Chapter 17

Kitty 

I woke groggy and hungover. 

I was fairly certain I hadn’t been drinking. 

But just like with a hangover, it was a struggle collect my memory from the previous evening. 

I groaned my semi-consciousness, as I rolled onto my back. 

“Fuck!” I screeched and Astrid bolted upright looking around, panicked.

“What?! What happened?” she turned to scan me up and then down. 

“Oh,” Astrid calmed, “Still sore, are we?”

I nodded with grit teeth.

She relaxed her shoulders and slumped back. 

“I would apologise, but you deserved it.”

“I know, Miss,” I grumbled, “but fuck me…” 

“Perhaps some tea first?” she didn’t miss a beat and looked around to her bedside table at two 

mugs of what I presumed was tea. 

She picked up one, brought it to her lips, and then lowered it with a frown. 

“Cold,” she complained and looked at me, “I made it earlier for both of us, but you were asleep.” 

“That was kind of you, Miss.” 

“Uh huh,” she agreed, “But now you’re awake…”

She picked up the second mug and handed them both to me 

“Yes, Miss,” I received them, still trying to shake off the fogginess and sore backside.

“Um…” I paused, looked down at the bed, with both mugs held.

“Problem?”

“Um… ” I said again, trying to figure out how I might manoeuvre my bottom across the bed with 

my hands full. 

Astrid looked at me, her expression placid. 

She did this on purpose

“No, Miss,” I answered.

“Good,” Astrid smiled gently and lay back down. 

I winced in preparation and tried to scootch as carefully as I could, but it was as terrible as I thought it might be. 

I moaned when I couldn’t avoid leaning on the most painful spots. 

Astrid lay with her eyes shut, quite relaxed. 

I could have laughed at the scene, if I wasn’t so sore. 

I managed to get to my feet and stiffly walked to the kitchen, my arse aching with each step. 

When I came back with the mugs, Astrid was sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard. 

I walked to her side and handed her a mug. 

She nodded her appreciation and I turned to walk back to the other side of the bed. 

“Stay there a second, would you?” 

“Yes, Miss?” I stood still next to her side of the bed, facing away from her. She traced a finger 

gently over the curve of my bottom. Her short nail made me shiver as it bumped over each of my stripes.

Astrid withdrew her finger, “Thank you, Kitty.”

“Nnnnhh… yes, Miss,” I curtseyed and walked back to my side of the bed, shaking my head. 

I sat very carefully and reclined next to Astrid, who was quietly sipping her now warm tea. 

I sipped my own and we were quiet. 

“So…” I tried. 

“Yes.”

“About last night.”

“Yes?”

I turned to face Astrid, who was looking ahead. 

“Astrid?”

She turned to look at me. 

She was shaken. 

I could see it in her frightened eyes and the crease in her brow above them.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” I insisted

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

She opened her mouth and closed it again before looking away.

“You said you loved me too.” 

“I…” Astrid paused, “do.”

“I wasn’t expecting to say it, but it slipped out,” I explained, “and… well, I’m glad it did.” 

Astrid looked at me again, her face pained. 

“Why is this so hard for you?” I asked, “It’s usually me that’s the emotional disaster, insecure and 

unsure.”

Astrid glanced away.

“Shit, sorry Miss,” I scrambled, “I don’t mean you’re a disaster… fuck, that came out all wrong.”

I exhaled hard, “I… I meant I’m sorry this is hard for you.”

She looked at me softly. 

“I’m sorry,” she hung her head. 

“Yes, Miss?” 

“Not for caning you,” she looked up and said firmly, “and we aren’t done talking about what you did and how you won’t be doing it again… But, I… I’m sorry this is hard for me, it’s just…”

“It’s okay,” I offered but she waved me down.

“I’m… scared.”

I just wanted to bundle her up, like she did me the night before.

“I understand,” I held back. 

“Just… give me a little… time,” she begged, and then, pained, “I do love you… I’m in love with you.”

I reached a hand over to hers, to offer comfort but also to steady myself. 

