by Ashe Barker, Lily Harlem, Katy Swann, Wendi Zwaduk, Lucy Felthouse, Dolly Watt
Today, I need to hurt. And he already has his belt coiled in his hand.
“Lift your skirt, Libby. Above your waist. Then put your hands and feet on the floor. I want your bottom lifted up, ready for me.”
I reach for the hem of my loose fitting skirt and raise it up, gathering much of the fabric in front of me. The waft of cool air across my naked buttocks sends my pussy into yet another frenzy of clenching.
Despite my enthusiastic anticipation, I still flinch when Josh lays his palm across my right cheek, massaging the sensitive skin in large circles. He repeats the action on the other side.
Memories rush back. Warm, sensuous memories as I recall his unhurried preparations, his insistence that I be thoroughly prepared, especially for an intense scene. I wriggle against his thigh, loving the solicitous attention. No one ever made me feel as safe as Josh.
“I guess you’re liking this, Libby.”
“Mmm, yes, Sir. I am.”
“And this?” He starts to drop light, teasing slaps onto my upturned bottom.
“Yes, Sir, that too.” I writhe against him, turning my bottom to try to catch maximum impact with each stroke.
“Libby, you know better than that. Keep still.” He ceases the delightful slapping, waiting until I resume my original position.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I just…”
“Hush. It’s okay. Do you still use the same safeword?”
“Yes, Sir. Murgatroyd. But I won’t be needing it.” My mother’s maiden name hasn’t been pressed into service for a while now. When I’ve scened with other partners during our separation, I’ve stuck to the more traditional traffic-lights system.
“Probably not, but just checking. How long is it since you were last spanked? Really spanked, I mean, into sub-space?”
“Not since you and I… Oh!” I let out a sharp cry as he ramps up the intensity.
“Okay, and has it been just spanking or have you tried anything else?”
“If you mean have I fucked anyone else, the answer is no. I’m not— I mean, I like kink, but…”
“Okay, I get that too. This still all right?” He’s dropping quite hard slaps against my bottom now, raining them all over the tender flesh. I’m managing not to clench because I know that just increases the pain, but it isn’t easy.
“Yes, Sir. It’s fine. Thank you.”
“I missed you, Libby.” He delivers this line without breaking his rhythm.
“I—I missed it too.”
“It? I said I missed you, girl. Not this. Well, not only this.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be. You should never have left me.”
“I had to. You knew why I had to.”
“I know what you told me, but you were wrong. You were impatient. You should have given me more time.” The pressure of the slaps has risen again, the spanking is really hurting now and it’s linked to this conversation somehow. He isn’t striking me in anger. He never did and never would. But there is a connection.
I feel compelled to at least attempt an explanation, though my wits are scrambling fast and I’m not sure how coherent it will be.
“I couldn’t stand it. I begged you to leave but you refused. In the end, I had no choice.”
“I would have put you first. You knew that.”
“I didn’t. How could I? Oh, oh, Sir…” The spanking pauses for a few moments as Josh leans down to pick up his belt from the floor beside him. I suck in a breath and hold it.
“I always did. I asked you to wait. You should have trusted me.”
“I… Aagh!” There’s a whoosh as the belt slices through the air, then a loud crack as it lands across my bottom, wrapping itself around both buttocks. “Oh God, oh Jesus that hurts.”
Josh ignores my comment and my scream, as he readies himself to swing the belt again. Another rush of air, louder this time, and the belt again connects with my searing flesh.
“Oh, oh. Christ.” I screw up my eyes. Tears are already prickling behind my eyelids. Surely I used to be much more resilient than this. I’ve become soft, out of practice.
“Why couldn’t you trust me, Libby? Did I ever let you down?”
The belt lands again, leaving a third river of agony across my bottom. My arse feels to be on fire, yet still I lift it to him for more punishment. I know—I’m sure we both know—this isn’t about a bottle of perfume, nor is it about a lapse of memory, a moment of carelessness. This is about trust, broken promises, disappointment and long-suppressed anger.
