Arcadia Resurgence by Vague Vermillion (e books free to read txt) 📖

I'll call them..."

I really was in trouble now.

Because you didn't believe me. I could see it in your eyes. You knew that I HADN'T called the clinic. You knew that I was lying to you, even though it was something I had never, ever done before. But you knew. And you just stood there watching me.

I don't know why the lie popped out instead of the truth-the truth you had immediately deciphered and understood. You knew how scared I was about having to call the clinic and make the appointment. And you knew I had simply lost track of time while trying to force myself to actually complete that simple phone call. If I had just confessed my punishment would have been light as a whisper.

I'm afraid of so many simple, silly little things, and you're trying to help me with that.

You don't really understand why I find it so heart stopping to make a simple Doctor's appointment, or speak up when some one charges me too much, or brings me a meal that's not as I asked for, but you don't berate me or look at me with contempt or disgust. Because you understand that I truly am afraid. I'm not weak, not really. There are just some things that are hard for me. 

I didn't lie for any good, real reason-that's the horrible part about this! I knew you weren't going to be really angry with me, knew you would simply arch one aristocratic brow and calmly wait for a quick, succinct explanation-an explanation, not an excuse, because excuses were not accepted or allowed. And then you'd have accepted my equally quick and heartfelt apology.

As for my punishment, you'd probably just have made me call for the next cab we needed, or maybe pay the bill when we lunched together-a "punishment" that would really just be more of the practice that I needed.

So why did I lie to begin with? And why the fuck didn't I bite my tongue and cut off the babbling the minute I realized I knew that you knew? My punishment would have defiantly been worse, because a lie is a lie, and yelping "I take it back!" seconds after the sin, doesn't make the lie go away. But you would have understand that as well, why for that ten, fifteen seconds I'd let that naughty lie lay, and you would have been able to get over your disappointment and forgive me...

I guess I panicked, even knowing you would never hurt me. You startled me. I'd been so in my own world, in my own head, trying to talk myself into being your good girl and doing what you had told me to do, what I had promised you I WOULD do, that when I looked up and you were right THERE, and I saw the anger in your eyes, before it faded into understanding, and the willingness to forgive and move beyond-for a moment I slipped back into being just a little girl lost, regressed just long enough for those lies to spill through trembling lips...

Don't hurt me. Don't hate me. I'm sorry!

And then I just couldn't take it back. Not even back to the first lying and then immediately...taking it back kind of "taking it back".

I had never lied to you, never given you a reason to doubt or wonder. I had angered you many times, especially in our first few months together. I had tried your patience and shied away from giving you total trust. I had been guilty of trying to hide myself, to hold little, deep parts of myself safely secret, but I had never, ever committed the sin of telling a blatant, bold faced lie.

And now I had. Now I had done this horrible, terrible, awful thing and I didn't know how to take it back. I think, maybe a part of me was so panicked that all it could think was...I'll call tomorrow, I'll make the appointment, and if I do that, if I do as you told me to, if I do as I promised...then maybe you won't hate me. Maybe, please God...maybe I won't lose you?

You were still just standing there, looking at me. And even though it felt like hours had passed, I knew it had been no more then just five, ten seconds since my lying lips had stuttered into silence.

"Kitten..."

"I'll call first thing tomorrow morning...to, to check on..."

And you turned your back and walked into the bathroom to start your shower.

"Don't worry about dinner. I'll stop some where." You informed me in a monotone voice.

You showered and were gone, in barely fifteen minutes. And you didn't look at me, or say a single word. And I tried, I tried so hard to find the words, the way to say...I lied, I know you know that I lied and I'm so sorry, just please forgive me.

But I couldn't-and you didn't speak,or even look at me. You just left me like I deserved.

I waited, and I waited...and then I dropped to the soft carpet a broken, boneless, aching wreck and sobbed for hours, biting my wrists to choke the screams that wanted OUT.

You didn't call me,or send me any teasing, sensual text messages.

I spent the night huddled on the couch, wrapped up in a worn, cuddly flannel sheet-even though it was May and already warm, since you never turned the central air on until at least June, you liked to have the windows open, and the house smelling of lilac and cherry blossoms, cut grass and freshly turned soil...

I wondered if this would be my last night ever to spend under your roof.

I thought about just leaving-I hadn't come with much. It would be so easy to just pack what little I'd cared enough about over the years to keep with me and leave, spare you the awkwardness of telling me to get the hell out of your home and life, but...You had told me so many times, touching me in so many ways; your hands cupping my face, your lips breathing it against my throat, my breasts, my pussy...that I belonged to you, that you owned me, that I was yours...and I was. I couldn't leave until you told me to go.

