her. “I . . .” She didn’t know what to say. “Would you like your dinner now?”

  He nodded and stepped into the kitchen. She worked quickly to reheat his supper and eagerly watched as he ate.

  “This is quite delicious. Thank you.”

  “Can I get you more tea?” She stepped toward the pitcher.

  “No, thank you.”

  “I have more potatoes if you—”

  “This will be enough. Thank you.”

  Her mouth opened and closed as she scrambled for any words that might bridge the distance. “Did you miss dinner to punish me?”

  He carefully wiped his mouth on the linen napkin and folded it on his plate. “On the contrary, there’s no punishment if the system fails. You’ve removed my authority by rejecting my decision. If my role is blurred, unfortunately, so is yours. It’s a give-and-take dynamic, Collette.” He stood. “Thank you for dinner.”

  She stared as he left, despising the silence in his absence. He’d eaten, complimented her cooking, but something was missing. Her guilt didn’t make room for pride, and all his praise slipped away.

  Shutting off the kitchen light, she wandered through the hall. It was late, nearly nine o’clock. When she found the library dark, she frowned. A sense of being forgotten stole over her so swiftly it knocked the breath out of her. He’d gone to bed without her, without saying good night or telling her it was time to go to her room?

  It struck her then just how necessary this ritual of consequence and forgiveness was to a man like Jude. It would be the same for many other Doms as well. She’d been very pampered and adored over the past few weeks. Perhaps this was one of the drawbacks.

  The women who were gossiping at Lea’s had all been spanked. Yet when she saw them at the next dinner party they were laughing with their partners as if all was forgiven. Was it that simple?

  Her need for vindication paled in comparison to her desire for Jude’s forgiveness. He wasn’t angry. Anger came with rage or hostility. He was disappointed. She’d thrown her towel, had a mild tantrum, and spoke to him in a tone she knew was disrespectful. She was wrong for all of that.

  But she was also upset. Why couldn’t she square
away her feelings about the necessary space between her and Jude? He didn’t owe her personal intimacy. He’d given her more than the necessary closeness for what she needed to learn. Her hunger for more was not his fault and she had to stop holding it against him.

  “Collette.”

  She jumped as he snuck up on her again. “I thought you went to bed.”

  “No. I was on a call in the den.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late, though. I’ll walk you up.”

  Relief swamped her. He hadn’t forgotten, nor had he purposely overlooked her.

  He gently took her arm and she wanted to lean into him, but she kept her back straight. More apologies weighed on her tongue, but that wasn’t what he needed. Opening her door, he walked her to her bed and pulled back her covers.

  “I’ll leave you to change. Good night.”

  “Jude . . .”

  He stilled but didn’t turn to face her.

  Her shoulders wilted. “Good night.”

  He left.

  Shutting her eyes, she sighed. There was only one thing to do.

  She removed her clothes. Staring in the mirror, she studied her round bottom, the skin smooth and white. Swallowing back her trepidation, she slipped out of her room and retrieved the paddle from the kitchen. When she returned to her room she was out of breath.

  It can’t be that bad.

  Lifting the paddle, she turned it this way and that. Postponing it only seemed to amplify her fear. She went to the connecting door. Her hand closed in a fist and she knocked lightly.

  The shuffling of his steps preceded the slide of the key fitting in the lock. The door opened and she held out the paddle, presenting it to him. “I’m very sorry I disappointed you, Sir. It was wrong for me to let my emotions control my actions when I should have control of them. Next time I promise to speak to you about my concerns and not blame you for things outside your control. Please take back the authority. I want you to have it. I trust you.” Her words started in a stiff tone but ended in a desperate plea.

  His eyes moved over her face. “That was very beautifully put, Collette. I accept your apology and forgive you. Would you like to come in so we can address the punishment and lay the matter to rest?”