At some level I know Josh has wanted to do this since the day I phoned him in Afghanistan to tell him I was leaving our army apartment and seeing a divorce lawyer. He was cool at the news. He didn’t ask me to reconsider or to wait. He just told me to do what I felt I must, and wished me good luck for the future. All subsequent correspondence between us until today has been via our solicitors.
The belt lands again and again. I am sobbing now and barely managing not to lift one hand in a futile attempt to protect my bottom from further abuse. Josh is no longer talking to me. Instead I know he must be concentrating on dropping stroke after stroke across my bum, leaving no spot untouched, yet managing not to land in just the same place twice. I’ll have stripes to show for this tomorrow and maybe for a few days after. Josh could usually leave marks that would still be evident a day or two later, and I used to take enormous satisfaction from those. Especially when in the days that followed a particularly heavy and satisfying scene, he would trail them with his tongue or his lips, arousing me to a near frenzy of longing.
The pain radiates across my bottom, sinking deep into my muscles, soaking through me, becoming a part of me. I know, as I always have, that moment when my mind gives up, when I submit absolutely. That moment when I allow myself to be wholly carried along, swept up on a wave which is purely about sensation, about feeling, yet not physical at all. The intensity of the beating is more muted, deeper but softening. My body stiffens, then becomes loose, fluid, pouring over my Dom’s lap. Even if I chose to, I couldn’t lift my hand to protect myself now. The only sound I am capable of is something between a groan and a purr, and I’m suspended in a place where time seems to stand still.
* * * *
“Libby? Are you ready to get up yet?”
The low voice seems to be coming from a long way away. It sounds a bit like someone I should know, vaguely familiar, but a richer tone. Deeper perhaps, like dark chocolate.
“Libby, open your eyes, love.”
No, I shake my head.
“Yes. It’s time to come back.”
Been nowhere, going nowhere.
There’s a chuckle. “You always were a belligerent little subbie. Open your eyes and look at me. Now.” The voice is less dark chocolate now and more tart mint flavored. An edge of something more—insistent—has crept in.
I pry one eyelid open, only to clam it shut again as the sheer white light assaults my retina. “Too bright. Turn it off.”
A light touch feathers across the side of my face, my brow. I turn to nuzzle against it.
“My hand’s shading your eyes now. Try again, Libby.”
I obey, to find I can manage this time. Slivers of light spear between Josh’s fingers as my senses return. I’m still draped across his lap, cool air now caressing my buttocks, which feel to be in flames, but gloriously so. His spare hand is holding me in place, and without it, I suspect I would by now be rolling about on the floor. Josh didn’t let me fall, though. I knew he wouldn’t, however angry he might be.
Angry? Is he still angry with me? As my head clears I remember our strange, half-conversation as he built the spanking, raining ever harder punishment onto my bottom. The revelation of his disappointment in my perceived lack of trust, my refusal to wait for him to—what?
To leave the army, that’s what. To cancel his entire future, for me, that’s what. I couldn’t bear the prospect of being an army wife—or worse still, an army widow—so I insisted he choose. He chose the army, or so I
thought—until today.
“Can you stand up now, Libby?”
I nod and try to straighten. I grab his leg for support but my arms feel like spaghetti and I can’t seem to raise the weight of my upper body. Josh stands, somehow lifting me as he does so and turns me around so he can slip an arm under my knees. He sits back down, then carefully arranges my skirt to leave my bottom exposed.
“Your arse is glowing all shades of pink and crimson, sweetheart. I do like to admire my handiwork.”
“Yes, I remember.” I snuggle in closer, sinking my fingers into the soft fabric of his cotton shirt. His cock is still solid, his erection nudging my hip. It seems a pity to waste that. “I need you. Now.”
“Nice idea, but not here, I think.”
“Yes, here. Now.”
