Chapter 27


    She has her bath, returning an hour or soter scented ofvender and rose. We drink, but not too


    much. We eat, sharing Charlotte’s favourite treats; cheese, bread, olives, strawberries and cream. She


    sits on the rug by the fire, not hitting the food the way she normally does, but nheless, she eats.


    Then she sits, inert, leaning back against my legs as I stroke her hair.


    Over her head, James cocks a brow to me, tilts his head. I nod.


    He rises, takes Charlotte’s hand and pulls her upright, then kisses the fingers. “You are going to go


    downstairs now, undress and wait for us. Michael and I will join you in a few minutes…” She


    hesitates… “And the next words I expect to hear from you are ‘Yes, Master’.”


    She bows her head. “Yes, Master.”


    “Good.” I pass her a ss of Rioja… “Now, drink your wine… And I want you to have another ss


    after that.”


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    *****


    Downstairs, in the basement, James’ ‘yroom’, the demesnes of a Master, she’s waiting for us. As he


    instructed, she’s naked, kneeling, head lowered and the ss she took down with her, empty.


    She’s goosing a little. The heating hasn’t quite dispelled the chill yet, but that won’t matter. With what


    James has in mind, I’m sure she’ll soon be warm.


    And the hearth glows; old logs dropping to embers, new logs flickering new mes. The light shimmers


    gold and amber. Candles reinforce the honeyed glimmer, sending dancing shadows over wall and arch.


    James gestures me towards her and then to a ceiling hook. “Charlotte, stand up.”


    She rises, chewing her lip, trembling slightly…


    Cold?


    … Or nervous?


    Stepping close, I wrap arms around her, holding her against myself, giving her the heat of my body.


    One hand winding into her hair, with the other I caress the smooth skin of her back and shoulders,


    “Shhh… It’s alright. Calm down.”


    “What’s going to happen?”


    “Remember your safety words. You may need them.”


    She jolts. Her eyes dart. “Is he angry? Is he going to punish me?”


    “No. No, he’s not angry... You’ve done nothing to be punished for. But he is very concerned for you. We


    both are.”


    “What then?”


    How to say this?


    “He’s going to take you out of yourself, then we’ll both bring you back home. You understand?”


    “Alright.” But there’s still a tremor in her voice.


    My hand cupping her cheek. “You can always say ‘No.’ Do you want to? No-one is going to force you.”


    She falters, then dumbly, she shakes her head. Taking her hand, Ice my fingers with hers. “Come on.


    You’ll be fine. And you’ll feel better afterwards.”


    “Are you sure?”


    “Yes, I’m sure. You trust James, don’t you?”


    “Yes, I do.”


    “Then trust him now. Let him take you the way you need to go.”


    Passive, she follows me as I lead her to where James waits, a flogger in one hand, swishing it casually.


    I suppose to any that didn’t know him, he might appear severe, frightening even, but as his eyes follow


    her, I see the softness there…


    … the pity…


    Positioning her under the anchor point, I press my lips to hers before, loudly enough for her to hear


    clearly, “Rope, cuffs or spreader?”


    “Cuffs will be fine.”


    As I walk by him to the racks, quietly, “She’s jittery. Be careful.”


    “I will,” he murmurs, “And she’ll be more herself afterwards.”


    “Just what I told her myself.”


    A pair of cuffs are a snug fit to her wrists; a carabiner and a length of rope connect her to the hook,


    restraining her tautly upwards. “Open your legs, Charlotte.”


    Meekly, she obeys, and I check her colour; hands, fingers, face, then casting across to James he


    micro-nods me to her.


    Moving around her, I let my hands drift over her upstretched body; her hips, her waist, her breasts.


    Muscles tremble and quiver. And she smells cool, with no scent of arousal. Drifting fingers between her


    thighs I test her, then “I’ll just be a moment.”


    I head for the cupboard where I keep a store of massage oils. Passing James, I murmur, ‘Dry.’ He slow-


    blinks understanding.


    A little neutral oil on my palms and I run my hands over her again; seducing her, coaxing her arousal.


    My hands on her waist, my fingers almost encircle her as I work her spine with my thumbs. Then


    slipping upwards; her ribs, her muscles, her shoulders; gradually I ease her, rubbing in, digging into the


    tension knotted there, making her feel me; making her know I am there.


    And all the while, as I massage her, soothe her, James stands to her fore. My hands on her, she


    watches him. He moves unhurriedly, deliberately; removing his jacket to hang it neatly over the back of


    a seat. His tie is next. Tugging at the knot, he loosens it, unravels it, then unfastens the top button of


    his shirt before draping the tie over his jacket.


    Reaching around, I cup a breast, nuzzling into her hair and her neck. “You’re so beautiful. I never forget


    how beautiful you are. Or that you are my wife. Or that I love you. And I will never let anyone hurt you.


    Never. And neither will he.”


    She watches him, her breathing elerating as I caress her. My hands cupping and stroking, my chest


    pressed to her spine, I love her with my body.


    James, one at a time, removes his cuff-links, again setting them to one side, then unbuttons his shirt


    and kicks off his shoes. Barefoot now, stripped to the waist, he takes up the flogger again, holding it in


    one hand, resting it on the other as the tails swing by his thighs.


    And he watches. And he waits.


    Her Master…


    Her tension is easing; the anxiety flowing away, the tremble dying away. And slowly, smoothly, the


    perfume of her arousal curls up and out and around, like smoke in the air, hazy and drug-like. One


    hand rubbing circles on a nipple, I venture south again with the other…


    … and this time, she’s warm; dampening…


    That’s my girl…


    I slow-blink to James, still silently watching, toying with the flogger. He eye-points me away from her


    and I position myself to watch, close enough to see her face clearly and to hear her.


    Pushing the flogger into his belt, he approaches her, standing to her fore. His hands cupping her face,


    he kisses her, at first softly, but then with increasing passion, forcing her mouth open with his.


    Then, still pinning her cheeks between his hands, “You are mine,” he says. “And you are Michael’s. You


    are not his. You have never been his. You never will be his as long as you exercise the choices which


    are yours. You understand me?”


    Charlotte swallows and nods. Already, she’s wearing that semi-mad expression she has for him.


    When she looks at him like that, she''s already halfway there...


    The flogger handle under her chin, he tilts her head back. “Say it. I want to hear the words.”


    Her breathing ripples. “I’m not his. I’m yours. And I’m Michael’s.”


    “Good. That’s better. And thest point…” James pushes up with the handle. “…The most important


    point is that you are yours. You belong to yourself. No-one ever seeded in taking that from you,


    even as a child. You have always been too strong to let that happen. Don’t let it happen now.”


    She doesn’t reply, but her eyes are huge green-rimmed pools, pupils dark as the night sky.


    He regards her for a long moment, then lowers the flogger, releasing her. “That’s better.” He touches


    her arm. “You’ve stopped trembling. That’s good too. Now…” He stands back, flicks the tails over her


    belly and breasts, a mere kiss of supple leather that sends a shiver over her skin… “… this is where


    you fly…”


    He moves around behind her and with a twist of the wrist, catches her on the calves with the tails. She


    jolts and gasps…


    Did he mean to start that hard…?


    But he repeats the motion on the other calf. It’s got to sting, and she whimpers.


    *****