Darker (19 page)

Nodding and mumbling a greeting towards the two old chaps and their dog, Nathan opens the pub door and stands back for me to go in before him. Inside, the atmosphere is exactly what I’d expected. The bar is solid oak, gleaming with polish and adorned with towelling mats. The bewildering array of pumps offers just about every conceivable sort of real ale, with amazing names like Mud Puppy and Yorkshire Blonde. The pumps offer all sorts of explanations about the wondrous origins of the beer, local hops, home-grown barley, cask matured to produce light ales or thick treacly stouts. Nathan orders a half of something called Three Ridings and I decide to have the same.

There are a few hardy souls like us occupying three or four tables. Probably city dwellers, I guess, out for a roast dinner that they don’t have to do the washing up for afterwards. We take our beers over to an empty table near the kitchen and sit down. Within moments a bustling elderly woman in a black dress and starched white lacy apron is there, notepad in hand, asking if we’re ready to order. The menu is on a chalkboard over the fireplace, but the only choices seem to be between what sort of roast to go for. That suits us. Nathan chooses the lamb, and I opt for the beef.

Kath’s in fine form today, both in the quality of her cooking and her portions. She even comes out to do a round of the tables, checking we’re all happy. She obviously knows Nathan, and asks after Rosie and Mrs Richardson. As she trots off to the next table he responds to my raised eyebrow.

“I often bring Rosie here when we come to Leeds. And Kath knew Grace before I shipped her off to look after me in the wilds of Haworth—I think they went to school together somewhere in South Leeds.”

“Ah.” Satisfied, I go back to the important matter of roast beef, and thirty minutes later I push my plate away, stuffed full. Nathan’s also finished, and he’s watching me carefully across the table, now littered with our empty plates.

“So, your little project. Still hell-bent on ‘proving yourself’?” He makes the little commas in the air with his fingers and I bristle.

“Don’t make fun of me. This is serious. It matters to me. A lot.”

“Sorry, that was rude. Uncalled for. But—I want you to know you have nothing to prove. Absolutely nothing at all. Do you believe that, Eva?”

“I have something to prove to me.”

“Yes, I get that. And that’s the only reason I’m going along with this now. If we do it, it’s for you, not me. And you can back out any time.”

“I know. I won’t back out, though.” I fiddle with the napkin in my lap, unable to look at him. Unable to face the gentleness and regret I can hear in his voice. I can ignore it if I don’t see it head on. Maybe.

“Right, I get that too. So we do this my way, on my terms. Okay?”

At my startled look his voice hardens. “Okay, Eva?”

“I… What does that mean? I want it to be like before. It has to be like before.”

“It can’t be like before. Before, I beat you senseless and that’s so not happening this time. So it will be different. This time it’ll be controlled. Well, better controlled than before. And you’ll be safe.”

“I see. How will you…?”

“Well there’s always you and your safe words. Except I can’t rely on you to get that right, can I?” I am studying my napkin again so he tips my chin back up with his finger. “Can I?”

“I can try. I know what I did wrong before. I know what to expect now…”

“True, and if you say red I will stop. I’ll be delighted to stop. But just in case it slips your mind again, this time I won’t tie you up. You won’t be restrained and you’ll be standing—leaning, or bending over, that’s up to you. But you’ll be taking your own weight. Then, if your legs give way, if you start to buckle, I’ll know. And you can keep your clothes on if you want. They offer no real protection so it won’t make any difference to the pain, and I won’t be hitting you hard enough to risk breaking the skin, but you might prefer to keep your pants up. Again, your choice.”

“But I should be naked, surely. At least, my bottom should be.”

“Well, it’s true that Doms do tend to prefer their subs to be naked, and vulnerable. And accessible for fucking. But that’s not what this is about, is it? But having said that, you do have a gorgeous little arse and I’ll never get tired of watching you bend over, so perhaps…”

I glance up to see the wicked smile, and realise he’s joking. He picks his moments, but I find myself smiling back.

“Bare bum, I think. For authenticity. And you’re not to pull your punches or go easy on me. I want this to be real. I have to know it was the real thing, not a game.”

