Sure Thing (8 page)

I competed with myself. No one else. My goal was to better my own records, not out-swim anyone else. I wasn’t a team player, I didn’t care about the glory of my school. I was only in it for me. Selfish? Possibly. But that’s quite simply how it was. And suddenly—I remember the day it happened—I lost interest in swimming. I’d done it, got as good as I thought I genuinely could and it just wasn’t a challenge that interested and excited me anymore. So I simply stopped. No regrets, no big decision to quit, no angst. I just stopped and moved on to my next challenge. Which was art.

Never a natural academic, I nevertheless enjoyed art and it was the only GCSE I managed to get a decent result in. I threw myself into it totally. I went to art club and after school workshops, started prowling the galleries and museums around Gloucester, spent hours gazing at old masters and modern classics. I was enthralled by Hockney, captivated by Salvador Dali. I loved the earthy realism of Lowrie and later tried to replicate it with my first attempts at photography, those gritty urban photographic images. I experimented with sculpture, mainly clay. I tried out different artistic styles and my art teacher, like the swimming coach before her, reveled in it. I was good, a joy to teach, I suppose, looking back. I just absorbed all she had to offer, was hungry for more. Maybe that’s where the seeds of my current obsession with photography were sown. I’m back to being an artist, but now I paint digital portraits.

The core truth, though, at the heart of all this for me, is that I thrive on challenge. I need to have a goal, need to be striving to achieve something. And like Abbie, I need to
‘feel the burn’
, to know I’m pushing myself, achieving more, better, bigger, faster, harder. And that’s what submission with Tom, for Tom, would be about for me. What it would offer me. It would be another set of goals to achieve, limits to exceed, targets to beat. Throw in the best sex I can ever imagine, and a lot that’s well beyond anything I could dream of—yet—and the heady cocktail is irresistible. And all this with a man I already know I love. Hell, bring it on. My lower abdomen clenches in anticipation.
Christ!

In my flash of lucid honesty and self-awareness I can recognize that up to a point my relationship with Kenny was something to do with this character flaw in me. If indeed it is a flaw—I’m really not certain. It could be my finest quality if things turn out well with Tom…

Kenny was a bully and a thug. There was never a time, looking back, that he treated me well. He was always violent, selfish, mean, greedy. And I gave him what he wanted, accepted what he dished out. I left my safe, secure home and followed him to Bristol. I was unhappy, but I went back for more every time. The violence escalated, his meanness, his callous treatment of me built and grew, took root. Most of the time it was all our relationship consisted of. And I accepted it, invited it even. Until that last time, when he killed David. When I—God forgive me—let him kill David. That brought me to my senses, and I dropped Kenny and that crazy, self-destructive lifestyle as abruptly and as totally as I had earlier turned my back on swimming.

And now, for some reason, I’m about to re-enter that world of pain, with Tom. This time, though, it’s different. I’ve heard what Abbie told me about control, I’ve taken it on board. I know now much more about the power of the submissive to manage events, negotiate, to set the parameters. And I’ve come to know Tom. He’s safe. He’ll hurt my body—I’ll definitely feel the burn, but he’ll care for me. With Tom I’ll also know the tenderness, the sincerity. There’s a connection between us, he understands me. And I’m starting to understand him, his world. I want to join him in it. I do want to, I want it for me. I know I can get beyond my pain threshold, I’ve done that before.

But there’s still something not right here, something holding me back…

Abbie takes another bite of pizza, chews thoughtfully. “What else have you and Tom done so far?”

“Not much, not really. There were nipple clamps one time, a vibrator. That was nice. And we played strip chess.” I smile at her sheepishly. Her tales seem so much more exciting than mine. So far.

She cocks her head, smiles. “Strip chess—sounds like fun. What else?”

“Nothing. That’s it, really.”

“Ashley, what else? I know there’s more, something you’re worried about. Something else happened, didn’t it?”

She must know about the spanking. A thought strikes me. “Did Nathan tell you?”

“Nathan? No. Why? What’s he got to do with it?”

“Did he tell you about what Tom did? The first time? I know he didn’t approve. And I know you talked to him about me.”

