Chapter Eight
Ewan assures me he’s been in touch with his insurance company and I’m fully covered to drive his car. Even so, the high-end Nissan spends the day lording it in his driveway.
While he’s in Leeds availing himself of the technical wizardry which is my satnav, I keep myself occupied putting the finishing touches to my nursery signage project and exchanging final proofs with the client.
The job is ready to go to print. Soon I’ll be able to issue my first invoice as an independent designer.
It’s been a slow start, but steady enough.
I’ve tendered for three more contracts and I’m feeling really optimistic and determined to make a go of this.
There’s plenty of work out there for a decent designer, competitively priced.
I glance across at the clock. Nearly six. Ewan should be back soon. He said he’d cook, mentioned that thing he does with lamb and rosemary so I expect to be eating well this evening. I return my attention to the screen. Might as well carry on working until he gets home.
The sound of an unfamiliar engine disturbs me, the bite of tyres on gravel outside.
I chuckle to myself as I realise it’s my car.
I don’t usually hear it from here. I close down my computer and head downstairs.
All the while my ears are pricked for the sound of my front door opening.
Ewan has a key, and having parked in my drive, it’s natural he’d come in here first.
I reach my hallway, but the door remains closed. There’s no sign of Ewan.
I open my door and glance outside. Sure enough, my modest little Fiat is parked in its usual spot. I lean out over the step and peer across the hedge in time to see Ewan disappear into his house.
Odd. He usually pops in to say hello even if he then has to go back to his to unload, catch up on emails or whatever.
I have no shoes on otherwise I might follow him straight round to his to make sure everything’s alright.
Instead I head for the kitchen and fill the kettle. I have no doubt he’ll be back soon.
Fifteen minutes later I reach for my phone to text him.
Did you have a good day? Shall I come round?
His response is swift.
No. I’ll come to yours. See you in 10
Ten minutes? He’s already been home for a quarter of an hour. Why does he need another ten minutes? I’m curious, but I top up the teapot with hot water and I wait.
Twelve minutes elapse before the sound of my front door opening and closing alerts me to his arrival. Not that I’m counting, but still, something seems off.
“In here.” I call out to him as I pour his tea. “Did you manage to find the place alright?”
Ewan comes into the room and takes a seat at the table opposite me. He has objects in his hand, which he tosses onto the table with a clatter. They lie there, incongruous, between my teapot and the half-full bottle of milk.
A pair of leather cuffs, and a spanking crop.
I gape at the items before me, then at Ewan. “What? What are these?”
He leans back in his chair, eyeing me in silence for several seconds. Then, “I think we both know what these are.” His tone is ominous, low and quiet, and endowed with a steely quality I find disconcerting.
I have a bad feeling, though why I should be alarmed has yet to be revealed. I don’t doubt though that it won’t be long. I play for time.
“Okay, I know what they are. What I meant was, what are they doing here? On my table?”
“We may need them. Later. First, we need to talk.” If anything, his tone is even cooler. I suppress my involuntary shudder.
“So talk.” I find I resent his clear intention of intimidating me. I tilt my chin in a reckless show of bravado I am far from feeling.
“Okay. I’ll start then. Thank you for the loan of your car. And your satnav.”
Right… “So, you found this place in Leeds then?”
“I did. And while I was putting the trip details into your satnav, the machine came up with a list of your recent journeys.” He pauses, his eyes narrowing. “Sheffield?”
Oh. Shit!
Somehow, in the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind I knew it had to be this. What other connection could I have to cuffs and a leather crop? What I couldn’t work out was how he knew. So simple. So fucking easy. Idiot!
Ewan says no more. He sits across from me, one eyebrow raised in expectation. He seems to be anticipating an explanation. I have none to offer.
Indeed, why should I have to explain? It’s obvious he knows what my destination was in Sheffield, but I had every right to go to a BDSM club if I chose to. It was before he and I started sleeping together. On reflection, maybe I need to make that clear at least.
“Ewan, I know how this could look. But you have to believe me, I haven’t been there in ages. It was before we, before you and I…”
“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 from the 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.”
“I see. That sounds like David. He would never push a sub beyond her limits. He was my mentor, a few years back. That’s one of the things he taught me. To accept boundaries, to respect them.”
I crinkle my brow, bewildered. Was that it? David had recognised my limits without me even telling him?