She accepted it and smiled tightly.

The rest of the morning was oddly quiet. 

Astrid lazily stroked my hair as we both dozed a while longer. 

Eventually, she kissed my forehead and moved to get up. 

I watched her walk into the bathroom and suddenly I was alone. 

I sat up gingerly when I heard the shower start. 

I looked around the room and saw Astrid’s clothes on the chair by the vanity, the ones she had worn and the ones I had borrowed. 

The previous night felt like an odd, hazy, dream. 

All I had to do was shift my bottom and I would get an instant reminder of how real it had been. 

I had told her I loved her. 

The memory of which felt unreal, despite the confirmation of our conversation in the morning. 

What had made me say it?

Other than it was true?

It had indeed slipped out. 

The look on Astrid’s face when it did though. 

She was horrified. 

Reflecting on that didn’t sit well at all.

I tried to think instead about how I was feeling about my punishment. 

It had left a deep sense of peacefulness. 

The anxiety, which had been so acute the night before, had dissipated entirely with the caning. 

The guilt too had diminished, but wasn’t entirely gone. 

It was hard to consider, however, because I kept thinking how I told her I loved her. 

But what does that mean?

And what did she mean by needing time?

Had something changed now between us?

Because I said I loved her and she said it too?

Or because I had disobeyed her?

Or both?

I fidgeted with the bedspread and looked to the bathroom door. 

I wanted to sit in there with her, but that felt desperate or strange. 

I could kneel by the bathtub, I thought, Maybe she would like that?

Just a month prior, such a thought would have been beyond bizarre. 

Was it all going too fast after all? 

Astrid had said we should just go for it. And I wanted to do just that. 

But my doubts and second-guessing were getting the better of me. So much so, I didn’t notice Astrid coming in with her hair up in a towel. 

“Are you alright?” she startled me out of my world of worry. 

“Oh!” I jerked up and immediately regretted it, “Ah! Fuck!”

Astrid cocked her head and raised an eyebrow.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I continued to explete, “Fuck… sorry… yes, I think so. I mean other than…” 

Astrid continued to look inscrutable. I couldn’t tell if she was about to laugh or tell me off.

“I mean, yes Miss, I’m fine, Miss,” I decided against complaining about the literal pain in my arse. 

This seemed to have been the correct choice, as she nodded, smiled, and walked to the wardrobe.

“Did you bring a change of clothes?” she tossed her towel onto the bed and started to browse the 

hanging garments. 

“Ah…” I hadn’t even considered thinking ahead about that.

Clothing was so much of an afterthought usually, that I almost purposefully tried to ignore it until it was absolutely necessary. 

“Oh dear,” Astrid looked at me with no hint of derision, “I guess you could borrow something.” 

I opened my mouth to protest, but didn’t think I had any grounds to. 

“Yes, Miss…” I answered instead, “Thank you, Miss.”

She looked at me oddly, “You don’t have to wear a three-piece suit if you don’t want to.”

“Yes, Miss, thank you Miss” I answered more brightly, trying to shake off the discomfort, deciding it must have been because of the previous evening. 

“I’m sure I have something in here that isn’t super formal,” she smiled, but then added, “I think.”

I nodded. 

“You don’t have to wear what you did last night,” she added softly. 

“Thank you,” I hung my head.

“Hey,” Astrid drew my gaze back to her. She was leaning forward and looking at me intently, “Two things. One, you’ve been punished, it’s over now. That’s how it works. We will correct the behaviour, but your disobedience has been dealt with. I don’t hold grudges. You need to let that go and trust I have let it go too.”

I wondered if that really was the case. She had been so hurt the night before. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to make sure you don’t do it again and I hope the caning will be a lingering memory. At the very least for the next week or so whenever you sit down.”

A week?! I screamed in my mind.

“Yes, Miss,” I panicked at the prospect of presenting at the department the following week with my arse still on fire.

“And two,” Astrid leaned further forward on the bed and lifted the duvet off my legs, “You really have to stop forgetting my title.”

And she slapped the front of my thigh. 