“Well, it’s always a game. But you have to let me be the judge of how hard to cane you.” I start to protest again, but he’s having none of it. “These are my terms, Eva. You’re a tiny little thing, very slender, and only about a third of my weight. And this is only the second time you’ve tried doing this. It won’t take much effort to get the desired effect, believe me. I pulled my punches, as you put it, last time. And you fainted. So this time, what about if we start light and I increase the pressure if you’re managing okay? Would that suit you?”

I consider for a moment, then nod. He continues, “Twenty strokes is the maximum I’d ever have given you, so assuming you’re still on your feet we stop there, no matter what. And I’ll stop after every five strokes to check you’re okay.”

“I… Fine. Twenty strokes. How many did I manage before? I mean…last time, before I—?”

“Before you passed out? Thirteen or fourteen. I checked you at fourteen and you spoke to me, told me you were fine…” He pauses to fix me with a wry look. “But of course I now know that you were either lying through your teeth or delirious because you were out cold at fifteen. So tell me, Eva, that cane you chose. Why did you go for that one?”

“I don’t know. It just seemed…”

“Light? Thin? Not too brutal? Were you thinking it might be a soft option, perhaps?”

I shrug. Maybe I did have something like that at the back of my mind.

“It isn’t. That particular cane is thin and flexible for a reason. It’s designed to deliver a sharp, stinging blow. Very, very painful. Excruciating, I’m told—and Louisa knew what she was on about. Would you like me to choose something else, something less…intense for you?”

I gulp, instinctively clenching my soon-to-be-abused buttocks together, but look him in the eye. The mention of another sub, Louisa, apparently a better sub than me, clinches it. “No, that’s the one I chose. And I’d like this to be over so can we go now? Can we go back and…and do it?”

“Okay, if you’re ready. And if you won’t reconsider?”

“I’m ready. But there is one last thing…” I hesitate, not sure how this last request will be received. “Will you make love to me afterwards?”

His face quirks in surprise. “Of course. Don’t I always?”

“Yes, but you usually call it fucking. I want you to make love to me instead. Please.”

“Ah, right. A not-so-subtle distinction, but I think I can manage that. On this occasion.” He smiles, stands and holds out his hand to me as we make our way across the pub towards the till on the bar.

As we stroll back across the city centre neither of us has anything much to say. The walk back takes longer than it seemed to take to get to Whitelocks—we are in no hurry to arrive home it would appear. Eventually, though, we are in the lift, watching the numbers change. Nathan turns me in his arms and, with his hands loosely clasped behind me, nuzzles my nose with his.

“I have one last request of my own. We’ll do this if you really want to. Just this once and then no more. I don’t want to hurt you like this to have a good time, and I don’t need to. Our sex is wild enough, mind-blowing enough, without that. So if we do this it’s not for me, it’s for you. I need to know that’s clear and understood.”

“Thank you.” My whispered reply seems to satisfy him and he kisses me lightly before leading me out of the lift and into his apartment.

Nathan unlocks the door, and gestures me inside. The cane is still there, on the dining table along with Nathan’s newspaper and two empty coffee cups. Nathan closes the door behind us, then leans back against it, waiting for me to make the first move. This is my show now. Christ!

Walking across to the table I pick up the cane, rolling it slowly in my hands. I move to face Nathan, holding the cane out to him. He comes forward slowly then takes it from me.

“Would you accept a painkiller?”

“Maybe afterwards.” I quickly kick off my Toms then undo my trousers, letting them fall to my ankles. Before I can lose my courage I remove my pretty lavender pants too. Nathan picks up my discarded clothing and places it on the table.

“Do you want to keep this on?” He fingers my cream shirt, and I nod.

“Okay. Do you mind?”

He unbuttons my shirt, nodding his approval at my lovely new bra, then gathers the length of the shirt up in his hands and ties it at the front, under my breasts. “Where would you like to stand?”

“Can I lean on the table?”

“Of course.” With a gesture indicating I should get into position, he steps away, and I turn my back to him to face the table. Without further ado I lean forward, folding my elbows on the table top and rest my forehead on them. I hear him step forward to stand behind me, and he gently strokes my bare bottom, first one buttock, then the other.

“Last chance, Eva,” he whispers. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, for fuck’s sake.” I grit my teeth, my jaw clamped shut as I hold my breath. After a few seconds I can’t bear the wait any longer. “Just do it. Now. Please.”

