Faith

by Ashe Barker

  Indeed, why should I have to explain? It’s obvious he knows what my destination was in Sheffield, but I had every right to go to a BDSM club if I chose to. It was before he and I started sleeping together. On reflection, maybe I need to make that clear at least.

  “Ewan, I know how this could look. But you have to believe me, I haven’t been there in ages. It was before we, before you and I…”

  “Before you asked me to fuck you and I so helpfully complied?” His level tone is at odds with the crudeness of his words. Even so, I detect no anger, not even annoyance. He’s quite calm, perfectly at ease as he regards me across the teapot. I squirm in my chair.

  How does he do that? How the fuck does he reduce me to this with just a look?

  “Yes. Before that.” I whisper my reply, dreading what he might say next. It’s clear the chronology of events has not impacted on his view of this matter. I study my cooling tea, seeking inspiration. There is none to be had.

  He leans forward, reaches for my chin, and tips it up. I have no choice but to meet his eyes.

  “Tell me, Faith. Tell me why you were there.” His voice is more gentle now, his gaze less arctic. I take encouragement from that.

  “It was a few months ago. I was lonely. I hadn’t had sex in ages, not since, since…”

  “Since Ed died. Yes, I get that. But the first time I fucked you, you were still saying you still hadn’t had sex all the time you’d been a widow. I’m assuming that was true?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

  “No. I didn’t think you would. So, if not sex, what did you get up to at Fairlawns?”

  “I… I…”

  “Faith, I’m waiting. Don’t make me ask again.”

  “I got spanked.” There. It’s out.

  “Spanked? Okay. What else?”

  He doesn’t seem unduly shocked, though I don’t suppose he would be. After all, he has considerably more experience of these matter than I do.

  “Nothing else. Just spanking. I watched other people sometimes, other couples. But I didn’t join in apart from the spanking. And that was only sometimes.” Please believe me. Please.

  “Who spanked you?”

  “A man called David. I don’t know his last name. He’s nice.” I add the last sentiment with a note of defiance.

  Ewan nods. “Yeah, if it’s the David I’m thinking of, he is. About five-nine, mid-forties? A small scar on his chin, just here?” He points to the same spot on his own face.

  I can only nod, incredulous. But really, I should have known. The BDSM community is small; it stands to reason that doms would know each other. So much for giving Manchester a wide berth.

  “You’ve been to Fairlawns then? You know David?” A knot of misery is forming in my stomach, though why I should be so crushed with contrition is beyond me. Perhaps it’s the fact that David and Ewan are at least acquaintances, possibly friends. Somehow this makes it all seem so much worse. I’d tried to detach my secret forays into submission from the rest of my existence, lock Fairlawns up in a compartment, keep it sealed in, separated from the rest of my life. That seemed safe to me, manageable somehow. But now, now it seems Ewan is everywhere, seeping into every aspect of my world. Finding Fairlawns and shining his spotlight on it.

  “I’ve been there many times. I’m a member of the consortium who owns it. So is David.”

  My heart sinks further. It was only ever a matter of time them. Ewan owns Fairlawns. He and David are business partners. Shit.

  “I recognised the postcode in your satnav. From there it was easy to put two and two together. So, you and David…?”

  “It was just spanking. Nothing more. I didn’t even take my knickers off. Please, Ewan, I’m telling the truth.”

  He grins. “And David stood for that? I wouldn’t have. But like you say, he’s a nice guy. Were there any others?”

  I shake my head, baffled by this apparent acceptance of the unacceptable. “Just David. He was nice to me. Kind, and friendly. But he doesn’t fancy me and I don’t fancy him, so…” I seem unable to complete a sentence right now. Even as I give voice to the words I know how unlikely this sounds. I’m asking Ewan, an experienced dom, to believe that I would frequent a fetish club, accept spankings from a virtual stranger, and still insist there was nothing more between us. Hell, I wouldn’t believe it.

