by Simone Leigh
“You couldn’t talk to me? Is that what you’re saying? You couldn’t tell me. But you could tell Haswell, almost a stranger to you, the moment he asked you?”
“What can I do to make it right?” I repeat.
“I don’t know, Charlotte. Right now, I really don’t know.”
And he walks away, into the lounge, banging the door closed behind him.
Michael wraps an arm around my shoulder, giving me a squeeze. “He’ll come round. He’s had a rough ride the last day or two. Let him calm down, and he’ll be himself again.”
But he doesn’t come round. My Master sits, by himself, in the lounge all day.
The following day, it is the same. He sits alone, brooding.
I make a pot of coffee, strong, the way he likes it. Timidly, I tap on the door. “I brought you coffee, Master.”
“Fine. Leave it on the table.” He doesn’t look at me.
“I’m going for a walk, on the beach. Would you like to come with me?”
“No.”
Fighting back tears, I put on a jacket and head outside. I pass Michael.
“I’m going for a walk.”
“Want company?” asks Michael.
“No, I’m fine. I just want some fresh air. I won’t go far.”
He nods, looking unhappy, and I wander off, down to the sea.
There is a strong surf. Autumn is coming, and waves toss their white heads before spilling over onto the sands. I follow the strand line, looking for anything more interesting than seaweed or jellyfish.
It is calming; the rush of the sea, the sigh of the breeze, the wailing of the gulls, but chilling, I hug my light top to myself. I’d not realised the season was growing so late. Summer is ending, and soon I must return to my university.
And what then?
There are sounds, above the whisper of wind and waves. Straining to hear, I turn, trying to identify the sound.
Raised voices. Shouting. A row.
I follow the sound back to the house, entering quietly, listening.
Still following the sound through the kitchen and the hall, I am just outside the lounge.
It is Michael’s voice. I’ve never heard him like this; shouting, yelling in rage.
I don’t want to go in.
Throat dry, trying to distract myself, I go back to the kitchen, fill a glass of water, hoping that the voices will quieten. but they don’t. Deciding that I want something stronger, I pour myself a glass of wine instead.
Leaning back against the wall, just outside the lounge door, I slide down, squatting on my haunches to listen, sipping at my wine.
“…. If you could abandon your damn pride for a minute and show a little empathy. You’re feeling sorry for yourself? Your feelings are bruised? Look at it from her point of view: As a kid, she was abused, beaten, locked in the dark. At fourteen she was assaulted and threatened with everything from gang-rape to torture. In escaping, she believes she has committed murder. She has a loveless, failed marriage. God knows, you ought to sympathise with that. She has exactly one friend, a teacher, who shows her way out. He later dies on her, but to follow the dream he started, she quite literally sells herself to a man… let’s face it, to a pair of men… who take her down a track that must have felt very familiar to her, and yet, in which she still managed to deliver with very good grace….”
There is a break in his words. Is he panting? Then he starts again. “… And when, finally, she has the chance to start it all over, her slate wiped clean, the man she loves most in the world, the man she has fallen deeply in love with…. and it’s not me by the way, don’t think I don’t know it…. sulks at her, for not having mentioned all this in casual conversation.”
Michael is incandescent… “Fucking well get your act together, James! She’s missing you. She’s unhappy. Hell! I’m missing you…”
“And you think I don’t miss her, being close to her?” My Master’s voice is quiet.
“You still love her? Yes?”
“You know I do.”
“You and me both. How long do you think she’ll hang around if you keep this up? Cutting her dead? And if she does stay, how do you think she’ll behave in the future, if this is your response to something she really couldn’t help?”
“Couldn’t help? She had plenty of opportunity to speak.”
“When? Exactly? All those weekends when we’d meet up for a day or two and fuck like mink, because, really, we barely knew each other? Or was it earlier in the Summer, when she got shit beaten out of her, by you, while I sat and watched, and she ran? Or over the last couple of weeks when she’s been working hard, and concentrating on making a good impression with Haswell?”
There is a break in the shouting, but the sound of pacing feet.
“What was that about a teacher?”
“The teacher? So, you don’t know about him? Have you considered just listening to her, instead of your own voice all the time?”
“Alright, alright. What’s this about a teacher? And no, I don’t know about him.”
“When she was at the farm, she had a school teacher. He was obviously an inspirational figure for her, perhaps even something of a father figure, from the way she was talking. He showed her the value of an education; how to escape…. She started all this because of him; the drive to get to University, to raise the money to do it…. You and I only ever met her in the first place, because of him. And when she went back at Christmas to see him, he’d died. Her one friend. Remember, at that point, you and I were just a couple of guys who’d fucked her. How alone is it possible to be? I think you could make a bit of allowance for her taking time to get to know us. Wasn’t that the whole point of us doing this Summer Holiday thing? To get to know each other, rather than just screwing all the time? To see if it is actually possible to make something like this work?”