I hear the shrill whoosh of the cane whistling through the air, then I scream as it lands across my right buttock. The shock and extreme pain buckle my knees and I feel sick. I’m shaking, gasping for air.

“Eva?” Nathan’s voice is in my ear. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, no,
no
. Do it. Just do it and don’t stop until it’s finished.”

“Stand up then.” I realise I am on my knees, my forehead now resting against the edge of the table. I struggle to my feet again, and lean over, bracing myself for the next blow.

Nathan might not be doing this willingly, but he’s doing it well. His next three strokes are delivered in rapid succession and my screams are echoing around the apartment. The fifth stroke sends me to my knees again. My face is on the carpet and I can hear someone whimpering. I guess that must be me. My bottom feels as though it’s on fire—I’m in sheer bloody agony. I can’t move, and if I do I just know that wonderful beef dinner is coming back up.

Through my haze of pain I know I’m just a quarter of the way there, though, so I have to get up. I start to push myself up off the floor. Nathan is there, crouching beside me.

“Enough?”

I shake my head, past speaking.

“Christ, Eva, this is killing you. Just stop. Now. Please.”

I shake my head again and hold out my hand. “Help me up. Please, help me…”

He does, but won’t let me bend over the table again until I’ve had a drink of cool water from a bottle he thrusts into my hands. Eventually, though, it’s time and I bend over, bracing myself for the next attack. Before picking up the cane again Nathan says he needs to check I’m okay to continue and I wince as his gentle fingers stroke my flaming backside. No damage done—yet.

I hear that familiar, terrifying whistle and my bottom explodes into its world of pain again. My screams are fading now, with my strength, but my determination is somehow intact and I manage to lock my knees in place and stay upright. The pain is everywhere, centred on my bottom but every nerve ending in my body is on alert. Everything hurts. There’s only me and that fucking cane in the world. Each blow forces the breath from my lungs and I struggle to draw more in. I really am going to throw up… I just need to…

“Red.”

No. No, I didn’t mean to say that.

“Red, red,
red
.”
Is that my voice? It can’t be, I’m dreaming. Hallucinating.

“Fucking red!”
Nathan?

I hear a clatter on the table and look up to see the cane sliding along the surface, away from me, away from Nathan. Then he is lifting me, turning me, picking me up carefully so as not to hurt me. I am conscious, confused, but limp in his arms. I close my eyes gratefully, one thought whirling round my head.
Did I safe word?

When I open my eyes again I am face down on Nathan’s bed and he is gently stroking soothing cream into my bottom. It hurts—a lot—and I mumble a protest, but I’m too weak to move away.

“Keep still, sweetheart. Nearly done.” A few more gentle strokes and he’s finished. Sitting on the bed next to me he pushes my shoulder to roll my top half over. “Sit up if you can and take these.” I open my eyes to see his palm outstretched with two white tablets on it. In the other hand he has a glass of water. Painkillers. Good idea. I struggle to sit up enough to take the tablets and gulp them down with the water. Then I flop down onto my face again.

Did I safe word?

I definitely didn’t mean to, but I’m so glad it’s over. Never, never, never again.

“Too right never again.” Nathan has moved round the bed and is now lying alongside me. And I guess I’ve been thinking out loud again.

“And it was me. Not you. I safe worded.” Nathan’s tone is low and serious. And somehow flatter than I’ve ever heard from him before, definitely in his Dom moments.

What? How…?
I’m baffled.

“It was killing you. I was killing you. And doing it was killing me. I couldn’t continue. I couldn’t bear to go on, for my sake not yours. So I safe worded. For me.” He is silent for a few moments, then, “If I let you down, Angel, I’m sorry. I thought I could do it, for you, because you wanted it so much. But when it came to it I couldn’t carry it through. I’m sorry, Angel.”

I don’t know what to say. So I say nothing, lie there, wait for the painkillers to kick in, wait for my pain-fuddled brain to kick back in too so I can finally start to make some sense of what’s happened. Nathan safe worded? Was that what he’d said? He safe worded because what he was doing, what I was making him do was too painful
for him?
It was hurting
him
more than he could stand so he stopped it? Wow!