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Wednesday to Saturday

"Who hurts the most?"

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Wednesday

In the garden of the house we share there is a small bower of trees which encloses a seat. When she needs to think it is to that seat that she goes; for the quiet and the lack of diversion. I am not allowed there unless she takes me with her. It is her space.

I sat in the room overlooking the garden and watched as she walked to her seat in the late evening sun. She is tall, lithe and graceful. Her dark hair is thick and shines in the sunlight. I watched as she turned and smoothed her long, diaphanous skirt under her as she sat. She crossed her legs slowly and the dress parted so I could see her dancer’s thigh. Her face spoke of sadness and disappointment and it tore at my heart because I was the source of that.

I had come home from work that Wednesday evening to find the house empty. She was often home later than I so I was not concerned but put my things away, showered and changed into a dress she liked me to wear in the evenings. I was naked beneath it. I went to the kitchen and prepared the supper, pouring a glass of red wine for myself but leaving her white in the ‘fridge.

I heard her key in the front door and got that little surge of excitement I always felt when she came home. Perhaps it was always a slight surprise to my deep consciousness that she cared for me enough always to come back to me. Her heels clicked on the wooden floor as she proceeded down the hallway, I could follow her movements by the sounds. First to the coat hook to shed the long, black coat she wore over her suit, then the clatter of her large handbag and briefcase as they were placed none too carefully on the ottoman in the corner of the hall, a brief hesitation as she checks her hair in the mirror before coming into the kitchen. All of this was so familiar.

‘Hi, Linda.’ She moved with her natural grace across the room to kiss me warmly but not passionately on the mouth. I tried to sustain the kiss but she was not having that. She sat and I poured her wine and placed it in front of her and she thanked me. We exchanged small details of our day – hers in the tall building that housed her PR firm and mine in the dull library beside the canal. I sensed something was not as it should be but could not put my finger on it.

After a while Sylvia said she was going to shower and change and she left me to finish preparing the meal of pasta with rosemary and tomato sauce, some bacon and chicken pieces and garlic bread. The room was warm with the scent of it and I felt hungry despite the light lunch I’d had.

When she returned the meal was ready and she wore the beautiful, long dress that I adored. It was loose around her gorgeous breasts, tight at the waist and full to the floor, slit up the side to mid-thigh. Her nipples were naked beneath the fabric, dark and large – her trimmed triangle of hair was a shadow between her legs; like me she was naked under the silk. Sylvia had been a professional dancer and that grace and suppleness had never left her. I served, poured more wine and sat facing her.

‘Did you go out to lunch today?’

I said that I had and that I had gone out with one of the girls at work for a panini. ‘Did you see Maria?’

Maria was our friend and neighbor who worked in an office close to my own. I had not seen her.

‘Did you see Hilary?’

I looked up at her and saw for the first time a certain steel in her eyes. Hilary was a friend I had known since school days. She loathed Sylvia and, more importantly, the life that Sylvia and I shared, not because she was opposed to lesbian relationships but because she knew I was Sylvia’s submissive and that I obeyed her and what Hilary considered to be oppressive control. I don’t normally tell people about my nature because few understand but I’d hoped Hilary would. She didn’t.

One of the rules I follow is that I ask Sylvia if I may meet people, not people at work but others. If I meet people by chance she expects me to tell her when she gets home. Hilary was persona non grata, mainly because at a party a year before she had publicly scolded Sylvia for treating me like shit. I had strongly denied that that was so but Hilary kept at it like a dog with a bone until the hostess had intervened and taken her aside.

The problem was that I had seen Hilary that day. Her mother was ill and I was very fond of her. She’d called and said she wanted to bring me up to date because her mother didn’t have long to go and Hilary wanted me to see her. I knew Sylvia would not allow it but I felt I owed it to Hilary’s mother. It was not the first time. It was the sixth.

This is the only regard in which I have ever hidden anything from Sylvia and I had wrestled with the thought often. I had rationalized it by thinking I was not being disloyal to Sylvia but loyal to Hilary’s mother. Had I asked her permission she’d have had to either allow it and hate it or disallow it and hate that too. I had protected her from that. I know, it sounds like bollocks but I was torn.