After about six hours I didn't even have enough energy left to cry. My aching dry eyes had no moisture for tears, so I just sat, staring sadly, brokenly...too weary to even think.

When I heard the key turning in the door I froze, startled. It wasn't even three am.

But when the door opened, it was my One standing there, his eyes still blank and frozen. He closed the front door behind him and just stood there, looking at me.

I thought...oh God, I fucked up again! I should have left. I can't do anything right, I never do anything right!

"I'm sorry Sir, I-I lost track of time, I was going to be gone..."

"If I'd had to track you down girl...he begin, his deep, smooth voice almost a snarl, and suddenly, for the first time ever, I WAS afraid of him.

I fought my way free of the clinging flannel sheet and dropped heavily to my knees, just in front of the couch, too frightened and leaden limb'ed to crawl the dozen feet to him, where he stool, still just barely inside the front door.

"Sir!" I blurted. "I lied! I'm so sorry Sir-I didn't call the clinic and I don't know why I lied but..."

"You lied because you were afraid of me. What have I ever done to you to deserve that reaction?" He asked me quietly. "I know your past, but I thought you had begin to trust me. Am I just wasting both our time? Should I just let you go?"

I'd rather he just killed me then that, I thought, and I realized something. I hadn't lied because I was scared of him. It wasn't the anger in his eyes that had made that stupid lie pop out. It was that next fraction of a second when I watched the anger fade into understanding and I'd felt so bad that I hadn't been true to him, and done as I'd been told...that for one idiotic instant, long enough for my tongue to blurt out the words...lying had seemed better then disappointing him.

"I didn't lie because I was afraid of you Sir." I whispered softly. "I lied because I didn't want to disappoint you." I had kept my eyes downcast through my short speech. Normally he wanted me to look at him, because he said my green gold eyes were the most beautiful eyes he's ever seen. He told me I had Fairy eyes, and he liked to watch the blues and grays and ambers that swirled within the olive green band that rimmed my eyes.

When he fucked me, when he took me missionary style, he tangled his fingers in my long ash blond curls to hold my head still and stared down into my eyes, because he said they glittered their purest green gold when my body hit orgasm. He'd had to break me of my habit of closing my eyes when I came, and it hadn't been an easy task. 

He made a funny, choked off sound, almost like he'd strangled a laugh. But when I dared a quick peek, his face was still stern and stiff.

"Do you know how bloody stupid that sounds?" He growled. "You lied to NOT disappoint me? Care to explain how the fuck that makes sense?"

I really did know how stupid that sounded. And to be honest, I really, really did NOT want to try and explain why it had seemed to make sense for that short, insane semi second. But I couldn't exactly say "no Sir I don't care to try and explain."

I could swear fierce fully and forcefully well under my breath for half a second, and spare a moment to remember the days when I'd probably have lost my temper and thrown something-not at anyone of course, but I'd cost Sir the expense of close to half a dozen of the cell phones he'd bought for me, and gained myself a lot of spankings and even worse, torturous hours spent standing in a corner with my feet and nose touching the wall.

I HATE standing still, and I'm not very good at it, even today. But in the beginning, when he would add minutes if I didn't stand perfectly still a five minute "timeout" could turn into five hours, and end with me dropping to curl up bawling in my corner when he finally released me.

I'd try so hard to stand still, you see. Because I WAS always sorry when I'd done wrong. It took him mere weeks to break me of my sneaky habit of trying to talk my way out of punishment because I didn't need that defense with him. His punishments weren't like the ones in my past, that I'd HAD to learn defenses against.

So when he was finally able to release me from the punishment I'd earned for myself-when I'd finally done my penance and earned my forgiveness, I'd curl up and cry because I was ashamed that it had taken so long, that I was so unable to stand still as told, that I had disappointed and wasted all those hours for Sir. I'd sob out choked apologies and he would come to me in my corner and sit down and pull me into his lap, not minding when I bawled soggily and snuffled against the expensive fabrics of his shirt. He'd hold me and run his fingers through my long, tousled curls, kiss the top of my head and whisper that it was OK, it was finished, I was forgiven.

He'd hold me until I was calm enough to become aware of the hard hunger of his erection stiffening powerfully under my bottom, and then he'd whisper to me.

"Does my bad girl want to make daddy feel good?"

I loved it like that. It was almost worth the punishment of standing against the