“We didn’t talk. I texted Nathan to ask for a description so I could recognize you at the station. He texted back that you were a stunner, long black hair, slim. Something along those lines. Here, let me just…” She digs in her jacket pocket and pulls out her iPhone, taps the keys. “Here. This is what he said.” She pushes the phone at me.

Hi N, had a call frm ur frnd, Ashley. Mtng in York tomoz. What she look like. Or do I nd 2 wear a red carnation?

Hi Abs, thnx 4 this. Carnation not needed. Small, slim, very long blck hair. A stunner!

Wow, An improvement on ‘sex on a stick’ and ‘an arse to die for’ I suppose. Who’d have thought it?

“So, what is it that Nathan didn’t tell me? What didn’t he approve of?”

I wait, wondering. Can I? Should I? Especially with what she just said about a Dom needing to protect his reputation. Shit, I don’t want to get Tom into trouble. On the other hand, this is what’s at the root of my confusion. Tom scared me to death that day. And the day after.

My stomach drops, I shudder just remembering how helpless I felt that awful day, my humiliation, my vulnerability. If Tom and I are to get anywhere together I need to get past this, I need to understand what happened that time, and find a way to trust him. My head tells me I’m safe with Tom, but my heart keeps remembering the sheer terror of being made to lie across his knees while he spanked me. He hurt me, he really hurt me, and I’m stuck in that place. I need to talk to someone, get that whole thing into perspective if I can. Maybe talking to Abbie will be helpful. Therapeutic even. She may understand, might be able to help me see a way forward. It’s worth a shot.

“He spanked me.”

“Right…” Obviously not a big deal on Planet Abigail.

I take a deep breath, and blurt it out. “I didn’t agree to it. Well, I did, but not willingly. Not really…” I stop, and try to recall the tangle of fears, feelings, the confusion I still struggle with as I try to make sense of what really happened that day.

“He made me strip, and he put me over his knee. And he spanked me. A part of me enjoyed it, I think. And that’s what’s so weird, because I was scared, really scared, I had no idea what might happen next. He was so angry…” I glance up at her, wonder how she’s taking this. Maybe on Planet Abigail this is normal behavior too.

Then I can see at once that it’s not. Her face is incredulous, shocked, stunned. For a few moments she just stares at me, disbelief etched all over her features. She frowns, grappling with what I’ve shared, trying to understand. Rather like me, really.

Then, “Tom? Tom did that? He spanked you in anger?”

I nod and realize I’m twisting my fingers together on the table. Consciously I separate my hands, lay my palms calmly on the table top and fix my gaze steadily on hers.

“Yes. Tom did that.” My voice is firm now, and I’m finding her shocked reaction oddly comforting. At least now I know it’s not just me over-reacting. What happened between Tom and me that first time we met—well, second time if I’m being totally accurate—
was
odd, off, not appropriate. Not even in Dom/sub-land.

“Why? Have you any idea why he would have done something so…outrageous? You said he was angry. Why was he so angry?”

I start to bristle and she’s on it straight away. She reaches for my hand, still lying on the table top, squeezes it gently. “Not that being angry is any excuse. He shouldn’t have laid a hand on you without your consent. No way. But, I’m just trying to understand the circumstances, how it happened.”

I can see that, and she’s right. The circumstances were pretty unusual. Tom did have every right to be angry, although perhaps not to express it in the way he did. I reflect back to that afternoon, and recall that spanking me was not his first choice, in fact. His original intention was to turn me in to the police and I begged him not to do that. I even hinted that I’d be prepared to have sex with him if he didn’t report me. He understood what I was offering but did not take me up on it. But he still relented—fell back on a more direct method of retribution instead.

Abbie is still watching me, curious, waiting for more explanation, anything to make sense of this bizarre tale. I have no real choice but to spill the beans. Anything less would be grossly unfair to Tom. And wouldn’t help me to settle my present dilemma.

So I tell her. I tell her what happened on that riverside footpath in Bristol, and my part in it. I explain that I met Tom again by chance, had no idea who my landlord was when I leased Smithy’s Forge, but he recognized me and he was furious, at first believing I’d somehow tracked him down and deliberately followed him to Yorkshire. I told her something of why I was so keen not to be brought to the attention of the police, but not about my suspended sentence. That hadn’t been relevant in Tom’s actions. Neither had baby David or my mother’s death so I skipped those parts too. What I did make clear was my reformed character status, that I was desperately sorry about what I’d done, and that I’d now moved on. Sort of. Was trying to.

