by Diana Hunter
The figure circled behind him and Phillip fought the urge to turn and watch him. He chose, instead, a spot on the far door—the door that led to his punishment—and he stared at it as if his glance could drill a hole through the oak to reveal what awaited him.
Even when the man’s rough hands reached out and tore off his shirt, sending buttons flying in every direction. He kept his gaze fixed as the man’s hands invaded his privacy, caressing his ass and circling around to cup his cock through Phillip’s pants.
He remained still when the hands unbuckled his belt, drawing it slowly through the loops the same way Phillip did when he was teasing Sarah. Only today, there was no tease. The belt came free and in one fluid motion, fell across his shoulders with a loud snap and heavy sting.
Phillip hadn’t been braced for the blow, though afterward he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t expected it. The surprise forced him a half step forward before he caught himself and returned to his original position.
“That will cost you, big man. You move only when you’ve been given permission. And were you given permission?”
“No, Sir.” Phillip gritted his teeth to keep his temper. He wanted forgiveness, didn’t he? So why did he feel like punching this guy’s lights out?
As if sensing he’d pushed Phillip to a limit, the man said nothing more as he unzipped Phillip’s pants and pushed them down to his ankles. Instructing him to lift first one, then the other foot, the pants were gone and Phillip didn’t care if he ever got them back. His briefs were taken off in a similar manner.
“You have nothing. You are nothing. Not a man, not even a dog.”
A swift blow to the back of his knees sent Phillip crashing to the floor on all fours. “Crawl, slave. Crawl through the door like the penitent you claim to be.”
They were testing him, he understood that now. Testing his resolve. He wanted punishment—did he have the courage to accept what he’d asked for?
Setting one determined hand before the next, Phillip crawled to the still-closed door. It opened only when he was close enough to reach forward and touch it, although he kept his hands firmly planted on the ground beneath him.
He couldn’t see much of the room on the other side in the position he held. A wooden floor…also oak, he thought…lay in his line of sight. And a pair of shapely female legs, her feet encased in dark, heeled boots that stretched to her knees. What was higher, he didn’t dare look up to see.
“What do we have here?”
Phillip knew that sultry voice. Mistress Clare and he had punished slaves together in the past. That she should be the one to greet him today had a poetic justice that fit.
The figure behind Phillip spoke up. “A slave who needs use, Mistress.”
“He needs more than just use, from what I understand.” The toe of her boot touched him under the chin, forcing his face up. “You have put your slave in danger, then gotten yourself arrested for beating her up, is that correct?”
“Yes, Mistress.” The words came strangled out of his mouth, his head tilted back at an extreme angle.
“And now you wish for the beating you never gave her.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Why?”
The word momentarily confused him. Wasn’t it obvious?
“Did you want to beat her black and blue?” Mistress Clare pressed the issue. “That’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it, Phillip? That you will one day lose control again and actually perform that which you’re only accused of now?”
“Yes.” The word tore at his soul.
“You know the accusation is false. This time. But it wouldn’t have been false in the past, would it, Phillip?”
He remembered Tamara, his first slave. They’d both been new to the lifestyle then and he’d pushed her too far, too fast. She’d left him after a scene had gotten out of hand and he’d lost control of the beast inside him. Mistress Clare knew that. How had she known he’d never forgiven himself for that, even if he’d managed to put it out of his memory for longer and longer periods of time?
“No, it wouldn’t have been false. Before.”
She dropped his chin and turned away. “Tie him to the post.”
Two men lifted him and half dragged him to a post in the center of the room. Now that he was upright, Phillip could see little had changed since the last time he was here. Of course, his perspective had been different then. A tall wooden post in the middle of the room had a large ring suspended from the top. Cuffs were locked onto his wrists. Threading a chain through the two rings, one man stood on a small stepladder while the other handed the chain up. The length of cold steel was pulled through the hoop and then brought down again, forcing Phillip onto his toes. They fastened the chain on the other side, Phillip’s memory filling in how. He knew the hooks on the far side of the pole and how they locked down tight, making it impossible for the person suspended to get free.
Mistress Clare approached him now, running her hand along the tightened muscles of his back, reaching down to cup his ass in a familiar gesture. “You’ve kept in shape, I see.”
Phillip didn’t answer, her touch inflaming him in a way he did not expect. Her low chuckle made him realize he would never be able to keep anything from her. He never could.
“You love this one in a way that frightens you, even as you embrace your demon.” Her hand shifted as she slid a finger along the division that separated his ass cheeks. He shifted on his toes, unsure whether he wanted her to explore more…or leave him alone.
She made the decision for him, bringing her hand up to entwine her fingers in his hair. With a sudden gesture, she pulled his head back, forcing him to look up at the ceiling—a surface decorated with dozens of hooks, chains and cages that dangled down. All of them empty, he realized. Mistress Clare ruled this dungeon with an iron fist, a fist that now pulled his hair painfully as he stretched backward as far as the chains would let him.
“You seek to expiate your sins, both real and perceived, at the end of my whip.”
Even had he wanted to nod, he couldn’t, not with her hand in control of his head. But she was right. He wanted to feel the pain of the lash, to let the pain ease away his guilt.