“Ow! Fuck…” I yelped. 

Astrid looked at me expectantly.

“Shit.. yes, Miss,” I grimaced. 

“Better,” she smiled warmly, “Now, go have a shower, while I find something for you to wear.” 

“Yes, Miss,” I smiled too, feeling slightly calmer.

I got out of bed carefully and walked into the bathroom. 

I started the shower, trying to adjust the taps to make the mix tepid to save my stripes. 

I washed my bottom as carefully as I could but it still felt raw when the water flowed over it. 

After the shower, I cleaned and reapplied my collar. 

I looked in the mirror above the sink and saw a tired but not unwell me staring back. I also had an unobstructed view of the other, filigree, mirror hanging in the corner of the bathroom. 

In the reflection, I saw a series of thin red parallel lines crossing the breadth of my arse and upper thighs, curving over the cheeks, disappearing before reaching my right flank. Dark red patches had formed between and around some of the tracks, and I figured they were what was so painful when I sat. 

Fuck, it had hurt, and still did. 

I sighed, trying to do as Astrid had told me and let it go. 

But the uneasy feeling lingered, and it was hard to put my finger on exactly what it was.

Astrid

I put on my burgundy calf-length frock with the long sleeves. It was a favourite and had been a real find on one of my Camden circuits of the charity stores. With a pair of stockings, it was warm enough for colder days by itself. 

For Kitty, I considered something not too stiff and distinct enough from what she had chosen the night before. 

I never used clothing to shame, including what I insisted was worn for punishment, but I also knew how outfits could get associated with certain experiences. And Kitty seemed to still be struggling with her disobedience. 

In truth, so was I. 

I told Kitty it was done and to let go. Which is how it was supposed to be with punishment. 

Once it was done it was done. 

And that was supposed to be cathartic for both submissive and Dominant. 

But the feeling lingered. 

I was disappointed in Kitty. 

Worried. 

And then she told me she loved me. 

I was supposed to be fucking ecstatic about that. 

But it had left me worrying more. 

I shook my head. I needed to forge ahead like we agreed. Take her in hand. 

Every time I disciplined Kitty, she responded well, so that’s what I would do. 

And if Kitty was behaving and feeling well, then by extension, I was sure I would start to relax too. 

I picked out some underwear, a pair of socks and a simple blue collared shirt I thought would look nice with Kitty’s jeans. 

I had laid them out on the bed when she came back from the bathroom. I turned and was struck by how stunning she was standing there, naked, damp, and wearing just my collar. 

“Are you okay, Miss?”

“Yes,” I exhaled, “I just… you’re beautiful.”

She seemed taken aback, but then smiled.

“Thank you, Miss.”

I cast my eyes down. This was getting excruciating. 

“I… I picked out something,” I gestured to the bed, “Is that alright for you?”

Kitty craned her head to look over my shoulder and visibly relaxed. 

“Yes, Miss,” she answered, “thank you.” 

I nodded. 

“Then get dressed and come join me in the kitchen, so we can plan our day.” 

“Yes, Miss,” Kitty curtseyed and I left her to it.

I couldn’t shake my disquiet as I made toast. 

What was going on? 

Fuck. 

Just be strict, I told myself.

Kitty joined me as I was retrieving jam from the almost empty fridge. 

“I hope strawberry’s alright?” I waved it to Kitty behind me, “I seem to be running a little low on… well, everything else.”

“Yes, Miss,” Kitty replied and I turned to see her standing by the table, rakish in my blue shirt tucked into her trousers. 

“Glad to hear it,” I pulled myself together, before turning back to the fridge and peering in, “I’m, uh, going to have to figure out some provisions since we’re both here for the weekend.”

“Oh, I could get those,” she offered stepping behind me to peer into the fridge over my shoulder, “I mean, you are having me over. It seems only fair.”

It didn’t seem fair for her to buy us both food but I was also getting very close to flat-broke. And with taking the day off, I was going to be getting paid less that week.

“Alright,” I answered warily feeling ever so slightly crowded with Kitty so close, “Thank you. That would be nice.” 

