We fucked after Emily’s punishment. We were making certain assurances to each other. Emily still hurt, and she needed to know and trust that I hadn’t hurt her because I despised her, and she also needed to know that I didn’t think less of her for allowing me to hurt her.
I needed her reassurance just as much, that I hadn’t done a wicked thing, that she still loved me and trusted that I loved her and was vehemently on her side. Our gentleness said that I held Emily in awe, and I thought she was braver, more honourable and desirable than I could have imagined.
Our gentleness said that Emily, somehow, still loved me. So we were comforted and reconciled.
Hours later, Emily slipped out of bed, taking care not to wake me. I hadn’t been asleep. It was after midnight. I heard the toilet flush, but she didn’t return. I listened, thinking of Emily in the house without me.
Was she unhappy? If she was unhappy, why didn’t she come to me? She must be brooding, thinking bitter thoughts. Bitter thoughts about me. I told myself this was paranoid and self-obsessed, and to relax. I lasted, sane, for about a minute. Then I got up.
She drew on a cigarette, her breasts and arms resting on the balcony wall, absently gazing down at the ribbons of car headlights and the nightworld below. She hadn’t noticed my arrival.
I gazed admiringly at the welts I’d given her, which were now a darker red with some black where the last couple of strokes had crossed.
So long as Emily was pleased with this, then I could be proud of giving it. I thought those marks were utterly beautiful and headily sexy. Politics could wait.
Emily sensed me behind her and glanced back. With no time to compose her face she looked pleased by my presence. My heart lifted. A second later she made a guilty grab at her cigarette pack, then stopped. I’d seen it. But I’d never told her to stop smoking. I’d only advised it. We spoke simultaneously. I said, “you look lovely”, which was true but boring, and Emily said, “I suppose you’ll make me stop smoking, now.”
I knew her well enough to know she’d probably like to kneel and suck my cock, at that moment. That would let her feel she was serving, she was so owned.
But I wanted out bodies to be pushed closer than that. I was going to fuck her from behind, bending over that balcony, and that was probably going to hurt her hotly welted ass. At least, in that moment, I hoped so.