Retrospection Ch. 04

She abandoned her "room" under the stairs that night, returning to the couch in the parlor, where she'd been deposited upon her arrival. He had multiple guest rooms upstairs, but when his current visitor had been dumped on him unexpectedly he'd initially been naturally suspicious, having no desire to provide her with the freedom to roam around his upstairs refuge unsupervised. The master bedroom was situated not far from the entry way and the parlor was easily visible from the main living area, thus allowing him to monitor her coming and going.

The move back to the couch was of her own volition, much as her transition to the room under the stairs had been after he'd released her from her brief confinement. It had to be a more comfortable option than a camping mattress, but after her confinement when she'd become silently insistent about heading down the stairs every evening he'd simply shrugged and allowed her to have her way. He'd been momentarily caught off guard when she'd bypassed the stairs after he'd bid her goodnight the prior evening, but again had said nothing about the change. He had, however, been hyper aware of her closeness when he'd finally left the living room and gone to bed himself. As a result, he had slept restlessly and woke earlier than usual to prepare their breakfast.

She said nothing as she passed through the kitchen as usual to the larger guest bathroom on the main floor to prepare for her day. He'd returned the silence and focused on the frying bacon. As was the usual routine, she wandered in and sat down only when the breakfast was plated and left at her usual self-selected spot--as far away from his chair at the head of the table as possible without actually being directly across from him.

Usually she ate fairly quickly, but this morning she did little more than shove the food around on her plate. He'd watched passively, wondering if she ultimately would bring up the bath or if--more likely he thought--she would simply pretend it had never occurred. When she finally spoke it was with determination.

"I want to leave."

That caught him by surprise. Not the wanting it, but the voicing of that want.

"Oh?"

He didn't say anything more, simply waiting for further demands.

"You said you don't keep unwilling women captive. I am not willing. So you should let me go."

Her reasoning was fairly on point, but he certainly wasn't going to just let her stroll out the front door and disappear. There was too much unsaid between them to even consider letting her just walk out. Even so, he didn't have the heart to simply refuse her outright.

"Okay, I will get my keys. And where am I taking you?"

She hadn't anticipated his assenting, and when he gave it the reality hit her abruptly. She had nowhere to go. She certainly couldn't return to her step-father's home. Though she was an adult she'd never experienced any form of independence, thus there was nothing she could do to stop him from simply pimping her out to the next bastard who offered him cold, hard cash. She had no friends and few associates. Her younger sister, more confident than her in many ways, had left the home months before the moment she'd turned eighteen. Frankly, she doubted anyone beyond her mother had noticed she was gone. Most likely, her mother would have fallen back to the bottle once again, blocking out the reality that she preferred middle-class comfort enough that she was willing to trade her daughters' well-being to make sure she kept her place in her current husband's household.

He didn't miss her silence, nor did he comment on it. Beyond the sound of his chewing the silence was deafening. When he was finished with his own plate he took hers from in front of her as well, placing them both in the sink. Then he walked out the back door towards the paddock, leaving the girl alone with her thoughts.

-----

She waited until he was nearly out of sight, noting he didn't as much as glance over his shoulder. When she was confident he wasn't paying her any attention she slipped out the door, following his steps to the paddock. Finding an old electrical spool not far from the fence line, she rolled it over and sat down, observing the activity in the field in front of her.

Jon had just come out of the barn, meeting up with the stallion as he paced in the field. He approached the nervous creature from the side, slowly and casually. The horse spooked and raced across the paddock, the rush of air as he passed by thrust Jon's cowboy hat from his head. But he remained completely unflustered.

She watched as he moved towards the magnificent stallion, and away again. The attunement between the man and the animal was unquestionable; Jon seemed to know instantly when the horse had reached his limit and would obligingly back away. The dance continued, unhurried, until the halter had been slipped over the horse's head and knotted. The stallion flung his head back and forth a time or two, backed away and then moved over toward the fence and began grazing as if nothing had changed.

Jon backed away from him casually and leaned up against the fence beside her.

"You can come in now if you're calm and slow. He's settling in. More than I can say for some."

The girl ignored his invitation. Settling wasn't high on her list of things she was wanting to do in the moment.

"You know, Midnight is a wild horse. They round them up every few years. Government says they overgraze the land and they need to control the herds. Reality is the cattle are the issue. But the horses don't pay rent. It's a crime, really. A creature this magnificent and strong doesn't deserve life in captivity. But it's this, or the slaughterhouse. Personally I think this is the better option."

His monologue was just that--she refused to give him even the slightest response. As familiar with the ways of women as he was with horses, Jon didn't bemoan the point. He simply shrugged, grabbed his hat from where it sat in the dirt and headed back to the house, simply yelling over his shoulder as he retreated.

"Sometimes the best solution is the direct result of choosing the least worst option".

-----

She hated him. Truth hurt, and she'd already faced many painful truths. Adding yet another was simply cruel. She was trapped---not by the nature of her location, but by a few simple words.

