Chapter 22: Chapter 22

James Charlotte emerges from the bedroom, rubbing at her eyes, hair still tousled, partially covering her face.

“How are you feeling now?” I ask. “Better now that you’ve caught up on some sleep?”

“Mmm, yes. Much better, thanks.” But there’s something in her tone….

Still tired perhaps….

It’ll probably take her a few days to get back to rights again….

I put my book aside and pat the seat next to me on the couch. “Come and sit with me.”

She smiles, but the smile is faint, and as her hair falls aside, I get a good look at her face. She’s very pale, puffy-eyed and shadowed. And now, as I look at her properly, her movements are stiff and halting.

As she sits, she hisses quietly.

“Charlotte, is something wrong?”

“I’m fine, Master.”

She’s clearly not fine. Everything about her screams of not fine. “No, you’re not. What’s the matter?”

Her voice is slow, reluctant. “Michael…. punished me….”

I think I must have misheard her…. “Michael? Punished you? What did he do?”

But she doesn’t speak. Instead, silently, her face works, radiating misery.

Something is very, very wrong….

What the fuck did he do?

“Stand up. Show me yourself.” She doesn’t move. “Charlotte!” This time it’s an order. “Do as I say. I want to see.”

And she obeys, but struggling to stand, she totters and weaves. Almost, she falls, but I stand with her, an arm under her elbow, another around her waist.

She won’t look at me. Shame, distress and pain jostle for position over eyes and mouth as I lift her skirt and slide her panties down, then freeze at what I see.

Welts, ugly and raw, three of them, extend across her buttocks. Normally so alabaster-pale, they bloom red and swollen, the edges already purpling to bruises….

What the fuck did he use?

She is fighting back sobs, but I don’t think it’s the pain that’s doing it. I’ve learned that my jewel-eyed mermaid is powerfully resistant to pain. But…. Humiliation? Regret? Grief?

“Michael did that?”

“Yes, I did.”

He’s there, blocking the door, legs akimbo, arms folded. But his stance and his eyes say two different things.

Remorse?

Shame?

You stupid bastard….

But his chin tilts. “Charlotte and I had rather a long discussion. I think I’ve made my point well enough.”

He turns to her. “How are you now?”

Her jaw is slack, eyes unfocused, her voice dismissive. “It hurts. What do you expect me to say?”

How could you be such an idiot?

And I’m angry. My blood heating, I move towards him. “I thought we’d agreed….”

He doesn’t quite take a step back, but his eyes shift, looking down, and before I can say more, Charlotte interrupts. “Master. Leave it. It’s done.”

Michael, red-faced and white-eyed, gives me a so-you-see kind of shrug, turns on his heel and leaves.

I’m tempted to follow, but Charlotte is so clearly….

What? Upset? Hurt?

Frightened?

No, not frightened….

But certainly not herself. “Why don’t you go back to bed. I’ll find something to take the heat out of those weals.”

“No, it’s alright Master.” Then she staggers, and I catch her.

“No, you’re not.” I scoop her up, carrying her back to the bedroom and stand her beside the bed again, undressing her. I keep my movements brisk and efficient. I don’t want this to appear to be any kind of attempt at seduction.

She’s shivering….

Or is it trembling?

Either way, I want her in bed. “Lie down on your stomach. I’ll find some pain-killers.”

She tosses her head to the side drawers. “There’s a tube in there.”

“He punished you, then he applied pain-killer?”

She nods, eyes squeezing closed, sucking at her lips.

I suppose that’s something….

“Then he wasn’t so angry? You could have safe-worded, couldn’t you, if it was too much.”

She doesn’t reply….

…. and I don’t like her silence.

“Did you safe-word?” I insist.

“I don't think I could, Master.”

What?

“You don't? Why not?”

She shakes her head, slowly, tears glistening over her lashes once more. “He said he was going to fuck me, then punish me. He said I had to accept it.”

He denied her a safe-word?

Oh, Christ….

Sitting beside her upturned rear, I apply salve, as gently as I can to her bruised ass, trying not to look at the rainbow of other bruises still fading across the rest of her body. “Tell me what happened.”

Her face sideways on the pillow, she wipes eyes with the back of her hand. “You’d gone. I think you were with Richard and Beth. He said that while it was just the two of us, he wanted to talk. He said that even if we’re not married, I was his wife in every way that counted, and what I did was unfair to you and him. and that he wasn’t willing to build his life around someone who behaved like I did.…”

For long moments her emerald gaze holds mine, then the tears spill again and her voice chokes. “He threatened to leave me, Master, if I didn’t promise to do as I was told. I couldn’t bear that. I couldn’t bear it…”

Oh, Jeez….

What a fucking mess….

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He was distraught when…. when you did what you did. And when we found you, then lost you again. He’ll be alright in a few days.”

But nothing comforts her. She clearly doesn’t believe me….

Do I?

Would he leave?

She continues. “And then, he told me to strip and bend over the bed. He was going to fuck me because he needed it. Then he would punish me.” Her weeping is uncontrolled now. “Master, I tried to tell him he needed to use a condom, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He told me just to be quiet and do as I was told….”

Her speech is all over the place, quaking and shuddering, real distress there. “And then he fucked me.

When he’d finished, I tried to go wash, you know, inside. But he still wouldn’t listen, and he told me I had to stay there while he punished me.”

“What did he use?”

“His belt, and then afterwards he said it was all over and he loved me, and he asked me if I wanted to have a bath with him.”

“Did you?”

“I wanted to have a shower first. Clean myself out. It was only when he saw what I was doing that he realised he should have used a condom.”

I don’t know what to say to her. So I simply lie there, holding her, stroking her until the tears seem spent.

When it seems over, I pull blankets over her, caressing her hair and cheek, trying to soothe her. “Try to sleep,” I say.

She blinks slowly, then closes her eyes and I wait while her breathing slows and steadies.

And when I’m sure she’s sleeping, I go in search of Michael.

*****