“No, not here and not now—for two reasons. One, Libby, it’s been a long time. Too fucking long and I intend to take my time over you. No quickie across the desk, but I do thank you for the offer. And two, linked to number one, I might be the boss around here but there’s still a limit to how long I can keep everyone out. I could get called back into the mall at any time to deal with some drunk or break up a fight, or even to read the riot act to a light-fingered little toe rag. That would be a great pity, don’t you agree?”
“What? No, I…”
“Yes it would. You know it would. So here’s my suggestion. You stay just where you are until you feel steady enough to go home. Then I’ll call you a taxi.”
“But I have my car. In the multi-story…”
“You’re in no fit state to drive. I have your address. I’ll bring your car over later. Then, if you’re still of the same mind, I get to fuck you long and hard…and very, very thoroughly. And after that, we talk. Or maybe before that. You choose. So, do we have a deal?”
“Yes. No! I can’t. I’m going out later, with Michelle. We’re celebrating.”
“What are you celebrating?”
“A gallery wants to exhibit her work. A good one, in Manchester.”
“Pass on my congratulations then. So that’s tonight? Yes?”
I nod.
“It’s Sunday tomorrow. Will you be at home then?”
“Yes, but…”
“But?”
“What is it you want to talk about?”
Josh chuckles. “I notice you’re offering no objections to a long, hard, thorough fuck to while away an otherwise uneventful Sunday afternoon. You always did have faultless priorities. Well, nearly almost. And you know full well what it is I want to talk to you about.”
“It’s over. We said what we needed to say. Our lawyers…”
“It isn’t over between us, Libby. We just proved that, and tomorrow we’ll prove it again. Whether we talk first, or after, I really don’t mind. But you will hear what I have to say, with no legal jargon to get in the way. And I promise to listen to you. Really listen this time. Is that okay?”
I lift my face to look at him. The two years we’ve been apart have been kind to this husband of mine. His features are leaner, perhaps hardened a little, but he still has the devastating good looks that first attracted me, then gripped me while everything else about Josh Novak just took over.
I’ve always preferred my sex a little on the kinky side, though I generally preferred to think of myself as adventurous. I tended to stick to cuffs and the occasional blindfold, though I had friends who were into BDSM, and it certainly interested me. I met Josh at a munch. A mutual friend introduced us and the attraction was instant, even though I knew Josh was an experienced Dom and far more serious about the lifestyle than I was at that time. But I knew just what I was letting myself in for when I agreed to meet him the following evening at a club we both liked in the city center.
I was in love with my sexy, demanding Dom before he even got me strapped to the St. Andrew’s cross, and we married less than three months later.
I’d known from the outset that he was in the Paratroop Regiment, and that his tours of duty would take him away for large chunks of time, but the reality of it was somehow sugar-coated in my thinking. But with his first posting to Afghanistan and the constant barrage of news reports of soldiers killed or badly injured, my rose-colored spectacles dissolved fast. I became fearful, obsessed with every report of an explosive device detonating, every tank blown up, every soldier hurt. I suppose most of the country was, but for me it felt different, personal, deeply upsetting.
I begged Josh to leave the army, but he just smiled and told me it was his life. I cried, I pleaded and I told him I was his life now. He was kind about it, did his best to reassure me. He agreed I was part of his life, but the army was too. He was needed, his work meant something.
I agreed with him. I knew that all he told me was true, but it made no difference. Every knock on the door, every time my phone rang, it might be the army to tell me he was gone. Every time we spoke on the phone or texted, I was convinced that would be the last time I spoke to him or heard from him. I was on edge, never relaxed. It was driving me mad.
And I drove Josh mad. My constant complaining, my begging, my absolute conviction that he would be killed or maimed in action wore away at our relationship. He was still my Dom, when he was at home, but for much of the time he was angry or frustrated with me and it showed in our scenes. He pulled back, became less edgy, less intense. His emotions were involved. I knew he loved me, but I irritated him too, more and more as the months passed. I had the sense that he was scared he might let that bitterness spill over and he might harm me, so he was no longer relaxed when he topped me.