Despite being trapped, he'd clearly turned the table and forced her to acknowledge her choice in the matter. She had nowhere to go--but she was free to leave. Choices were unfamiliar in her world, where secrets and lies thrived under ugly masks, their existence fueled by sheer desperation.

---

She walked back towards the house dejectedly. Slipping quietly through the door she entered the dining area cautiously, hoping to be unnoticed. It wasn't difficult--her reluctant host was nowhere in sight.

She wandered towards the large island separating the common living area from the kitchen, lightly running her fingers over the granite countertop. Walking the full circle around the island nonchalantly, she noted the rack of tea cups, the glistening silver utensil holder, the clear glass of the cupboards where the pristine China plates were neatly stacked. She felt nothing as she looked around at the niceties.

Then, suddenly, the numbness and the nightmares morphed into something else altogether... and she snapped.

The utensils went first, the entire container flung tempestuously across the room. The tea cups next, the entire stand relegated to the floor with one sweep of an arm. The crash as several shattered was invigorating and furthered her drive for destruction. She'd just opened the cupboard and was flinging the plates across the room, one at a time like frisbees, when he came rushing down the stairs towards her.

He paused on the landing, evaluating the situation regardfully. His presence slowed the frantic mess, but didn't melt the ice around her aching heart. Intentionally, she continued working towards her task of eradicating his dinnerware.

After performing an initial assessment, he planned a path that took him away from the platter projectiles. Walking cautiously around the counter, he watched her demeanor with unbidden concern. As he approached her from behind she dropped the plate in her hand and stood listlessly, awaiting her fate.

He swept her into his arms and carried her carefully over the broken glass, depositing her heedfully on the couch. She collapsed beneath the weight of her pain and fear.

"I'm sorry... I'msorry... sorry..."

Her words slurred and were lost within her racking sobs. He simply sat down and wrapped his arms around her.

"Shhh... breathe pet. Nothing is harmed that can't be replaced. Just breath, baby. Come on, breathe for me."

It took coaxing and prodding as the anguish slowly diminished and then dwindled into nothing, her body sagging exhaustedly into his arms when there was nothing left but weariness and regret.

He held her without hesitation, gently rubbing her back until her breathing was steady again. Finally, he spoke.

"Look at me pet. Do I look angry?"

She turned her head, refusing to look him in the eye. He firmly gripped her chin in his hand and tilted her head towards him.

"Do I look angry?"

Finally, she complied and shook her head.

"Good girl. I'm not angry. I promised you I will never harm you, and I won't ever risk breaking that promise by disciplining you when I am angry. Do you understand?"

Reluctantly, she nodded her head.

"I also won't ever punish you for your feelings. You are in an overwhelming situation; it is entirely understandable if your feelings are overwhelming. You can cry, scream, rant and rave, whatever it takes to express them. We can talk about them and find healthy outlets. I don't care if you just need to curl up and cry. But you will not hold those feelings in until you have no other outlet but destruction, because bottling things up is self destructive and I will not tolerate you harming yourself. Are we clear?"

Again, she nodded.

"I know you've just let a lot of those emotions out. But you're still holding the rest in, and you know it. Your nodding and agreeing, and yet still internally beating yourself up for losing control. Am I wrong?"

This time she refused to acquiesce.

"I'm not wrong, and you know it. So I am going to punish you. Again, not because I am upset with you or your actions; because you aren't going to be able to let it go until you've been sufficiently disciplined. I am going to give you a hand spanking, hard, until you cry. And then you are going to tell me if it's enough. Understood?"

She refused to nod, but stopped resisting and allowed herself to sink closer into his body--the action speaking louder than words.

He gently flipped her over his knee and drew her shorts down to her knees. He gave her a few moments to prepare herself, gently and calmly rubbing her bottom. Finally, he determined she was prepared enough for him to begin.

He started with a gradual warm up, but it wasn't long before the blows were raining down with full force on her tender cheeks. It also wasn't long before her tears started again, more angry than anguished this time. She squirmed and cried, but not enough to convince him she was truly accepting her emotions. He was unrelenting in his demands and continued until he was certain she wasn't holding back. At last, he stopped and went back to rubbing her back for a few minutes.

"Is it enough?"

He fully expected another defiant nod, and was completely prepared to let her off his lap. She hesitated, and the quick shake of her head caught him by surprise. Not enough to throw him out of his role.

"Fine. Stand up."

She struggled to her feet, hobbled by the shorts around her knees, but ended up standing in front of him, eyes staring down at his feet pensively.

He nodded towards the shorts.

"Take them off."

Her cheeks flushed as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband and drew them to the floor, stepping out of them hesitantly.

"Reach your arms up."

She did as he ordered and he stood, walking around her. He grasped the bottom of the shirt fit loosely over her small frame, lifting it over her head and yanking it determinedly over her arms. He dropped it on the floor next to the shirts and gave her butt a good whack, drawing a sudden yelp out of the girl.

"To the bedroom."