She let go as suddenly as she had grabbed him. The relief, he knew, would be short-lived. Clare understood what he was after and he knew she wouldn’t shy away from the delivery.
He heard the whoosh of air behind him. From the sound, she’d chosen a thin leather that would leave a sting and a mark every time it landed. Phillip took a deep breath and bowed his head, forcing his muscles not to tense. He wanted this and he wanted the sting.
When it came, however, it was worse than he remembered. Mistress Clare had taught him everything he knew about whips and floggers, oftentimes using his skin so he’d remember the differences. The slicing heat felt like it tore through his skin and even though he knew it only raised a welt, he still felt as if he should feel the blood coursing along his back.
Another crack across his back, again across his shoulders and his hands balled into fists as he fought to control the pain. She didn’t give him time, however, slicing a third, a fourth and a fifth blow in quick succession.
“Each caress of the whip excises a little bit of the sin, Phillip. How much do you want removed?”
Through gritted teeth, Phillip answered. “All of it, Clare. Take it all away.”
From her pause, he knew she was only changing whips. She wasn’t one to get squeamish.
The pain this time tore through several layers of skin. He thought he shouted but wasn’t sure. His back felt ripped open from shoulder to shoulder. With a word, he could stop her but wasn’t this what he’d come for? Phillip thought of Sarah, alone in the hospital—apart, separated from him where he was not allowed to go.
Another crack as the multi-tailed whip landed on his back. Each thong dug deep into his soul, pulling out the guilt and filling the gap with pain. Pain he welcomed, pain he deserved. He lost count how many times Clare snapped the whip. The wor
ld became red behind his eyes and he sank deep into the darkness.
Will stood off to the side, admiring the way the woman handled first the single-tail, then the five-thonged bullwhip. Under her blows, Phillip’s back turned bright red, with several welts crisscrossing across his shoulders. From experience, Will knew the welts would sting for days, eventually fading to nothing. But for the next twenty-four hours, Phillip would be one sore puppy.
Clare let her arm fall to her side, throwing Will a glance that told him Phillip had had enough. She hung the whip on the wall, then with a nod to Will, came to stand beside Phillip. Will accompanied her, ready to be her accomplice.
Phillip hung in his bindings, his strength depleted by the beating. His breathing was even and his head hung down between his arms. Nodding to Clare, Will grabbed his friend by the waist as she released the chains from the other side. Phillip sagged into his arms and Will lowered him gently to the floor.
At a motion from Clare, the two men who’d accompanied her earlier now came and picked Phillip up as if he weighed nothing at all. A curtained alcove off to one side hid a comfortable double bed and they deposited him there. Will watched Phillip curl into a fetal position and knew his healing was only partially complete.
Clare joined him at the entrance to the alcove and put her hand on his arm. “I’ll take care of him. Come back after dinner. If he’s awake, you can take him home then.”
Will nodded. “Thank you, Clare. For everything.”
She looked at the shaking figure on the bed. “He’s carried so much for so long. Things he buried and never dealt with are now coming to the surface. You were right to bring him to me.”
With a bow, Will took one last look at Phillip, then turned on his heel and left.
Clare held out her arms and her attendants undressed her, removing her loose bustier, unlacing her boots and helping her out of them. When she was naked, she stepped into the room, motioning the men to cover them as she spooned Phillip’s body into hers. After lighting the two oil lamps that spilled their light from either side of the bed, the two left, drawing the curtains closed behind them.
* * * * *
Phillip’s first thought was one of confusion. This wasn’t his bed and those weren’t Sarah’s arms wrapped around him. He shifted and memory flooded back along with the pain in his shoulders. Stifling a groan, he lay on the whip marks, letting the pain waken him the rest of the way.
Clare shifted as well, rolling onto her back and arching an eyebrow at him. “Feeling better?”
Stretching his arms toward the ceiling, Phillip tested the limits of his endurance. “Actually, much.”
And it was true. Clare’s whip had done exactly what he’d hoped. The anger and frustration were manageable once more, the demon back under control. He sighed and twisted his shoulders, a grimace of pain crossing his face.
Clare rolled over and leaned her head on one hand. “That’s gonna hurt worse than a really bad sunburn for a few days, you know.”
“I know. Clare…” Phillip looked up at her, uncertainty in his voice. “I don’t remember being put to bed last night. Did we…?”
She smiled, a genuine smile that Phillip knew she didn’t show very often. Not much moved Mistress Clare. “No, Phillip, we didn’t. You needed care afterward, just cuddling and acceptance.”
He closed his eyes as the memory of his breakdown flooded back. He’d sobbed in her arms last night. Not just a few tears of frustration but cries from the heart. He’d reached back and poured out years and years in his sobs, totally unable to control himself.
And now he felt…cleansed.
Reaching over, he took Clare’s hand in his. “Thank you.”
She squeezed his hand. “Next time, don’t wait so many years before you have a breakdown. Not really good for the body, you know. Or the heart.”
Clare tapped his chest with her finger, then stood. “It’s three in the morning, you know.”