Our relationship wasn’t just about the D/s thing, but that was a large part of it for us, for me. And as that soured, so did the rest. I felt let down, angry, resentful. I was increasingly frustrated, and underlying my misery was the bone-deep fear I could never shake off. I blamed Josh for all of it and convinced myself I’d be happier on my own. So one day I phoned him, then I contacted a solicitor. And the rest, as they say, was history.
“Libby? Tomorrow?” Josh’s voice interrupts my brief excursion into the past. “I’ll come over to yours. I’ll bring some food and your car. You’ll need to leave me your keys, and the registration number, by the way. And your car park ticket. Then we eat, we fuck like bunnies and we talk. In any order you like. Deal?”
Something odd and a bit nice is happening in the lowest part of my tummy. He smiles at me, that sexy, lopsided grin I used to adore. I smile back as it sinks in that the one, massive bone of contention between us is no longer there. He’s done what I wanted. He left the army. Shoppers in Manchester might be a feral bunch on Black Friday or at the Boxing Day sales, but they don’t leave improvised explosive devices ready to blow unsuspecting security personnel to smithereens, and there are no snipers lying in wait behind the waste paper bins. He’s safe now, and he’s here. Maybe there is more to be said.
I nod. “Yes, deal. But you don’t need to bring any food. I’ll cook. I’ll do roast beef.”
“Now there’s a fine offer. Do you want to put your stuff back on?”
I stare at him, my mind a blank. “Stuff? What stuff?”
“Your knickers, Libby. And your tights. Or are you still too sore?”
I flex and try an experimental wriggle. I feel the burn, searing and sharp, and I know that underwear will do nothing for my comfort, not today and not for a while longer yet. “Maybe I’ll just shove them in my bag…”
He helps me to stand, and reaches for the phone on his desk. He presses two buttons, then orders a taxi to be outside the front entrance in five minutes. I retrieve my discarded clothing, thank Josh as he helps me into my jacket and fumble around in my bag for my car keys. I drop those on his desk, and write my registration number on the top leaf of a pad of Post-it notes. I hope I succeed in not appearing too feeble as he escorts me back out into the mall.
“Until tomorrow then.” Josh holds out his hand.
I take it, give a brief shake. Then on impulse I stretch up and plant a quick kiss on his che
ek before I leave him there. I head for the main entrance on my own.
* * * *
“A security guard? Yeah, I can see him doing that.” Michelle leers at me across the remains of our sticky toffee pudding and two black coffees. We’re both stuffed and need to be making a move if we’re to catch the nine o’clock showing of Fifty Shades of Grey.
“Head of security, at that swish new arcade,” I correct her, then can’t help adding my own thoughts. “He seems to be doing well for himself.”
“Mmm, well he would. Can’t see your Josh settling for less. Strange he left the army, though. I thought he was set for life there and even I thought he looked hot in his uniform. You say you just ran into him?”
I nod and reach for my drink. I couldn’t contain myself and had to tell Michelle I’d seen Josh again. But I omitted the gory details of exactly how we’d come to meet, and what had taken place in the privacy of his office. As sisters we’re close, but there are limits.
“He’s not my Josh. Not anymore. We’re almost divorced, for God’s sake.”
“Yeah well, almost isn’t the same as, as… Well, it isn’t. That’s all. And I can’t think what possessed you to let him get away. He was mint, your Josh.”
Still is.
“Totally lush. If you don’t want him, you can always toss him in my direction.” It seems my little sister has been carrying a torch for my husband. I give her a serious nudge with my elbow.
“You prefer girls. Remember? Last time I looked, Josh didn’t fit the description.”
Michelle laughs out loud. “I can be flexible.”
“Don’t even think about it.” I growl the words at her, annoyed, despite knowing she wouldn’t look twice at my husband, even if she were straight. And as far as I know, Josh hasn’t been with anyone else since we split, though of course I never asked him. I should have. I should have got his mobile number too, and found out where he was living these days. So many things I should have asked him.
I will. Tomorrow. I pick up my cup of coffee and drain it. “So, are we off then?”