He pointed, and she complied without complaint. As they entered the room he moved to the nightstand where his implements from the evening before sat scattered. With clear intent he lay them each out on the bed, one next to each other--the crop, paddle and strap neatly lying in a straight line before her.

"Pick one."

She tensed in surprise, and he thought for a moment she would refuse, but then her hand moved slowly toward the bed. She picked up the paddle and grasped it in her hand with a white knuckled grip. He moved behind her, reaching around and taking it from her grasp.

"Bend over."

His hand guided her naked body over the edge of the bed. He paused for a moment to stroke her back, running his fingers down the area between her shoulder blades, before pushing her down firmly into the mattress.

"You will tell me when it's enough. It's your choice. Do you understand?"

She nodded her head in response, and he truly hoped she did understand. This was her act of remission, her payment for her sins. But more importantly, a step towards overcoming her victim mindset. A step towards taking back the control she hadn't experienced in so very long.

WHACK

He started out strong.

WHACK, WHACK, WHACK

The girl didn't just cry, she howled. As the blows rang down she screamed. As they continued screaming turned into curses, kicking and pounding the bed with her fists as she wailed. He eased up in the intensity of each blow.

"Tell me when it's enough."

Still, she screamed and twisted, but never once begged or demanded he stop. He eased up further, striking firmly but not hard, carefully choosing his aim. Still, she didn't yield and end the onslaught altogether. Eventually she buried her face in the mattress and the sobs began anew, but still she didn't concede. Finally, he dropped the paddle.

"It's enough pet. It's enough."

His voice was soft, calming. He sat on the bed next to her, the mattress sinking under his weight, and gently ran his hands over her body. The heat from the welts warmed his fingers as he trailed them gently back and forth. Finally, he settled his hand on her back and rubbed soothingly, shushing her gently.

She lay limp, the sobs continuing endlessly until his own arms began to ache from leaning over her. Instinctively, he kicked his shoes off his feet and lay down next to her on the bed. She shifted into fetal position and he lay still, leaving plenty of space between their bodies. But the space didn't last. Without hesitance she pushed herself back against him, forcing herself into his arms.

He was briefly taken aback, but his surprise didn't last for long. He pulled at the comforter on the bed, wrapping it around her body. When she was firmly entwined in the blankets he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms tightly around her and holding her as she cried unrestrained. It seemed as if time stilled while he lay with her in his arms. Finally the tears stopped. He pulled back and she muttered her objections, pushing back into him insistently, almost frantically.

"Shh pet... I am not leaving. Just fetching the cream. I will be right back."

He brushed the hair from her face as he stepped to the nightstand, digging inside the drawer for the small tube.

He lay down again next to her, drawing the blankets around her allowing her to spoon next to him. Filling his hand with lotion, he gently slathered it upon her butt cheeks, tenderly rubbing it in. She moaned and pushed back against him; he again filled his palm and applied the cream with tender, teasing strokes.

Her breaths deepened and she pushed back with even more intensity. He drew her head upwards towards her ear as his fingers inched downward.

"Do you want more pet?"

She panted and threw her head back and in that moment words were unnecessary. His fingers found her warm center and he stroked and teased, gently but persistently, until she bucked against him in response. Juices coated his fingers, making them slip easily into her depths. He stroked her internally, rubbing his thumb fervently against her clit. He felt her body tense internally around his fingers, externally as she pushed against his torso with all her might, the explosion rushing through her body. At last, the convulsions passed and she lay spent in his arms.

He waited, unhurried, until her breathing had stilled. When he was confident she'd worn herself out enough to actually fall asleep he gently slipped away. He bent down and, instinctively, kissed her on the forehead.

----

He pondered that act as he swept the shards of glass into a dustpan. He'd trained dozens of submissive women, molding them into the most desirable forms of themselves. He was inherently dominant, training a woman to kneel at his feet had come as naturally as breathing. He'd have them wrapped around his arm, kissing him passionately one minute and their mouths wrapped around his cock the next, with simply a snap of his fingers. Never... not once... had he kissed a woman on the forehead. He'd also never swept up after a woman. So why was he on his knees now doing just that?

---

The young man circled the horse cautiously, whispering calming reassurances as the horse jerked at the lead held in the hands of the older man, mounted securely on his own steed.

"Hold up boy,"

The younger man nodded in deference to his mentor, quickly stepping away as the horse reared up. The other steed pulled back, tightening the lead, and the frightened gelding instantly halted in response. Back and forth the dance went, the young man approaching, each time pushing a little further before backing away, allowing the other mount to tighten the lead, calming the new equine. At times the young man became inpatient.

"Slow, boy. Don't rush 'er. She will give in when you have earned the right to mount her. Trust can't be hurried."

Finally, the young man mounted. The horse stamped its hooves nervously, but gave in to the new experience of a rider's weight on her back.

"Shh girl... I've got you."

Patience was the lesson learned that day. It was a critical lesson the young man wouldn't ever forget.

----