I closed the fridge, and exhaled as I stepped away from Kitty.

She watched me as a I scanned the room quickly, finding what I was looking for on the counter 

and brought it and the jam to the table. 

I smiled at Kitty as I put down the jam, but held onto the wooden spoon I had retrieved with it. 

“Hand.”

“Miss?” she looked surprised, and then winced, “Your title, Miss…”

I nodded and she held out her hand. 

I reached forward and gently turned it over to face palm up. 

“Like this, darling,” I said as kindly as I could, picking up her other hand and lifting it up to cup the first, “You hold out one hand and brace it with the other, like this.”

She kept her hands in place obediently.

“Make sure your fingers are straight, don’t curl them upwards,” I continued and smoothed out the soft fingers of the exposed of her two hands, “That’s important.”

“Yes, Miss.” 

“Good.”

I released her hands, which she now held out in front of her with bent elbows, one palm outstretched, supported by the other. 

I stepped back and lifted the spoon and looked her in the eyes. 

She remained still but looked back nervously but bravely. 

I tried to soften my expression before slapping the spoon down sharply but not hard onto her outstretched palm. 

The satisfying crack was followed by a sharp intake of breath from Kitty, but she didn’t pull back.

“Change hands, darling.”

“Yes, Miss,” she withdrew her hands, shook her punished palm before placing it underneath the other and holding them out again. 

I whipped the spoon again but not viciously. Just enough to make the point. 

Kitty exhaled as it connected but didn’t yelp. 

“Good girl, you can lower them and sit.”

“Yes, Miss. Thank you, Miss,” and she curtseyed. 

I nodded, and sat, shortly followed by Kitty who sighed, but not unhappily.

I was glad to see my instincts were correct. She did so much better with structure. 

And I felt better too. 

More myself. 

More in control.

I spread butter and jam onto toast and watched Kitty do the same. 

Feeling more playful, I finished spreading and laid my toast on the plate, just curious to see how she would do. 

She was preoccupied with her task, tongue ever so slightly stuck out of the side of her mouth in concentration. I noted how neatly she tried to spread the butter on the full breadth of the toast, and then do the same with the jam. 

She finished, raised the toast to her mouth, and just in time locked eyes with me. 

It was like a cartoon moment, her freeze-frame, staring at me open mouthed. 

My cheeks tightened into the grin I had been suppressing. 

Kitty blushed furiously and lowered her sandwich. 

I had to laugh. 

“Well done,” I said, feeling I had veered a little into the torture side of things, so picked up my toast and crunched it to let the poor dear off the hook. 

She raised her eyes and laughed too, this time, not awkwardly. 

We ate and chatted, and things felt more usual. Kitty was animated and sweet. I felt the tightness in my chest release slightly.

When breakfast was done, we moved into the living room with a mug of tea each. 

With the armrest to my back, I lay my feet in her lap.

“So today, darling, we have a bit of time before we go to ‘Lips, assuming you still want to go?”

“Oh, yes Miss,” she sipped her tea. 

“I am happy to hear it, but there is a slight issue of what you could wear.”

“Ah. Yes. I hadn’t thought of that, Miss.”

“You could be naked, I suppose.” 

Kitty almost spat out her tea causing me to guffaw.

“Oh darling!” I coughed, “I had no idea you were so modest.”

She glared at me.

“Now, now, don’t be grumpy, I promise I won’t make you go naked,” I soothed but still giggled, “I do have something in mind that isn’t quite nude but does allow me all the access I will need for the evening.”

Kitty raised a sceptical eyebrow. 

I sipped my tea. 

“But in the meantime, there is a discussion we do need to have,” I changed the subject reluctantly, 

“Regarding your working practices.” 

Kitty grew pensive. 

“You will not work after 9 again, without express and explicit permission, do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Good,” I said, “But for the next two weeks, I expect a phone call from you every evening at 9pm or earlier to say you have stopped working.”

“Yes, Miss.” Kitty hung her head.