I choke on my drink, spluttering.
Oh God, that’s why they took the whole Summer for it….
There is a pause, silence, then footsteps, coming towards me.
My Master looks out, then down at me. “And how long have you been there?”
“Um, quite a while…. er…. I got back from my walk…. I was coming in, but you were rowing and ……”
He looks embarrassed, flushed. He nods, holding out a hand to pull me up. “You’d better come in.”
Michael is red faced, furious. Where is my calm and placid, Golden Lover?
He looks apologetically at me. “I’m sorry Charlotte. I didn’t mean you to hear all that.”
“I could hardly avoid it. The sound carried half-way down the beach.”
My Master doesn’t look me in the eye. “Charlotte, I’m… I’m sorry. Michael has given me a lot to think about…. If you’ll excuse me...” And he leaves.
Michael raises his hands to the skies. “Oh, for pity’s sake…” And he brings his fist down on the table with a crash.
I start, and he looks sheepish. “Sorry, that wasn’t aimed at you.” he says. “It’s just frustration.”
“I know.”
He wraps his arms around me, rocking me in circles.
“When did this all become so complicated?” I say.
He sighs. “When you fell in love with my best friend, then I fell in love with you, then he fell in love with you…”
I wait… “You missed out the last part.”
“Did I?”
“You still think I don’t love you?
“I think you’re not in love with me.”
“It’s not the same for you. The two of you are different people. Very different.”
Arms still around me, he rests his head on mine. “Charlotte, once, just once in all this, I’d like a straight answer.”
I break free, looking him in the eye. “Alright. Try a straight question.”
He cocks his head at me; his smile self-mocking. “Fair enough. Okay, straight question. Do you love me? Are you in love with me? As well as James?”
I take my time, choosing my w
ords. He looks down, arms folded. “I think,” I say, “that the straightest answer I can give to that, is that the ‘sub’ in me, is in love with him, but the woman in me, is in love with you.”
He continues to stare at the floor and my nerve trembles…
“Is that straight enough for you?”
“Yes.”
“Is it good enough for you?”
He looks up, smiling, eyes warm. “Yes, it’s good enough.”
____________________________________
The following morning, Michael’s phone rings.
“Yup? So? Can’t you get a replacement? No…? Oh, right. Okay, I’ll be there in an hour or so.”
He clicks the phone off. “I’ve got to go to the Centre for a few hours.” he says to me. “I’d like to take you with me, but I’d prefer to do that on a day when we can relax and I can…. er… pamper you a bit… You alright staying here?”
“I’m fine. You go do what you have to do. I’ll have a swim, and try to get some sun.”
“Don’t forget your sun-blocker.” He tosses a tube at me, and I catch it mid-air.
__________________________________
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 somber. “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 afterward.”
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?”
“Nope. I had the bug by then. But I couldn’t stay there. I just didn’t fit in. And then when marrying the neighbour’s boy didn’t work out either, there was no reason to stay.”
“How did that happen? Your first marriage.”
“He was in as bad a place as me, in his own way. He was gay but didn’t dare tell his parents about it. Like I say, they’re pretty religious up there. To be fair to him, he tried with me, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. And then… when I wasn’t pregnant within a few months, his family decided it must be my fault. You know; ‘Sinful City Kid’. I’d had enough by then. And I knew that I needed to get out of there if I was going to make anything of myself….”
“What happened to him? Your husband?”
“I think he left too. But I’m not sure. When I went back at Christmas, no one would talk about him.” And…. and…” My throat tightens up again, and I fight the pricking behind my eyes. “…and Mr Kalkowski had died….”
He wraps his arms around me, kissing me on the forehead. “I’m sorry you lost your friend Charlotte.”
_______________
“Why Master? Why did you push me into agreeing to marry Michael?”
“Did I?”
“You know you did.”
He flips over to face me, frowning. “You’re not regretting it? You do love him?”
“Yes, of course I do. You must surely know that, even if he has trouble believing me…. But you and me….”
He sighs. “Charlotte.…” He holds me close, his face pressed against mine. “Charlotte, I’m so much older than you. If we’d met twenty years ago…. Michael will always be there for you. He loves you. He’s utterly trustworthy. I know that you will always be safe with him.”
“How did you and Michael meet?”
He looks startled at the question. “Why do you ask that, now?”
