Chapter 56: Chapter 56: The Girl Who Came Back - Chapter Twelve

My Master masks his expression quickly. Michael also does not seem happy, but he simply looks away.

“Shall we go? I’m all done here today,” says my Master, his tone short. Turning on his heel, he leads the way out, Michael and I following.

Michael gives me a quizzical look, unsmiling, and speaks quietly to me. “Never thought I’d see that…”

“What?” I speak equally quietly.

“James showing jealousy over you. Didn’t think he had it in him.”

“Jealous? Why would he be jealous? I’m not about to run off… and anyway, besides you two, there’s been loads of different guys, when we’ve all been having fun together… You and he have chosen them for me. What’s he got to be jealous about?”

“If he’s going to be jealous, I suppose a billionaire alpha’s a good place to start, but Charlotte, you reacted to Haswell… and James saw that. So did I.”

“Um, did I? I didn’t mean to. I don’t want to offend the man who.…”

Michael gives me a long look…. “Let’s just get out of here, shall we?”

As we leave the building, my Master walking ahead of us, I decide that Michael is right. There is something about my Master’s stance, his body language. Michael leans towards me, his voice still quiet.

‘It’s not about sex, Charlotte, about other men. He’s your Master. And you reacted to Haswell; the way you should only react to him.”

“Are you mad at me too?”

I’m not thrilled with you, no. And I’m going to make a prediction as well.”

“Mmm? What?”

“You’re going to have another set of stripes on your ass this evening.”

It doesn’t get to the evening. Back at the beach, as we get out of the car, my Master, who has been unusually silent all the way back, grabs me by the wrist. “You, Madam. Upstairs. Now.” His tone is severe, his face unsmiling.

In the bedroom, he rummages through the drawer where Michael packed his collection of ‘toys’, producing rope. I have seen it before. On that occasion, Michael used it to tie me, then fuck me over the horizon. We had a memorable time that day.

Without preamble, my Master tugs my tee-shirt up and off. My bra follows.

I am marched to the edge of the huge four-poster bed, where we have all been sleeping. My eyes are drawn, inexorably up, to the brass rings that run across the top of the frame, supporting heavy curtains.

With economic movements, my Master unclips one of the curtains, leaving the rings free. Looping the rope through the rings, he ties one end to my left wrist. The other end binds my right wrist. Then, grabbing at the section of the rope looping through the rings, he pulls downward, and my arms are hauled upwards. Then he heaves on the rope and this time I am stretched upwards, my weight being lifted off my feet.

“Take it easy,” says Michael from behind me. “I know testosterone poisoning when I see it, but don’t crucify her. Her feet stay on the floor.”

“I’m not going to crucify her. Impale is probably nearer the mark.”

“Just don’t get carried away, is what I’m saying.”

“Don’t you have anything else to do?”

“Not a chance. I’m staying here until you’ve blown off some steam.”

My Master doesn’t reply. He takes off my sandals, then, his eyes locked on mine, unbelts my jeans and pulls them off. My panties follow.

He pulls me close by the waist, pushing his hands between my legs. “Horny, are we?” he says to me. In truth, I am nervous. I have not seen my Master in this mood before. He feels… dangerous…

But my pussy is loving this. He pulls out fingers coated in my hot juices. He picks up the belt of my jeans, tugging it, snapping the leather between his hands.

Michael grabs him by the wrist. “No. You’re over-reacting.”

He looks down at me, sucking in his cheeks. “Perhaps you’re right.” He pointedly puts the belt down, then spins me to face away from him.

“I think the flat of my hand should make the point well enough,” he says, from behind me.

“What have I done, Master?”

“You know damn well what you’ve done.”

“You’ve never been angry before with me over other men. You chose men for me. You enjoyed it.”

“This one’s different, and you know it.”

His hand slaps across my naked ass, hard, and I inhale sharply at the sting.

“So, Madam, you’re going to take this, and not complain about it.”

Do I apologise?

But I didn’t actually do anything.

And besides, he’s as mad as Hell. He probably needs to get it out of his system.

Then, I’ll apologise….

The hand comes across me again, equally hard and on the same spot. And again. My skin smarting, I try to breathe steadily, but my Master is trying to draw a reaction from me. His next slap makes me yelp. Flinging my head back, I gasp.

Michael sits on the far side of the bed from me, watching with a calm expression.

“Michael, are you still angry with me too?”

“Yup, but it doesn’t need two of us to get the message across. I’m just watching, to make sure things don’t get out of hand. Then I’m going to fuck you up the ass. You should be glowing by then.”

Already, it feels as though I am glowing. I can almost see my reddened ass reacting to slap after slap, and each is delivered hard, and precisely.

I am reaching my limits. If I ask, will he stop?

“Master, please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

“Is that right?” And his hand comes down on me again.

My safe word?

“Master, yellow. Please, I can’t handle much more.” And he slaps again, then plunges fingers into my core. “Dripping. You’re enjoying this…. Michael, flogger.”

Michael fishes in the drawer again, producing the lash. Velvety soft tails dangle from the handle, but I know that in the hands of an expert, they will bite.

And my Master is an expert.

Trembling hard now, my quivering is not from arousal. Never have I seen my Master in this mood, and he is scaring me.

The tails of the flogger lash, hard over my buttocks and thighs, and I scream.

“Please, Master, stop. Red. Master, Red.”

But he does not stop. “The lash comes across my skin again. Bound as I am, I can do nothing but scream. “Red, Master, Red. Please.”

“That’s enough,” says Michael. “She’s given you her safe words. That’s what they’re for. Now stop.”

Once more, the lash licks across me, burning into my skin.

My Master swings me around again to face him. His expression is…what? Wild? Fearful? I’m not sure.

But he strokes my face, his dark eyes unreadable, then fastens his mouth over mine.

Hitching me up at the hips, he takes my weight, swinging me up. Reflexively I wrap my legs around him as he plunges into me, fucking hard.

This isn’t lovemaking. It isn’t fucking. It isn’t even ‘discipline’….

Whatever that means….

After only a short while, he cums, spurting into me, as I try to keep the tears from my eyes.

“Michael, your turn.”

“I don’t think so.”

Michael reaches up, untying me, and I drop to the ground, landing on my knees, crying and shaking.

Michael scoops me up and puts me in the bed, where I lie, sobbing.

*****

Michael is to one side of me, my Master to the other, both sleeping, I lie in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. I cannot sleep.

Perhaps a hot milk would help….

Moving as quietly as I can, I slide out of the bed, slip on a robe and pad downstairs. In the kitchen, I put milk on to heat, adding nutmeg and cinnamon to make it more of a treat. Maybe it will cheer me up.