Mastering the Virgin Box Set Five: A BDSM Ménage Erotic Romance novel Chapter 22

James

Charlotte emerges from the bedroom, rubbing at her eyes, hair still tousled, partially covering her face.

“How are you feeling now?” I ask. “Better now that you’ve caught up on some sleep?”

“Mmm, yes. Much better, thanks.” But there’s something in her tone….

Still tired perhaps….

It’ll probably take her a few days to get back to rights again….

I put my book aside and pat the seat next to me on the couch. “Come and sit with me.”

She smiles, but the smile is faint, and as her hair falls aside, I get a good look at her face. She’s very pale, puffy-eyed and shadowed. And now, as I look at her properly, her movements are stiff and halting. As she sits, she hisses quietly.

“Charlotte, is something wrong?”

“I’m fine, Master.”

She’s clearly not fine. Everything about her screams of not fine. “No, you’re not. What’s the matter?”

Her voice is slow, reluctant. “Michael…. punished me….”

I think I must have misheard her…. “Michael? Punished you? What did he do?”

But she doesn’t speak. Instead, silently, her face works, radiating misery.

Something is very, very wrong….

What the fuck did he do?

“Stand up. Show me yourself.” She doesn’t move. “Charlotte!” This time it’s an order. “Do as I say. I want to see.”

And she obeys, but struggling to stand, she totters and weaves. Almost, she falls, but I stand with her, an arm under her elbow, another around her waist.

She won’t look at me. Shame, distress and pain jostle for position over eyes and mouth as I lift her skirt and slide her panties down, then freeze at what I see.

Welts, ugly and raw, three of them, extend across her buttocks. Normally so alabaster-pale, they bloom red and swollen, the edges already purpling to bruises….

What the fuck did he use?

She is fighting back sobs, but I don’t think it’s the pain that’s doing it. I’ve learned that my jewel-eyed mermaid is powerfully resistant to pain. But…. Humiliation? Regret? Grief?

“Michael did that?”

“Yes, I did.”

He’s there, blocking the door, legs akimbo, arms folded. But his stance and his eyes say two different things.

Remorse?

Shame?

You stupid bastard….

But his chin tilts. “Charlotte and I had rather a long discussion. I think I’ve made my point well enough.” He turns to her. “How are you now?”

Her jaw is slack, eyes unfocused, her voice dismissive. “It hurts. What do you expect me to say?”

How could you be such an idiot?

And I’m angry. My blood heating, I move towards him. “I thought we’d agreed….”

He doesn’t quite take a step back, but his eyes shift, looking down, and before I can say more, Charlotte interrupts. “Master. Leave it. It’s done.”

Michael, red-faced and white-eyed, gives me a so-you-see kind of shrug, turns on his heel and leaves. I’m tempted to follow, but Charlotte is so clearly….

What? Upset? Hurt?

Frightened?

No, not frightened….

But certainly not herself. “Why don’t you go back to bed. I’ll find something to take the heat out of those weals.”