“Unless you are with me of course,” I added, “And to that, I expect you to be here with me no less than twice a week. Is that manageable?”

“Yes Miss,” she seemed less stricken by that instruction.

“You need to tell me if that isn’t possible, or let me know well in advance if there is to be an issue.”

“Yes, Miss,” she shifted to hold my feet gently in a way I really liked. 

“On one weekly visit, you will be in high protocol at least part of the time, and I will also discipline you,” I explained, “Not punish. Discipline.”

Kitty nodded, “Yes, Miss.”

“And the other, we will spend time like this, cuddling, chatting, dating, seeing the families, going to 

‘Lips, that sort of thing.”

“I would like that, Miss,” she said sweetly. 

“I would too,” I softened, “But we are also going to be adding some more rules.”

She sat up straighter.

“Curtseying is now part of our every day, when we are in private at least,” I instructed, “and I will be holding you to the highest standard from now on.”

She swallowed but didn’t complain.

“Which means, I won’t be letting little errors slip anymore,” I continued, “I expect you to know the rules and follow them to the letter. And I will be disciplining slips each and every time.”

“Yes, Miss,” Kitty said, and I couldn’t tell if she was nervous or just very alert.

“How does that feel?”

Kitty considered it for a moment, “It sounds good, Miss.” 

“You like the idea?”

Kitty thought again before replying in a way that surprised me, even if I had suspected, “Yes, I think I would very much like it, Miss.”

“Why is that?”

She paused, “I really want the rules, I want to know what I can and can’t do. It feels good, and it feels right. And it makes me feel…”

She searched the walls for the right word.

“... happy.”

My heart skipped.

“Me too,” I let go, “Very happy.”

I reached over and kissed her, to stop from admitting more. I lingered on her lips before pulling away to look into her eyes.

“Um… yes,” I leaned back, “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

She nodded and smiled softly.

The rest of the day was calm and quite lovely. 

We cuddled for a while and then lunched at a local caf. 

Being a Friday lunchtime, it was packed. But the bustle of locals always made me happy. 

Dalston was a vibrant part of the city, people from everywhere, friendly and boisterous for the most part. 

Kitty looked a little out of her element, but still adorable in her pensive politeness as we ordered and ate. 

She paid for our meal before we went home via the corner shop. 

We picked out noodles and spices, some of which Kitty confessed she had never heard of. I 

guided us to pasta and sauces and Kitty picked out bread, cheese, and pickle. 

Our basket was laden by the time we added a big bag of crisps to the top and a chocolate cake. 

I told her we needed sugar and salt for after our visit to ’Lips that night, which had made her eyes grow wide. 

I grinned at her, and all felt right with the world.

By the time we went to ‘Lips, we had settled into an easy rapport. 

She had been remembering my title and curtseying, and managed to stay as cheeky as ever. I started to feel like perhaps things were going to be alright after all. 

“I’m going to pack a bag for tonight,” I told Kitty after tea and biscuits, “Put these on and no peeking in the bedroom until I’m done.”

I handed her a pair of black high-leg panties and a matching sheer sports-bra. She looked at me quizzically.

“Under your clothes,” I explained, “At least until we get to the club.”

“Ah,” she replied with some, but limited, comprehension, “Yes, Miss.”

She seemed unsure of the garments as she held them up to inspect.

“You’ll be fine, it’s just so I can have access to you,” I said, “plus it meets the dress-code, you know, basic black.”

“This certainly is very basic, Miss.”

I laughed as I walked into the bedroom to prepare my bag and slip into something more appropriate for the evening. I left off the corset for once as I needed to be mobile for what I had planned. I went with a looser fitting black dress with a cowl neck. It wasn’t a favourite for going out, but it would do for what I needed. I pulled out my one pair of stiletto boots which really needed the heel redoing. But I did have the perfect short jacket to go with it all and some nice silver chain jewellery. 

A few more chains, I thought, and I might start looking like Lilith. 

Quite fashionable I was sure, but not really my thing. 

Still, on this one occasion I would have to go with practicality over style.