My Naughty Little Secret

by Finnegan, Tara

  It was obvious that Catherine and James were relieved to see a new peace pact had been reached. Dinner passed pleasantly. They were both wonderful company and Michael and I were more at ease with one another. I don’t think I had ever seen Michael so relaxed, in fact. The secrets were gone, so the barriers were down. Even the bickering that was often present between him and James at work was glaringly absent in their personal relationship. It was obvious they had a high mutual regard and an easy friendship. Michael was embarrassed by the stories that James and Catherine told of his first teenage crush for a young girl in the lawn tennis club who ran rings around him, and he absolutely cringed when Catherine dragged out the old photo albums.

  It was hard not to like this version of Michael. He was an affectionate son and stepson, he could hold an intelligent conversation, and he could take the familial raillery with ease and good spirits. Now I was becoming curious to observe him in the company of his peers, his friends. I wondered how many other facades I had missed because of all the secrets. And indeed because of how much of myself I had closed off to him. In truth I had been afraid to trust him from the start, just because he was a man. The fact that he was so closed only served for me to keep even more reserved. In all honesty, had it not been for the passion of the spanking relationship, it would be hard to see how we had come so far. The spark and intensity of the sexual side had kept us united by a thin thread. Now we had to explore what there was beyond that thread. That we both wanted to try for more was a good start. I didn’t really believe Michael loved me, as we had kept ourselves too aloof in many ways, but I did believe there was something deeper than the physical passion, with both of us, if we were prepared to give it free rein. We both fancied each other, a lot. But much more important, deep down we had a mutual regard and admiration. We liked each other, I guess. Those were the true building blocks of a relationship; sex was simply the mortar that held the blocks together, but without the bricks, it was useless on its own. But now we had to test the strength of the foundations with our full weight and make sure it didn’t crumble. I realised that I wanted to try. I didn’t want a life without him. The job could go. In fact it would have to go under the circumstances, but I wanted Michael, warts and all. Now I needed to know he felt the same—now that it was just us and the naked truth.

  I was still feeling very insecure, our background differences really bothered me—he was born with a silver spoon where I had a sod of turf. His education and upbringing meant he was easy and confident in “refined” company, whereas I was still somewhat intimidated by people I considered “better” than me. I could see their faults too, but I always assumed my faults were worse. I was brought up to be mannerly, etc., but the nuances of “society” were sometimes beyond me and I didn’t want to be an embarrassment to him. I was afraid these issues would be divisive in the end and therefore was afraid to give myself totally. I was going to have to learn to trust him, myself, and our love. And after such a bad start, that wasn’t going to be easy.

  At about eight-thirty, James offered to call me a cab, but Michael said he would drop me home as we still had a lot to talk about. James reminded me to consider the offer seriously, that he really wanted me to take the position, regardless of what agreement Michael and I came to as a couple. The offer was independent of our relationship. I thanked him again and assured him that I would give it serious consideration.

  * * *

  In the car on the way to Knightsbridge, Michael mentioned the offer for the first time. He made no secret of his anxiety when he first heard about Myra looking to move on. He told me he knew it would complicate things as he would have to tell me what his planned future role was. And James had just pressured him into making his decision that same day as he wanted to announce his retirement at the party. Apparently he was suffering from high blood pressure and high cholesterol and his doctor had warned him he had to take things easier.

  “So am I to take it that you’re definitely staying in England then?” I asked. He hadn’t even officially told me that much yet.

  “Of course I am. Or at least I was. I’m not so sure now.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not laying that one at my door; that’s a decision you have to make for yourself, it’s your life.”

  “Well, as I said earlier, I was kind of hoping it might be our life, Shiv,” he said softly.

  “Can we just get through the next few days without complicating them more? I’ve a lot to think about; please?” I beseeched. He reluctantly nodded his assent.

  When we got to Knightsbridge, he gathered the saplings and the bread wrapper from the car, reminding me of my threat.