  “Okay. Just David, and just spanking. Why stop there?”

  I peer at him, waiting for the further accusation. Is he about to challenge my version of events? Call me a liar? His expression is one of interest, concern perhaps. But I don’t detect more. I am at a loss, a complete loss. I have no idea where this conversation is going. Ewan should be angry. He isn’t. He should be pacing the room, ranting, demanding answers from me and disputing the ones I supply. He isn’t. He simply sits there, sipping at his tea from time to time and asking questions, probing. He’s not judging, not jumping to his own conclusions.

  “Faith, why did you stop at spanking? Why not ask David for more?”

  “It was enough. Too much, maybe. I didn’t want more. And he never asked, never suggested.”

  “I see. That sounds like David. He would never push a sub beyond her limits. He was my mentor, a few years back. That’s one of the things he taught me. To accept boundaries, to respect them.”

  I crinkle my brow, bewildered. Was that it? David had recognised my limits without me even telling him?

  “So, you never wanted to do more? You weren’t tempted to try anything new?” It seems Ewan is not done with his line of questioning yet.

  “I only went there a few times, but no. Spanking was enough.”

  “Did you like it?”

  I nod.

  Ewan chuckles. “Yeah, I imagine you would. But just let me get this straight. You went to Fairlawns alone? Yes?”

  I nod again.

  “You took out a membership, then went, still on your own, into the play room?”

  More nodding. I see no need to elaborate; he seems to be piecing together the details of my first visit there very well without my assistance.

  “David approached you?”

  “Yes. I turned him down the first time. But the following week I went back, and he invited me again. And that time, I accepted.”

  “I bet that took some courage, girl.” Is that a hint of admiration I discern?

  “It did. But they were very nice to me. Everyone. But mainly David.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. It shows that the manager we put in there is running the place well. David’s an experienced dom. I suspect he recognised straight away that you were new to the scene and made it his business to look out for you, at least until you found your feet. I must remember to thank him when next I see him.”

  “Oh, no. You can’t tell him.”

  “Can’t I? Why’s that?”

  I lapse into silence. Of course he can. And he will. No doubt they’ll compare notes. I blink back tears as I gather what shreds of pride and dignity I have at my command right now.

  “It’s private, that’s all. You’ve no right to discuss me with other doms, or to poke fun at me. You of all people.”

  Now his expression does register surprise. “Poke fun at you? Why would you think I’d do that? I confess I’m surprised, and I’d have preferred to introduce you to the scene myself. But if not me, then I’m glad you met David. I won’t mention you to him if that’s what you want. I should warn you though, there’s every chance we could run into him in the future and I doubt he’d ever forget an arse as pretty as yours.”

  “Now you are taking the piss.”

  “Maybe a little. But seriously, this does change things between us.”

  The knot of misery expands. Here it comes, the crunch.

  “You gave me to understand your tastes were definitely vanilla. You knew mine were not, but you made your preferences clear. Now I find that you were less than honest with me.”


  “I never lied to you!” There’s more than a hint of indignation in my reply. Or is that defensiveness?

  “No? Why didn’t you tell me you were interested in kink? Or at least prepared to experiment a little?”

  “Why would I? It never came up.”

  “Sweetheart, I’ve spent the last few weeks fucking you every which vanilla way I know how. Of course it came up. Every time I squeezed your nipples or licked your cunt I was itching to do more. To show you more. For fuck’s sake, I even managed to get you all but bound and blindfolded just the other day. You stood for that, hell, you even seemed to enjoy it. But never anything more. At the merest mention you’d clam up, close me down.”

  “I was scared. I didn’t want you to, to…”

  “To harm you? How could you think I would? I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  “I know you do. But it’s my feelings we’re discussing right now. We’ll come to yours in due course. Because I love you, I’m ready to accept you, just as you are. I’ve always believed submission is innate, it can’t be created, or taught. If a woman is submissive, she just is. And if not, well, it would be pointless and cruel to attempt to pressure her. I love you, so if vanilla is your thing, that makes it my thing too because I won’t ever try to coerce or persuade you to do anything that makes you unhappy. I know I’ve been dominant on occasions, pushed the boundaries, but only very slightly. I knew you found my pain play with Carrie difficult to accept, and you told me you didn’t want to be tied up. I might have wished it were different, but not so much that I would have lost you because of it.”