‘Did you see Hilary?’

My eyes must have admitted it before I did.

‘You had lunch with her, not a girl from work, didn’t you?’

I nodded.

‘Was this the first time?’

Now I had to make a decision. I could lie and hope she didn’t know or would not recognise the lie or tell the truth and face the consequences. Of all the things I had ever done wrong in pour relationship this was the worst, despite any self-justification I might have had. Sylvia is not a cruel woman. She hates punishing me but we both know that there are times when it is necessary. Rarely are her punishments severe. She knows that to have failed her is as bad for me as it is for her but this was different. This was defiance and lying.

I shook my head.

‘Explain.’

So I did. As I spoke I talked faster and faster, gabbling the explanation and hearing its hollowness as I did so. I couldn’t look at her; I didn’t want to see the hurt in her eyes. The trouble was that one lie always led to another and the deceit deepened. Silently she placed her cutlery down beside her plate of pasta, half-finished and I heard her leave the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the tiled floor. Any hunger I had felt was gone; replaced by a painful ache in the depth of me. Her silence was like a blow to me. I went and curled into the chair overlooking the garden and watched her.

Sylvia sat motionless in that seat. Eventually I went out into the garden myself and sat on the path that led to the bower. I hugged my knees to my chest and felt tears running down my cheeks.

‘Come with me.’

She walked past me without waiting and I stood and followed her, dreading the next few minutes, perhaps hours or days. She went straight to our sitting room and sat in her chair; a deep armchair covered in a dark brocade. I went to sit but she said I was to stand and I felt like a naughty schoolgirl.

‘Don’t speak, just listen. I hate punishing you, it always feel like I have failed but I only have three of alternatives. I can either forgive you, throw you out or I can punish you and keep you. I have decided already that I cannot simply forgive you. You have hurt me too much for that. I ought to throw you out but I am reluctant to do that simply because I love you. If I decide to punish you it will be on the understanding that if you ever disappoint me like this again I will definitely throw you out, no matter how much it hurts me. Now, go and sleep in the spare room – I will decide and I’ll let you know what I have decided in the morning.’

I knew better than to speak. Tears ran again as I walked to the spare room. I barely slept that night. I curled myself into a foetal position, naked under the sheets and felt cold and alone.

Thursday

In the morning I showered and dressed for work, went down to the kitchen not knowing if I should take her tea as normal or wait. The decision was taken from me when she appeared in the doorway, she was wearing a long, black silk nightdress and looked utterly gorgeous although I thought her eyes looked a little puffy as I knew mine were.

‘Get the diary.’

I went to the hall and got our diary from its drawer and carried it back to the kitchen where she was now sitting at the table.

‘Now, write this in Saturday’s page. “For disappointing and hurting my Mistress I will be punished today if by the end of Thursday I have written her a letter in which I make a solemn promise never, ever to repeat this cruel deception. My letter will say that I accept whatever punishment or punishments she may choose. If, and only if I mean this with all my heart I can stay, if not I will pack my things and leave.” Until I have received your letter I will not speak to you again. Write it, then go to work.’

She stood, looked at me long and hard and left the room. I wrote it.

I wrote the letter in my lunch break. I re-wrote it in the afternoon and again when I got home early and before she got home. It was a heartfelt and genuine apology, declaration of love, expression of remorse and a plea not to expel me. I didn’t try to explain or excuse myself because I knew that would make her wild. I left it in an envelope addressed to her on the ottoman in the hall where I knew she would see it.

I sat on the floor in the corner of the sitting room and waited. It seemed like an age before the sounds of her homecoming reached my ears. I stayed where I was and hoped against hope that I had done the right thing. I heard the heels and the clatter of the bags then the heels clicked into her study and I waited in silence.

‘Stand up, Linda.’

I stood, eyes lowered, heart pounding.

‘You will be punished. Now, make dinner.’

She came to me then and held me close, my face buried in her hair. I whispered a thank you and she patted my back and kissed my ear.

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I felt the warmth of her, smelled the scent of her. When we finally separated there were tears in her eyes that made them spring form mine too.

‘I am so sorry.’