  “So what’s a birch?” I asked when we got through the door.

  “What?” Then his face registered the question. “Oh, yeah, I said I wanted to birch you. It’s just a bunch of twigs tied together, like an old-fashioned flogger.”

  “Show me how to make it,” I demanded. He got some electrical tape from the drawer, cut the saplings to the same size, pared the twigs and leaves from them, and bound them together at one end with the tape.

  “Bend over, see what it feels like,” he said seductively. I could feel my body shiver in anticipation.

  “Nope, you first. I am going to teach you a lesson in honesty and trust,” I said firmly.

  His face was a picture. I wished that I could have captured it on camera. The blood drained from it and he was ashen under his tan. He was bricking it. Well, hell, rub it into him, how many times did he have me in that position? And he never showed me any mercy. Well, he did once, with the anal plug, but never in a spanking. I decided to start at his preferred level, twenty strokes. His face blanched still further when I passed sentence.

  “You know the drill, you’ve made me do it often enough,” I added cruelly.

  He didn’t dare refuse. He knew that if I was to take his atonement seriously, he was going to have to step up to the plate. I swiped the birch along my thigh a couple of times to get the feel of it. It was an impressive implement, all right. It didn’t need a lot of power to pack a punch. The numerous twigs meant that its might was in its range—each stroke covered a large area, both like switches and then the tips were like beestings. He was getting a rough introduction, no doubt about it, but I was kind of looking forward to experiencing the sensation myself one day and soon, preferably. Already I was back to thinking of us as if we were a couple, I noticed.

  Michael was leaning against the bed with his hands at the foot of it, behind bared and waiting. I had to work hard to stifle a giggle. He looked blooming ridiculous, this big man poised, shaking in terror of a little woman like me holding a few twigs. I don’t think either of us was really getting anything from this. But I’d try anything once.

  I positioned myself behind him and to try to get into the swing of it, I reminded him I was spanking him for all his lies. I reminded him that it was no guarantee I could forgive and forget, but I was willing to try. I told him how hurt I was and how he had made me feel insignificant by excluding me from his life. Then I swung. Hard. He yelped and jumped, covering his behind with his hands.

  “Keep your hands out of the way or I’ll start over,” I warned, using the words he had used with me so many times.

  “Fuck, Shiv, that hurt,” he protested.

  “Of course it hurt, haven’t I been in your shoes often enough to know that?” I countered with a bravado I didn’t really feel. I whacked again before I changed my mind. And again, continuing five times in quick succession; with each stroke the look of horror on his face intensified, and each welt rising on his buttocks weakened my resolve. It was pretty obvious I was submissive rather than dominant. I dropped the birch on the bed.

  “Ok, you’re off the hook, I can’t do any more,” I admitted. I was kind of disappointed as I had hoped it would make me feel better.

  “Thank fuck, because I can’t take any more either.” We both laughed ourselves stupid and it was a real cathartic laugh. Somehow we ended up in each other’s arms,
kissing hungrily. He had his already loosened clothes off before I noticed it and he was helping me lose mine. Our hands were colliding in our urgency for us both to be naked.

  “Don’t ever leave me again, Shiv, ever.”

  “Don’t ever lie to me again, then. How could I trust you about Vivienne when everything you ever told me was a lie?” I was crying again and he kissed my tears as they fell from my eyes.

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I swear, I just wanted time for you to want me for me, not to want me or reject me because of who I was.”

  In a way I understood what he meant. I was in London for the same reason, to be accepted on merit, not because I was related to someone who was related to someone else. I figured I just might be able to forgive this one.

