On A Short Leash by Lindsay Ross Read Free Book Online Page A

happening at last and she felt her stomach lurch with excitement and fear. Her mind raced ahead. She knew she would be better to take each minute as it came, not look forward to wonder where it was going to end.
    Her bottom was smarting rather than hurting desperately and she sensed he was being relatively gentle, that he could have spanked her with much greater force. His hand seemed hefty and wide though it wasn’t something she’d noticed particularly, perhaps it just seemed that way.
    Instead of being affronted or resentful, Chrissie wondered whether the contours of her cheeks pleased him, whether hers was a bottom that compared favourably with others he spanked or used his cane on. Instead of thinking he was privileged to be allowed to do this intimate thing to her, she thought more about whether she was worthy of his time and attention. Then she was angry with herself as usual. What kind of creature was she that she doubted her worthiness to have her arse smacked! It was ridiculous.
    Yet perhaps it wasn’t so stupid. She wasn’t being smacked by a machine. She was being spanked by Andrew Scates and it mattered what he thought of her. Her thoughts were crowding in and causing her confusion. Concentrate on what he’s doing to you, focus on pleasing him, she told herself.
    Her bottom was glowing by now and she imagined he would be looking down on crimson flesh.
    She was aware she was sweating and hoped he didn’t find her smell unpleasant. You sweat when you’re afraid. Yes, she was still frightened. Frightened about whether she could bear it if he really hurt her, frightened of being cast aside because she didn’t please him. And, yes, scared of pain itself.
    Suddenly he lifted her and stood up.
    He carried her to the bedroom.She felt him coax her into a kneeling position on the bed, head right down, bottom raised up high.
    She saw the cane was resting on the duvet just as it had been before. He was like an artist easing his model into the pose he wanted.
    She sensed rather than saw him take the cane back a long way and crack it across her tightened cheeks.
    She heard herself cry out.
     
    ***
     
    Chrissie was restless and fidgety in Andy’s lecture, trying not to put too much pressure on her bottom cheeks because they still hurt, two days later. She’d been astonished to see and feel the raised welts across her white flesh. They had turned to a dark purple especially where the lines intersected. She felt a compulsion to keep examining her bottom in the mirror. Andrew did that to me . Andy put them there .
    Now she was in the front row and was pleased when their eyes met. There was a thrilling intimacy in their shared glances, both knowing her bottom was severely bruised, giver and recipient, connected like co-conspirators.
    She had wept in his arms immediately after her caning, but reflecting later she was pleased with herself. Chrissie imagined her feelings were like those experienced by people who’d undergone initiation into a tribe or secret society or cult, a sense of belonging achieved through suffering rather than paying a membership fee to join.
    They hadn’t opened their veins and mingled blood exactly, but there was a bond.
    She wore her stripes with pride, deciding it didn’t matter for the time being if she hollered or shed tears or made an exhibition of herself by thrashing about as long as she endured and as long as Andy was content. She would work on her self-control, steel herself to take punishment without all that noise and fuss but it might take time. She wanted to be what he wanted her to be. She imagined perfection in his terms would be an utterly compliant, submissive woman.
    On the websites the subs called the men who dominated them master and she resolved to address Andy in that manner. Perhaps he would then see she wasn’t totally naïve, without any knowledge of the world. Then she hesitated. Should she be taking the initiative on anything? Shouldn’t she wait for his instructions