‘I know. Your letter saved us. Feed us now.’

I had some meals frozen and got one out, tossed a salad and boiled some small potatoes and laid it all out and called to her that it was ready.

She came back from her study and joined me at the table, her wine glass waiting for her. She ate slowly and we said little.

‘You haven’t changed,’ she said. She had shed her customary business suit at some point and was wearing a dress in pale yellow silk – she always wore silk at home.

‘Why Saturday?’

She lifted an eyebrow and hesitated. ‘Because I need my anger to dissipate.’

‘May I sleep with you tonight?’

‘Yes. Now, don’t talk of this again until Saturday. I need to decide how I shall punish you. I would normally discuss that with you but not this time. Now, clear away then go into the sitting room and stand in the corner facing the wall. Pull your knickers down to your knees.’

When I got to the siting room she was watching the television news. She did not speak to. I stood obediently and feeling utterly humiliated and knew that this was a punishment she had used before. In fact she quite liked me like this and sometimes did it simply for her own pleasure. I knew Saturday would be much, much worse.

The television shut down and her feet padded across the thick carpet. Her hand came up between my legs and she stroked me. I felt her close to my ear and she whispered.

‘Do you need to pee?’ I nodded. ‘Stay here for 30 minutes then come to bed.’

I stood there. The need to pee had not been crucial but now she had drawn attention to it I could think of nothing else. 30 minutes later I almost ran to the toilet, knickers still round my knees and sank onto the seat with relief.

She was asleep when I got into bed, showered and in my nightdress. She loved nightdresses and insisted on them.

Friday

In the morning she woke me before the normal time and pushed me down between her legs where I licked and sucked and fingered her until she came with a soft groan of pleasure.

Over tea and toast she told me to be naked when she got home, then got herself dressed for work. She kissed me goodbye before I had had time to dress and she licked my mouth lasciviously.

‘You taste of me. I like that.’

I cannot say I felt happy but I felt less unhappy. I knew I was going to suffer but I also knew I still had her and she wanted me. I went to work.

I was, of course, naked when she got home. I waited until the door had shut behind her then went to the hall to meet her. She smiled that wonderful smile and kissed my mouth, hard.

‘Go into the sitting room and bend over the back of the sofa.’

I did as she said and waited then looked in the wall mirror over the fireplace as she came in. Her strapon was poking out from under the raised hem of her suit’s skirt. She came to stand behind me and slithered her finger between my lips. She loves her strappy. She loves that it rubs her to orgasm more often than it brings me to one. Satisfied I was wet enough, she slipped it into me, her hands and nails raking my back gently and moving around to the sides of my breasts. She began to move slowly in and out, rocking behind me. Her movements became faster, more urgent and I knew she was getting close. I pushed back against her and then she pushed deep into me and stayed there as a growl of pleasure came from her. The dildo slipped out of me and I thought she was leaving but then I felt her mouth on me and her tongue lashed at me until I came for the first time since the morning of that awful Wednesday and my heart soared as I slumped, exhausted.

She curled herself over my back and her mouth was at my ear again.

‘I love you.’

Saturday

As usual on a Saturday I took her breakfast in bed although I knew this was no normal Saturday. I sat at the end of the bed and watched her eating her toast and sipping her coffee and orange juice. There was sadness in her eyes and I knew why. She finished and I took the tray away then came back to her and sat again at the foot of the bed. I was in my long, red, silk nightdress with a robe on over it.

Sylvia curled a finger at me and I moved to sit beside her. Her arms went around me and we kissed, long and warm. I held her tight, not wanting the moment to end but I knew she was steeling herself.

‘If you were me, how would you punish yourself?’

‘Please don’t do this, Miss. Please just do what you feel necessary.’

‘Answer me.’

‘I just don’t know, I really don’t.’ I was pleading with her eyes for her to get it over with.

‘OK. I have decided on three elements. You deceived me six times, one element for every two deceits.’ Her eyes and voice had grown hard. ‘I am going to hurt you, physically and emotionally and humiliate you, just as you have me. It will last most of today but when it is over it is over. You understand?’

‘Yes, Miss, thank you.’