Phillip admired her lithe body, a body she kept active by swimming, tennis, skiing—you name the sport, Clare did it. They’d met years ago and had had some good times together but the timing had never seemed right for romance. As a result, their friendship had deepened into something stronger. He remembered a night when he had held her much the same as she had just done for him. He flexed and winced.
“How does this look?” He turned so she could see, though the oil lamps, still burning, didn’t give much light. There were no windows and the heavy curtains that separated them from the other room didn’t let any light in. The alcove had definitely been designed for maximum privacy.
Clare picked up one of the lamps and brought it closer, running her cool hand over his welts. “You’ll live,” she pronounced. “General pinkness and about a dozen stripes that are pretty swollen. I hit you hard last night.”
“I wanted you to.”
“I know.” She pulled two charcoal gray robes from a peg and threw one toward him, slipping the other one over her arms and belting it. “So what are you going to do?”
Phillip put the robe on, easing it over his sore muscles and sat on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know, Clare. I want to see her so much, to hold her in my arms and tell her how much I love her, but I can’t. If I do, I’ll go back to jail.”
“Will can carry a message for you.”
“I know. He already has been to see her. So has Jill. And Aleshia said she’d stop in today.”
Clare sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand again. “You need to find the silver lining here.”
Phillip chuckled, although there was little mirth. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m not kidding, Phillip. I don’t care if you call it God’s Will or Fate, Karma or some other damn thing, the reality is, things happen for reasons. You escaped it once when the cop let you go Sunday night. But you can’t run from destiny, Phillip. It’ll find you no matter what.”
Phillip shook his head, a wry grin on his face. “Clare, you are good for my soul, you know that? We haven’t seen each other in years and yet you don’t get mad when I drop in and want my ass kicked. You let me sob it all out and then you top the entire surreal experience with a healthy dose of philosophy.” He brushed her cheek with a kiss. “Silver lining, hmm?”
“Silver lining, boy-o. There is one. You just need to find it.” She dropped his hand and stood. “In the meantime…out. It’s now three-thirty in the morning and I’m going home.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“Can’t. You came with Will. If I’m not mistaken, we’re going to find him sound asleep in one of the other alcoves, all alone and snoring. Wanna bet?”
Phillip laughed outright for the first time since Sarah’s accident. “No way. I’m thinkin’ you’re too right.”
They found Will by the sound as soon as Clare opened the drapes. The room was lined with little alcoves, at the moment all empty save one. Will hadn’t drawn the curtains and the sounds of his slumber filled the room.
“Will, wake up. You need to take Clare and me home.”
“Right. I’m not asleep, I was just resting my eyes.” Will blinked like an owl several times as he struggled upright.
“Yeah, we could tell.”
Clare touched Phillip’s arm. “While he wakes up, I’m going to go change. You’re going to have to go home in the robe. Your pants are being laundered, I’m sure. Your shirt, however…”
“Thanks, Clare. I’ll get him going and meet you out front.”
* * * * *
Phillip waved to Will’s disappearing taillights and turned toward the empty cottage. He hadn’t been here since Monday and today was what? Wednesday? He’d totally lost track of days. Each one had seemed an eternity.
But he was home. And Sarah was safe, even if he couldn’t see her. It would have to be enough.
Chapter Eleven
Together
“Thank God your three-week separation is almost up. I swear I can’t take one more day!”
Will sat in his kitchen watch
ing Phillip pace the floor from the back door, past the table, over to the dining room door and back again.
“You’ve paced that same spot so many times before dinner these past…” Will did a quick figuring in his head, “twenty days. I’m gonna have to replace the tile!”
Jill came in the front door and Phillip held himself back, even though he wanted to dash to her and get the latest on how Sarah was doing. For the past week and a half, Jill had been driving Sarah to and from work since she couldn’t drive with her arm still immobilized with a sling. Impatiently, he waited for Jill to enter the kitchen, then take forever to set down her stuff and kiss Will hello. She turned toward Phillip and gave him a casual greeting but then saw his distress and took pity.
“First of all, Sarah’s fine. Her stumble last night did no damage.”
The force of air out of Phillip’s lungs pushed a lock of Jill’s hair into her eyes. With a grimace, she tucked it back behind her ear and shook her head.
“She really shouldn’t be staying in that apartment all alone. I’ve said that over and over.” Phillip loved Sarah’s independence, though he thought this time she took it too far. “I wish she had come here to stay with you two.”
Will got up and checked the soup on the stove. “She’s doing fine on her own, Phillip. Besides which, you come here every day.”
“Well, I wouldn’t if she were here.”
“Phillip, be a dear and open this jar for me?”
Phillip took the jar from Jill and absently tapped it on the corner of the counter before popping the top. He didn’t even look at it as he handed it back to her.
“She could’ve tripped going to the bathroom in the middle of the night here too, you know. Or at the cottage.” Will tasted the soup. “Perfect.” He gestured to Phillip. “This is a make-your-own sandwich and grab-a-bowl-of-soup dinner. Last of the garden vegetables!”
Phillip grabbed three bowls from the cupboard, as at home here as he was in his own home. “Yes, but at both those places, there would have been someone to help her. She wouldn’t have been alone.”
