“Before you asked me to fuck you and I so helpfully complied?” His level tone is at odds with the crudeness of his words. Even so, I detect no anger, not even annoyance. He’s quite calm, perfectly at ease as he regards me across the teapot. I squirm in my chair.
How does he do that? How the fuck does he reduce me to this with just a look?
“Yes. Before that.” I whisper my reply, dreading what he might say next. It’s clear the chronology of events has not impacted on his view of this matter. I study my cooling tea, seeking inspiration. There is none to be had.
He leans forward, reaches for my chin, and tips it up. I have no choice but to meet his eyes.
“Tell me, Faith. Tell me why you were there.” His voice is more gentle now, his gaze less arctic. I take encouragement from that.
“It was a few months ago. I was lonely. I hadn’t had sex in ages, not since, since…”
“Since Ed died. Yes, I get that. But the first time I fucked you, you were still saying you still hadn’t had sex all the time you’d been a widow. I’m assuming that was true?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”
“No. I didn’t think you would. So, if not sex, what did you get up to at Fairlawns?”
“I… I…”
“Faith, I’m waiting. Don’t make me ask again.”
“I got spanked.” There. It’s out.
“Spanked? Okay. What else?”
He doesn’t seem unduly shocked, though I don’t suppose he would be. After all, he has considerably more experience of these matter than I do.
“Nothing else. Just spanking. I watched other people sometimes, other couples. But I didn’t join in apart fromthe spanking. And that was only sometimes.”Please believe me. Please.
“Who spanked you?”
“A man called David. I don’t know his last name. He’s nice.” I add the last sentiment with a note of defiance.
Ewan nods. “Yeah, if it’s the David I’m thinking of, he is. About five-nine, mid-forties? A small scar on his chin, just here?” He points to the same spot on his own face.
I can only nod, incredulous. But really, I should have known. The BDSM community is small; it stands to reason that doms would know each other. So much for giving Manchester a wide berth.
“You’ve been to Fairlawns then? You know David?” A knot of misery is forming in my stomach, though why I should be so crushed with contrition is beyond me. Perhaps it’s the fact that David and Ewan are at least acquaintances, possibly friends. Somehow this makes it all seem so much worse. I’d tried to detach my secret forays into submission from the rest of my existence, lock Fairlawns up in a compartment, keep it sealed in, separated from the rest of my life. That seemed safe to me, manageable somehow. But now, now it seems Ewan is everywhere, seeping into every aspect of my world. Finding Fairlawns and shining his spotlight on it.
“I’ve been there many times. I’m a member of the consortium who owns it. So is David.”
My heart sinks further. It was only ever a matter of time them. Ewan owns Fairlawns. He and David are business partners.Shit.
“I recognised the postcode in your satnav. From there it was easy to put two and two together. So, you and David…?”
“It was just spanking. Nothing more. I didn’t even take my knickers off. Please, Ewan, I’m telling the truth.”
He grins. “And David stood for that? I wouldn’t have.But like you say, he’s a nice guy. Were there any others?”
I shake my head, baffled by this apparent acceptance of the unacceptable. “Just David. He was nice to me. Kind, and friendly. But he doesn’t fancy me and I don’t fancy him, so…” I seem unable to complete a sentence right now. Even as I give voice to the words I know how unlikely this sounds. I’m asking Ewan, an experienced dom, to believe that I would frequent a fetish club, accept spankings from a virtual stranger, and still insist there was nothing more between us. Hell, I wouldn’t believe it.
“Okay. Just David, and just spanking. Why stop there?”
I peer at him, waiting for the further accusation. Is he about to challenge my version of events? Call me a liar? His expression is one of interest, concern perhaps. But I don’t detect more. I am at a loss, a complete loss. I have no idea where this conversation is going. Ewan should be angry. He isn’t. He should be pacing the room, ranting, demanding answers from me and disputing the ones I supply. He isn’t. He simply sits there, sipping at his tea from time to time and asking questions, probing. He’s not judging, not jumping to his own conclusions.
“Faith, why did you stop at spanking? Why not ask David for more?”
“It was enough. Too much, maybe. I didn’t want more. And he never asked, never suggested.”
