Buying the Virgin novel Chapter 79

My Master still doesn’t speak. I don’t look up. “Master?”

“You waited until Michael was not here?”

“Yes, Master.”

Again, a long silence, then, “Charlotte, go up to the bedroom.”

I rise and go upstairs, keeping my head bowed. He follows me.

“Bend over the end of the bed.”

I bow down, my breath fluttering, heart thumping. I flatten myself against the counterpane, stretching out my arms, spreading my ankles.

“Raise your hips.”

I arch my spine, presenting myself.

My Master stalks through the room, searching for something. From my awkward view, I see him as he finds it: a belt. Thick leather, almost three inches wide, with a wide brass buckle. He snaps it against the wall with a crack, and I flinch.

“You’re trembling.”

“Sorry, Master.”

“You’re afraid?”

I swallow hard. “A little, yes, Master.”

“Of me? Of what I’m going to do?”

“Yes.” My voice is a whisper.

“You still want to do this?”

“If it makes it right between us, yes, I want to do this.”

“Open your mouth.”

I part my lips, and he pushes something between, a tie I think. “Between your teeth. I don’t want you biting your tongue.”

Heart drumming against my chest, I bite down hard. My head sideways down on the bed, I see my Master test the belt again, against the wall. It whiplashes against the plaster, leaving marks in the paintwork, and I wince, quailing inside, but I don’t move. I must endure this if I am to have my Master return to me.

He moves behind me. “Charlotte, firstly, whatever you say, you did lie to me, by omission at least. Secondly, I asked you…. I asked you, to tell me about what had happened to you when we were out on the site. You said you would, but you didn’t. Thirdly, when Haswell asked you, you told him immediately. Three things Charlotte. Three things. None of them had to happen. Do you want to say anything?”

I mumble through my stuffed mouth. “No, Master.”

“Three things. Two strokes for each one.”

I nod. Trembling violently now, I bite down hard…. and wait.

The leather thrumms through the air, and I inhale sharply, waiting for the strike, the pain. The belt smacks into the timber of the bed frame with a loud thwack, and I start violently at the brutal sound, the rocking of the bed.

But I am untouched.

Shaking, I hold my position, waiting….

There is another crack and another. Six strokes, ricocheting against the bed-footer, echoing through the room, and despite my savage trembling, the belt has not touched me.

There is the gentle tap of a hand on my rear, almost a caress, then another. Four more follow.

Still shaking uncontrollably, lungs heaving, I sag over the bed, but hands reach under me, sweeping me upright. My Master enfolds me, embracing me, his face close to mine. “How could I punish you, Charlotte? When you give yourself to me like that?”

“Master?”

He almost crushes me to him, mouth fastened over mine, his face pressing hard against me. I struggle against him. “Master…. Master…. I’m sorry, but I can’t breathe.”

He releases me, and I stand, panting, trying to divine what has happened.

“Master? Are we… are we good now?”

“Yes,” he says softly. “We’re good.”