She should hate him. She should murder him in his sleep, assuming he didn’t lock his door at night.
The second lash seemed to come out of nowhere. She was so lost in thought trying to process everything that she’d forgotten more were coming.
“T-two,” she stammered out.
Each time the whip came down, it seemed to sting a tiny bit more than the time before. She was sure he was going to break her skin. Or that he’d keep going. Or that he’d fuck her against his promise or do something else awful.
“Julie, I feel like you aren’t with me here. Does this need to be harder? I’m going easy on you for your first punishment.”
This was going easy? “N-no.”
“Number?”
“Seven.”
Her arms burned hanging as they were in the leather cuffs. She’d somehow lost track of her nudity. Officially, she was mortified, but… there were bigger issues.
The eighth lash came down much harder than the others. It pulled her out of her endless tangle of thoughts. Her mind went utterly and completely silent. There was nothing now but the sharp bright burn against her flesh, the sound of the heat purring gently through the vent, and Gabe’s unflinching presence that seemed to suck up all the air. It wasn’t that she heard him… she felt him, this energy that emanated from him and rolled out over her, covering her like a blanket.
“Julie!”
“Y-yes?” Tears had started to move down her cheeks again, but they weren’t the softly rolling tears of before. They’d morphed into pathetic convulsive sobs.
“What number?”
“E-eight.” I hate him.
“Good girl.”
And then that stupid horrible fucking flutter again, that glowing warmth in her stomach. It made her feel as though she’d become invisibly attached to him.
The last two lashes were slightly more tolerable. He’d gotten what he’d wanted from her. The tears. That little break in something that she couldn’t quite find and didn’t know how to patch up. At Dmitri’s all the other broken places she’d found a mental game or rationalization or just a way to cope. But this… there was no way to cope with that… that flutter. She hadn’t begged him to stop once he’d gotten started. What was wrong with her?
Gabe undid the blindfold and returned it and the whip to the box he’d gotten it from. Then he took something else from a second box. A black silk robe. He returned to her without a word and undid the cuffs around her ankles and wrists. She collapsed against him and he gently set her down on the ground while he put everything else back up.
He pulled her to her feet and helped her stand. He helped her into the robe, then he picked her up and carried her out of the room. He was careful not to press against the welts he’d left on her back. She laid her head on his shoulder as he carried her, up the stairs, down the narrow dark hallway, through the foyer. Julie was dimly aware of the milling about and whispering but she didn’t raise her head up off Gabe’s shoulder.
He carried her up the next flight of stairs and to her bedroom, then he locked the door, took her over to the bed, and laid her down.
“Take the robe off and lie down on your stomach. I’ll be right back.”
Again, that weird urge to do what he said had her obeying him. She wanted to say it was fear or survival, self-preservation, but she’d responded this way to him from the moment she’d met him. So fear alone couldn’t explain it. When she took the robe off the cool air pressed against the warmth of her back.
Gabe returned and sat on the edge of the bed. She flinched when something cold touched her skin.
“Relax. It’s a salve to soothe the welts.”
He spent the next several minutes rubbing the cool cream gently into her back. “The welts will fade in a few days,” he said. “You might not want to wear a bra until they do.”
“Okay.”
“Are you ever going to do anything like what you did this afternoon again?” he asked.
“No.” Mainly because she was too confused by how she was feeling. What had happened in the dungeon had been painful, but it had been more like a controlled demolition than anything else. He hadn’t lost control, or been angry. Once he’d started, she wasn’t scared. How was she not scared?
Back at Dmitri’s she’d been convinced that somehow if she ever escaped she would be okay. The core of who she was would still be there. But she couldn’t believe that anymore. How could she? Something inside her must have broken beyond any ability to repair it. Why hadn’t she tried to fight Gabe? Why hadn’t she screamed or begged once he’d started?
It wouldn’t have done any good of course. Maybe it would have made things worse. She wanted more than anything to believe she’d just been too afraid. But she knew that was a lie. She’d been less scared once he’d started than she was on their first date when he’d pressed her against the wall to kiss her a little too aggressively. There was some impossible thing inside her that trusted him. Even with the surveillance and bringing her to the house. It wasn’t anything logical that she could lay out on a pro/con list. It was… this feeling.
Gabe finally got up and went to the drawer to get her some panties, shorts, and a T-shirt. He remained silent as he helped her get dressed, then he went back into the bathroom for a moment. When he came back out, he had a hairbrush. She actually cringed, like he was going to hit her with it or something, but he sat down behind her and started brushing her hair.
What the fuck was he doing? Rubbing cream on her back. Brushing her hair? This was so weird. She felt like this was some weird brainwashing technique. What was that thing she’d learned about in college… the Patty Hearst thing… some syndrome… Stock... something. Anyway, that had to be what he was doing.
As if reading her mind, Gabe said, “Typically, when people do this in a more consensual situation, this is called aftercare. This happens after heavy play, but I do it after punishment also to make sure you’re okay and that you feel safe. I know this is all very strange to you.”
“You punished me. Like you had the right to...”
“If you hadn’t thrown something at me, it wouldn’t have happened. Did I harm or damage you?”
“No, but it’s not right. It’s… weird and gross and… wrong.”
“If you say so.” He set the brush down on the night table. “We’re going to have dinner in about an hour out here on the balcony. I’ll bring it up. Go find Annette and borrow a nice dress from her for dinner. Something backless.”
“I...” She wasn’t calling him master and he wasn’t fucking her… yet… or doing other weird kinky things to her. And yes, she had thrown something at him, so maybe she had instigated what happened in the dungeon. Maybe. But it still felt wrong. It felt like he was trying to slowly ease her into being his slave… and she’d already said…
“Did you not agree to have dinner with me? Did you change your mind?”
“I… no, dinner is fine.”
“Good, go get dressed. Annette will help you get ready.”
She stood and went to the door. Gabe’s voice stopped her.
“Julie, you will be mine. I’m more sure of it now than I’ve been since I met you. You didn’t have the experience to know what you wanted. And you still don’t have it. But I’ve seen enough women come through these doors to know a sub when she comes apart under my whip. You will beg to wear my collar.”