He wanted her to punish Chrissie.
Eleanor took a deep breath, and looked around the room. She only been in here a couple of times before, when she’d been ‘exceptionally errant,’ and she’d never had this vantage point before. She remembered the cupboards, but when she was in here with him, there was only the one at the front opened: the one that contained crops, paddles and whips. Here, now, he’d opened all of the cupboards. One cupboard had restraints and clamps in, another dildos of varying size, another had what looked like medical equipment, and one had what looked like electrical equipment in it.
Eleanor looked at Chrissie. She was angry. She went for what was familiar. She went and got one of the crops. The whips she didn’t think she could handle, and the paddles wouldn’t sting as much, so she choose a long crop with a small end.
She looked down at Chrissie in disgust; Chrissie just looked up at her, her eyes wide. Eleanor walked back behind Chrissie, ready to thrash her. She placed the end of the crop against Chrissie’s naked bottom.
How dare she!
She pressed it a little harder against Chrissie.
How dare she!
She closed her eyes.
How. Dare. She.
Chrissie had pushed her way into her time with him, and here she was now, naked in front of him.
She raised her arm, readying to strike Chrissie, to punish her for being here. For taking his attention from her. For interfering. She was going to make Chrissie pay for it all.
The times Eleanor had wished he’d strip her off, and run his fingers over her, punish her, lust after her. But she dressed appropriately at all times for him. He had her wear a slip once, but that was the closest she’d been to naked with him.
Eleanor opened her eyes; he sat in a chair in the corner, head tilted to one side, saying nothing. The ticking of the grandfather clock echoed around the room. Eleanor stood there, arm in the air still brandishing the crop.
If she’d have known what it would have taken, she would have done it. To turn up in heavy makeup, short skirt and low cut dress. If she’d have known, she would have done it. She’d wanted to be where Chrissie was now. Naked. In front of him. Offering herself to him, to do with as he pleased.
But he never told her. He never talked about his feelings. He never said what he’d like her to do, only ever how things should be done.
She looked down at Chrissie, lowered her arm, and then looked back at him; he just watched Eleanor, saying nothing. Her anger turned to him; she’d done everything correctly, precisely, absolutely as it should be done, and all he ever wanted a hussy, a tart, a whore.
She raised her arm again, and threw the crop at him. Infuriatingly, he reached up and caught it in one hand, without shifting in his chair. Eleanor ran out of his flat, and raced down the stairs. She knew he wouldn’t call after her, it wasn’t the ‘done’ thing.
How dare he!
She was glad of the rain outside; it hid her tears and hurt from the strangers in the street. She wanted to crawl up in a corner and cry, but all she could do was bottle it up until she got home.
How dare he!
There were six missed calls on the phone when she arrived back, all from Chrissie. She didn’t want to listen to her excuses, so she just deleted them, switched the phone off, and went to bed.
How! Dare! He!
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