She has her bath, returning an hour or so later scented of lavender 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 nonetheless, 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 glass of Rioja… “Now, drink your wine… And I want you to have another glass after that.”

*****

Downstairs, in the basement, James’ ‘playroom’, the demesnes of a Master, she’s waiting for us. As he instructed, she’s naked, kneeling, head lowered and the glass 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 flames. 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.”

“Is he angry? Is he going

nothing to be punished for. But he is

“What then?”

How to say this?

take you out of yourself, then we’ll both

But there’s still a tremor

‘No.’ Do you want to?

she shakes her head. Taking her hand, I lace my fingers with

“Are you sure?”

I’m sure. You trust James,

“Yes, I do.”

trust him now. Let him take you the way you

me as I lead her to where James waits, a flogger

might appear severe, frightening even, but as his

… the pity…

hers before, loudly enough for her to hear

“Cuffs will be fine.”

I walk by him to the racks,

he murmurs, “And

what I told her

wrists; a carabiner and a length of rope connect

colour; hands, fingers, face, then casting across to James he micro-nods me to

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

keep a store of massage oils. Passing James,

as I work her spine with my thumbs. Then slipping upwards; her ribs, her muscles, her shoulders; gradually

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

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

cupping and stroking, my chest

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

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