  “What are you saying? I don’t understand.”

  “I’m saying that I believed you wanted to keep things vanilla between us, and that I was ready to respect that. Vanilla’s not a bad offer, after all. Not when it’s with a lovely, responsive woman and the tightest, hottest pussy I can recall ever having the good fortune to sink my dick into. If you’ll pardon the expression.” He pauses as I struggle to wrap my head around what he’s saying. “But you’re not that sweet little vanilla playmate, are you? Not at heart. You’re a submissive little slut. Or you have the makings of one. Just, you’re not my slut. And that’s the part I can’t live with.”

  “Can’t… Ewan, please, I…”

  He continues, almost as though I never interrupted. “So, here’s the thing. We need to backtrack from here. Either we start again, but this time as a dominant and his submissive. Or we don’t start again at all. I would have accepted being your vanilla lover if that’s what you wanted. If it’s all you wanted, all you needed. But I won’t accept that role if you then go off and get your kink elsewhere. Knowing what I now do, it’s either these…” he gestures to the cuffs and crop still lying between us on the table, “…or it’s nothing at all.”

  “You’re dumping me? Because of this? Please, Ewan, can’t we talk? I can explain.”

  “You have explained, and I accept what you say. I’m not dumping you. I’m giving you a choice. I want you. For fuck’s sake, I love the bones of you. But the terms need to change.” He stands and walks around the table. He halts beside me and squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll leave you to think about what I’ve said. You’ll have questions, fears, uncertainties. I know that. I’ll help you and if you do decide to trust me, we’ll take things at your pace. You know where I am when you’re ready to talk.”

  I’m still staring into the cool dregs of my tea as the door clicks shut behind him. He is gone. The cuffs and crop remain on the table.

  New terms. Dominant and submissive. Ewan and me.

  Is this possible? Could I?

  I should have explained myself better, should have made him understand why I went elsewhere. I let him think it was because I preferred some anonymous dom in a club fifty miles away to the living, breathing, loving dom next door. Nothing could be further from the truth.

  This is about Caroline, and my reaction to the nature of their relationship, but not in the way he imagines.

  The seconds tick past, grow into minutes. At last I glance up at the clock on the wall to see I’ve been sitting here brooding for over an hour. I’m grappling with my emotional baggage, trying to make sense of something that seems so convoluted, so complex, though in reality is probably quite simple.

  Ewan and I have talked. We’ve talked a lot of over the last year or so as we’ve both come to terms with what happened on that dreadful afternoon, in the hedgerow beside that wet country road as the miserable rain drizzled on us, and two lives were extinguished before our eyes.

  At first I blamed myself. For a while I actually hated myself for being alive when Caroline was not. Ewan put those misplaced notions from my head, helped me to get some perspective back. He became my friend. He encouraged me to move on, to grow, to stand on my own feet. It was his advice I wanted when I decided to start my own business, his encouragement I looked for. I got it too. He was generous, kind, supportive. Looking back, I know my heart was on my sleeve much of the time. I was attracted to him from the start. I was also vulnerable and lonely. He could so easily have taken advantage. But he never pushed me, never once tried to seduce me.

  Instead he took me to Paris and booked separate rooms. He cooked me nice meals. He became my friend. Then, eventually, when the time was right for me too, he became my lover.

  I knew he wanted more. Or was it less? It turns out his relationship with Caroline was never the merging of souls I had imagined. They did not share the bond Ewan and I have, even now. It seems to me that BDSM diminished their relationship. It was reduced to passionless sex and a rent book, just as my connection to David has nothing at all to do with my emotions. He met a physical need. I like him, no more than that. Just as Ewan liked Caroline.