When I finish I glance up at Abbie, looking for her reaction. She’s watching me silently, assessing, a slight frown now on her face. Her hand has dropped to cover her slightly round abdomen and she’s circling protectively, and I recall I used to do that too, before David was born. Died. Is it an instinctive maternal reaction, I wonder, when faced with something dangerous, a threat? Saddened, sickened at myself, I start to gather my things ready to leave.

“Ashley, wait.” Abbie reaches for me again, catches my elbow. “Please, sit down. Don’t go.”

I sit back down but find it hard to meet her eyes. Eventually, though, it’s Abbie who breaks the silence. “That’s quite some tale. You must have both been shell-shocked that day.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Shit, what a bloody coincidence…”

Yeah, shit just about sums it up, I’d say.

She goes on. “You know, for what it’s worth, and whatever the rights and wrongs back then, and I have to say it does sound pretty awful, the mugging, Tom being beaten up and all that, somehow, it sounds as though Tom’s forgiven you.” She grins wryly. “Maybe the spanking got it out of his system. You did say strip chess, didn’t you? Ice lollies? Nipple clamps? And mind-blowing sex?”

I nod dumbly, and she continues, “Well, Tom was out of line that day. You’ve every right to be upset, worried. If you do agree to bottom for him you’ll need to know you’ll have more control in future. Is that it? Yes?”

I’m nodding, that is it, exactly.

She goes on. “Well, if Tom can forgive what you did in Bristol, maybe you could forgive him for that first day in your cottage? Or at least talk to him about it, explain how what he did to you that day makes you feel now, how it’s affected you, how it’s still affecting you. He shouldn’t have done it, you know that and I know that. And I know he knows it too. But in the heat of the moment? Maybe…?”

I chew my lip, thinking it through. Yes, it was a heated moment. And yes, we were both shocked, acting out of character. And at several points in our encounter I’d fully expected a far more violent outcome. And…

“I had an orgasm.”

“What?”

“An orgasm. He made me come. Right after he spanked me.”

“Ah…”

“And then he put me to bed. Just carried me upstairs and left me there. He could have, could have…” I falter, contemplating what else Tom could have definitely done to me that afternoon if he’d been so inclined.

Abbie reaches for my hand again, this time gripping it firmly, tugging on it until I meet her gaze again. “That doesn’t sound like a man being angry and a woman being scared. That sounds like something else entirely to me. I can tell it’s complicated, though, confusing. You
need
to talk to him, Ashley. You need to sort it out in
your
head first, then talk. Tell him how you need it to be between you in the future. With us, we submissives, it’s about handing over control. We do it willingly, because we want to. And because we know we can always get it back. That’s what was missing that other time, you hadn’t given over control willingly and you had no safe word, no way of getting it back. That’s why it was so frightening, and that’s what you need to talk to Tom about. Will you do that?”

“Yes. Yes, I will.” My response was whispered, but it’s enough. I know now what I need to do, what I need to say and hear. What I
can
do to move on. I thank Abbie, sincerely thank her for her honesty and concern—and for her sound good sense. And I explain I need to leave. I have shopping to do.

Chapter Six

U ok?

Tom’s text is succinct, the concern underlying the inquiry obvious. I read it and dash off my reply, equally succinct.

Yeah.

I’m on the train, headed back from York, my head full of new thinking, unfamiliar perspectives. Abbie didn’t advise me what I should do, beyond talking. She offered no view on what I should say, what I needed to ask. She didn’t have to, I can work that out for myself. I realize now that trust works both ways, and if Tom can manage to trust me again after what I did to him, then I owe him the same chance at redemption. If I’m allowed to screw up, then move on, he is too. If either of us screws up again, we’ll need to re-think. Definitely. But for now… My phone whistles again, telling me another text is in.

U comin back here tonite?

No, goin home. Thinking. Tomoz?

Ok. Don’t think 2 hard. C u tomoz. Key under log by door

Lookin frwd 2 it. Nite