  I’d love to be able to say we made slow gentle love, but that would be a complete lie. We had that fast, furious, desperate coupling that comes after a breakup. Where the hunger is so bad you feel nothing can satisfy it. We fucked hard, Michael driving deep into me, as if he wanted my pussy to consume his penis, to smother it with my need. And my body was just as eager. I met him thrust for thrust. I ached for him to consume all of me. I bit his lips hungrily until he moaned for me to stop or he’d be marked. I thrust my chest upwards, wanting him to take my breasts in his mouth. I was desperate to cum, yet I couldn’t let go. I was holding back. Michael told me to turn over; he knew what I needed. I had to submit to him. Then he tied my hands above my head to the headboard and put some pillows under my hips. He played with my clit causing me to moan in pleasure, making me beg for more. Then he spanked me, hard. Finally, I could feel my body yielding to his will. But he wasn’t done yet.

  “I’m going to have a little fun here,” he said seductively as he probed my anus with his finger, slowly and gently. It was the first time he had ever really used my anus purely for pleasure and the sensation was totally different. He lubricated the small plug and slowly and gently coaxed it in. At first I naturally resisted, but as I forced myself to relax, I could feel the pleasure. There was a sensation of fullness, different from my pussy. My muscles tightened around it, sending pleasant sensations through my whole private region. It made me feel alive. My pussy was flooding with desire and my submission was complete. With that he spanked me again, while the plug was in place. This caused me to clench my bottom cheeks further and I was on the brink of orgasm. I was on fire. I wanted him to fill me again, I wanted his cock but he wasn’t sharing. Not until he was ready. He switched for a slightly larger plug and the sensations intensified. In a way I felt embarrassed, having my bum manipulated in such a way, but my body defied my embarrassment and cried out for more. As he inserted the bigger plug, I didn’t resist and it went in easily; he thrust it in and out like a cock. The thrill was electric and my body shuddered with orgasm. Finally he was ready to possess me again. He removed the plug and released my hands.

  “Up on all fours,” he ordered. “Condom or not?”

  “Not.”

  He penetrated my pussy roughly and thrust hard. I came again immediately. And again, one not quite subsiding before the next one started. He kept me there on the edge until he was done with me. When he felt I had completely exhausted all resistance, he thrust harder and harder until I could feel his warm ejaculation fill my pussy as his body jerked in climax.

  Chapter Sixteen

  We snoozed for a while, exhausted and spent. But we weren’t ready to sleep for the night. There was too much making up to do and a lot of talking to be done. Neither of us was ready to sleep on it just yet. Anyway, I hadn’t let the girls know I wouldn’t be home. I climbed out of bed, slipping into his bathrobe, to make the call, and Michael went into the bathroom. I could hear the bath filling. And smell the scent of vanilla and cinnamon. He came into the kitchen, opened a bottle of wine, and brought the wine and two glasses into the bathroom. My kinda man! When I followed him, the room was aflame with red and white candles; there were fluffy towels heating on the towel rail and more towels on the floor. Bubbles were almost overflowing. He opened the tie on his robe and peeled it down into a pool at my feet. Taking my hand, he guided me into the bath and handed me a glass of Nebbiolo D’Alba.

  “Italian?” I asked, raising my eyebrows in censure.

  “Don’t tell them this, but they have some pretty good wines,” he winked. “I like this one. It’s from the highest plain of Piedmont region; it gets longer sunlight to ripen the grape.”

  Now that coming from a man whose stepfather owned a French vineyard was quite a compliment. I looked at the label, Renato Corno; the name meant nothing to me, but it tasted really smooth. Just right for sharing in a hot bath. The tub was one of those oversized old-fashioned types that could fit two with comfort. I pulled up as Michael climbed in behind me and put one leg either side of mine. I lay back on his chest and savoured the illicit luxury, a shared bath, with wine and candles, How decadent! Absolutely heavenly.

  We sipped our wine at leisure and when the glasses were drained, Michael put them on the floor so they wouldn’t get knocked over. Then he lathered up his hands and started washing my back and shoulders. He kneaded the pent-up tension out of my shoulders and neck. The three days of upset bit by bit eased away. His hands slipped round to my belly and chest and he soaped me some more. I closed my eyes as I felt his fingers work their magic on my nipples. I could feel my desire fire deep in my belly again. His hands slipped, washing me intimately.

