Page 8 of Cruel Endings

Everyone envied us. We were the hottest couple in school.

I adored everything about her. Her looks, her smell, the way she moved. She was a natural submissive—I knew what that term meant, even then—but she had a core of steel, and she stood up for herself with quiet dignity and grace. I loved her smile, and the way she looked at me, that special glance she had just for me.

She made me more human.

She knew about my darkness to an extent, but she never put me down for it. When I was being exceptionally cruel to someone, she’d come over and distract me, her way of trying to tame the beast. She’d stroke my arm and ask me some silly question. Now I know that’s called “redirecting.” It was instinctive with her.

It’s not surprising that she became a therapist.

Sometimes, she’d just lean against me and say, “Bastien. Enough now,” but in an affectionate, mildly reproving tone that never put me on the defensive.

I’d take her aside and say, “Okay. Should I be mean to you instead?”

Her breath would hitch, and her eyes would shine. “If you must. I can take it.”

What she meant was,she loved it.

I’d take her into a private place in the school and make her face the wall, and then I’d spank her round little ass so hard that she whimpered with pain every time she sat down for days afterward. She’d orgasm from the spanking, burying her face in her arm and muffling her shamed little moans.

Oh God, I miss the way my life was back then.

Our last good day is burned into my memory like the after-image of a dream.

We were on my parents’ estate, lying on the grass, staring up at the clouds. My hand was folded around hers. Her parents and my parents sat on a small pavilion, sipping coffee and eating beignets, watching us but pretending not to, a few hundred yards away.

My dog Pascale, a big shaggy mutt from the pound, ran by, wagging his tail, and an expression of sadness drifted across Camille’s face. She was upset because her dog Fido had recently died.

To distract her, I started talking about our future.

“When we’re married, I’m going to tie you up to our bed every night and do anything I want to you,” I informed her.

She made a scoffing sound. “What makes you think I’ll let you?”

“Because I smelled your fingers just now, and they smelled like sweet honeysuckle,” I said, smiling lazily at her. “And because you like doing what I tell you to.”

She blushed furiously, looking away. “I don’t know why I put up with you,” she muttered.

“Because you love me.”

“And do you love me?” She looked at me challengingly.

“What will you do for me if I say it?” I lay back and stared up at the clouds.

“If you can’t say it because you mean it, then don’t bother.” She pulled her hand from mine, and her voice was huffy and held a little hurt. I loved that she didn’t take my crap. It made the dominance so much sweeter. I’d never go too far, never crush her spirit, because her fire and feistiness were what turned me on.

“You know I do,” I said to her. I was never the type to gush, but for Camille, I’d change as much as I was capable, pushing past the instinctive discomfort that came when I acknowledged my feelings. She was the only one who made me feel warm inside. I thought I probably felt love for my parents and siblings, or at least I felt a protectiveness, but the supernova heat of my love for her made the feelings for my family shrink to a sputtering campfire.

“My parents are going out of town this weekend,” she said suddenly. “They’re leaving me with the maid. She drinks a lot and passes out every afternoon when they go away. I could come meet you.” Her eyes widened at her boldness, and her voice trembled a little, sending a pulsing ache through my cock.

“By the waterfront, Saturday, noon,” I said to her. “You know the place.” It was near enough to where she lived that she could get there quickly.

Her gaze dropped shyly. “We could find a place to be alone for a few hours and… you know.”

“No,” I said decisively.

“No?” Her eyes widened in shock, and tears shimmered. She was offering herself to me—sweet, innocent, sheltered Camille. I knew how huge this was for her.

“We’re going to wait until we get married. I’m hoping it can be when we turn eighteen, but if we have to wait until I graduate from college, that’s fine too. And then I’ll take your virginity on our wedding night.” I was confident she’d save herself for me. After all, I was saving myself for her.

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