  Ewan says he loves me now. Would he still love me as his submissive? If he lost me, would he weep? Or would he shrug, say it was a pity, nice while it lasted, and move on?

  As far as my own sensual needs are concerned, I sought out enlightenment elsewhere because, at the time, I didn’t think I could ever have a relationship with Ewan. I couldn’t see past the darkness that was now, to the bright possibility that was my future. It was still too soon, everything still too raw. The anniversary was an enormous watershed, a cathartic moment. Going back to the scene with Ewan was what I needed to do to finally understand that Ed and Caroline were in the past. I suspect Ewan was ready to move on much earlier than I was, but he waited for me.

  He’s waiting still. Next door.

  I pick up the cuffs and the spanking crop and head off in search of further enlightenment.

  Chapter Nine

  I don’t knock. We’re past that. Clutching the cuffs and crop in my hands, I stalk Ewan’s house looking for him.

  He isn’t in his office, my first port of call. Nor is he in the kitchen, or the lounge. I make for the stairs.

  I open his bedroom door to find that room empty too. I wander along the landing to the next door, the room overlooking the back garden. Here I find him.

  Ewan has his back to me. He’s leaning on the windowsill looking out. He doesn’t turn his head as I enter.

  “I’m pleased to see you.” His voice is low, even. Warm.

  “You have eyes in the back of your head now? Is this a dom thing?” A tad sharp, as greetings go, but I’m nervous.

  “Nothing so fanciful. You’re reflected in the glass. I notice you didn’t come empty-handed.”

  “No.”

  “But, you have questions?”

  “Yes.”

  “If I can provide answers to your questions, will you kneel naked at my feet? Will you allow me to cuff you? Will you let me apply that crop to your lovely bottom, as you so richly deserve?”

  “Yes.”

  He turns to face me at last. His hips resting against the window sill he lowers his brows and folds his arms. I have never seen him more formidable, more intimidating. More utterly gorgeous. My pussy melts. I’m drooling in anticipation des
pite his promise of pain to come before pleasure. Or are pleasure and pain so hopelessly intertwined as to make it meaningless for me to attempt to tease them one from the other?

  “So, ask.”

  “I glance around me. “Is this Caroline’s room?”

  “Yes. It was. I’m planning to clear out her stuff. Her brother’s been in touch wanting her things. I told him he could take anything of hers he would like, and I’ll dispose of the rest.” He gives me a wry smile. “It’s time.”

  “Would you clear me out so easily?”

  “You? You’re not in.”

  I’m not deflected by his apparent dismissal. “I don’t mean handbags and knick-knacks. That’s just stuff. Would you let me go as easily as you let go of Caroline?”

  “I’ll never let you go. I love you.” That’s more like it.

  “You loved Caroline. Once.”

  “Did I say that?”

  “You must have…”

  “No. I never loved her. I thought I’d made that plain.”

  I think back to his description of what was, indeed, a fairly casual relationship. It took on the appearance of being more because they shared a house. Looking around this room, the room so obviously occupied by Caroline during most of her time here, it’s clear they didn’t live together in any meaningful sense. A pile of celebrity gossip magazines beside the bed, cosmetics and toiletries neatly lined up on the dressing table, shoes on the floor—this was clearly Caroline’s personal space. I have seen nothing of hers in Ewan’s room.

  “Could you love a submissive?”

  “I do love a submissive. I thought I made that plain too. Even if that submissive is slow on the uptake and not quite ready yet to accept the truth of her nature. And mine.”

  I’m trying not to be side-tracked, but I can’t suppress my smile. I continue. “This can’t be casual for me. If we do this…”

  “When we do this.” He corrects me, his tone gentle but definite. “You brought the cuffs and the crop. I intend to make use of them.”

  “…when we do this, it makes our relationship even more—intimate. Even more personal than before. Does that make sense?”