  “I’d like this to go,” he said, tugging on my pubic hair, “not all of it, I want to know you’re a woman, but just a thin strip, so I have a good view.”

  He soaped my anus, which he had used to such delight earlier. It was ever so slightly tender, reminding me of the stolen pleasure, and I shivered. He chuckled. Then my vagina, but my own silky moisture was better than any soap. His hands glided over and back with ease as I arched my body to his touch. Then as far down my thighs as he could reach from behind me. I was alive again and wanted my fun.

  I turned to face him and soaped his chest and arms, scratching my long nails tantalisingly through his chest hair, using firm hard fingers on his shoulders and stretching round to his back. As he gave into the sensation, his already erect penis raised itself still more, looking for its share of the attention. But not yet. His belly and navel were next. Then his legs and thighs. Everywhere but his hard penis. I wanted him desperate and needy before I was going there. He was groaning, arching his cock closer to me, wordlessly begging me to stroke it. Finally I gave in and a sigh of relief escaped his throat. Soaping my hands, I slowly rubbed the head forward and back, down the shaft a little, not too much. Then in circular motions. Then forward and back. Then circular again. Rubbing the nubs under the head. He was in heaven and hell; I could see the pleasure was exquisite, but he wanted deeper longer strokes to satisfy his yearning. Only when I could see his eyes plead for mercy did I oblige and the relief was written all over his face.

  “Stop, we’re going to make love,” he pleaded. Well, I thought that was exactly what we had been at in the bath; he may not have penetrated me yet, but we were definitely making love, sharing each other’s pleasure, wanting to satisfy one another’s needs, each trying to bring the other to heaven. He climbed out of the bath and put a towel around his waist. As I stood up, he wrapped a second around me. We kissed, standing dripping wet on the towels. Slowly and tenderly. And rubbed each other’s bodies dry. We went towards the bedroom. He flipped on the stereo and we made poignant love to the strains of “When Doves Cry” by Prince. I don’t know why; I guess it was because of the trauma of the previous few days, but it seemed to be the perfect tempo and the perfect words. He slipped into me easily, slowly, and gently, telling me he loved me. We kept that soft rhythm, our bodies already hyper-alert from the lovemaking in the bath. Our mutual climax was slow and easy and perfectly timed, as lovers who were totally in tune.

  Michael got the wine and we sat on the bed talking with real honesty, for the first time in our relationship. He told me wh
at it had been like to move to France; he explained that James had an affair with Catherine while he was still married, and as part of the custody arrangements and divorce settlement, he had allowed Lydia to change Michael’s name to Henrii, to help him settle in France. He said James really regretted it now and the reason they had been arguing that first day I met him was that James wanted him to change his name back, but Michael wasn’t prepared to go through all the rigmarole that created.

  “For a time, my mother couldn’t bear to hear my father’s name mentioned,” he explained. “She was adamant when she remarried I would have Gaston’s name, and in return for his consent, she didn’t try to cause any harm to the business. I guess he wasn’t in the best bargaining position. They all get on fine now though; I suppose they had to get along for my sake. Mum’s still a shareholder in the business; she holds the shares that will transfer to me.”

  “Christ, it must have been really tough, what age were you?”

  “About six when they split, eight when Mum married Gaston. Gaston’s great, wait ‘til you meet him. I think it was largely him and Catherine who smoothed things over between Mum and Dad.”

  “And your mum wanted you to come here to manage the business yourself rather than see it go to an external manager, I take it?”

  “Got it in one, top marks to the lady with the red hair,” he teased. “She figured it would do much better in the family hands as I’d care more than any outsider. I didn’t believe her at first. I never felt it was my birth right, I felt more at home in France. But she was right. I see London, the store, and most important, you as my future now.”

  “I’m not sure how comfortable I’d be with all that, Michael. I lived a totally different life from you, a simpler one. I need to think about it all. One step at a time, ok?”