‘You will go now and sit in the bath until I tell you get out. You will take your robe off but not your nightdress, you will not put water in the bath and you will just sit there no matter what you need, you will NOT move. You will speak only when spoken to. If you speak I will put something in your mouth to shut you up. Understood?’ I nodded.

I got off the bed and took off my robe, hanging it on the back of the door.

Sitting in the bath was boring to begin with. Sylvia came into the bathroom and showered but took no notice of me. I looked into her eyes but saw nothing. That hurt.

I did not expect her to leave me there long but I was mistaken. I had no watch or clock and time dragged. I could hear the radio on downstairs but it was just noise. Then the worst thing that could happen happened. I needed to pee. This was, I know, predictable, but I had not even thought of it. Sylvia knew how much this would humiliate me and I realised this was her plan. I was almost sobbing after a while, then I really was sobbing, hand pressed to me, thighs clamped together but it was as inevitable as it was horrible. There is a point at which it becomes impossible to prevent it and she had said I might not move. I squirmed but there was no point. In the end I simply had to let go and cry with humiliation. The initial warmth turned to cold. I felt wretched.

She came into the bathroom and looked at me, studied me, a look of pain in her eyes. She was wearing a plain, grey dress; knee length and high necked. Her shoes were flat and black as was the scarf tied loosely round her neck.

‘Follow me.’

I started to say something but her look stilled me. I followed her downstairs where she led me to the kitchen. She pointed to a chair which she had placed in the middle of the tiled floor.

‘Bend over that and stay there. Do not look anywhere but at that wall.’

‘Yes, Miss.’ As the words left my mouth I regretted them but she seemed not to notice. She left the room and I waited, and waited, and waited again. I could not see the wall clock or the clock on the oven. My nightdress was dry by now but I felt dirty and tears ran over my cheeks.

It was after what seemed a very long time that I heard the doorbell and then two sets of footsteps. One stopped in the hall the other came into the kitchen. Sylvia walked to stand in front of me and took my face gently in her hands, then took the scarf from her neck and tied it around my eyes.

‘You can come in now.’ Heels clicked on the tiled floor. To my astonishment Sylvia held my face close to her, my chin on her shoulder.

‘It is nearly over, my love.’

I felt a hand on my bottom, then felt the whisper of the nightdress being lifted up and over my buttocks. The hand caressed me for a few minutes and Sylvia whispered quiet words into my ear.

‘We will share this. We will do this together. It is our moment.’

A searing sting slashed across my arse and I bucked but was held by Sylvia. A swish as the cane moved through the air then the sting and my cry of pain was buried in Sylvia’s hair. The third, fourth and fifth followed in quick succession and I cried huge tears and yet, somehow, felt that the pain and the intimacy of her holding me was good, was, as she had said, ours. I could not help wondering who was wielding the cane.

There was a brief hiatus.

Sylvia’s hands caressed my face. She kissed my mouth and, as she did so the sixth stroke burned the flesh of my arse. As my mouth opened to scream her tongue entered me and swallowed the moan that tried to escape. I was held like that for what seemed like hours but could only have been moments.

A voice I vaguely recognised spoke. ‘You said six.’

‘Yes, thank you. You have seen us like this together. It is between us?’

‘Of course, Sylvia. Don’t regret it – it was necessary. Sometimes it is.’

‘Yes, I know. Thank you.’

The heels clicked away, across the kitchen floor, down the hall and I heard the door open, then shut. The silence was complete. Sylvia helped me to stand and held me close. I could feel wet on her cheek and when she undid the scarf around my eyes I was surprised to see the tears came from her eyes not mine.

I whispered, ‘Who was it?’

‘It was my sister, Julia. Who else could I trust?’

She held me tightly to her and kissed my eyes and licked my tears as I licked hers. We kissed and hugged.

‘Go and shower and get dressed. It is over.’

I stepped back from her and looked into her deep, sad eyes.

‘Thank you, Sylvia.’

The cane was on the table and I watched her pick it up and look at it.

‘Wait. Show me your arse.’

I turned and lifted my nightdress and felt her hand trace the stripes her sister had made.

‘They are beautiful.’

Published 
Written by monica3
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