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Paul could always tell when something was eating at Tilly, and it half-killed him to watch her struggle. She thought she was pretty good at hiding things, but she had her tells if you knew what you were looking for. She’d been winding up since the middle of the previous week, anxiety and strain making her pale and drawn and much more determinedly independent. That was his first clue that things weren’t quite right.
He’d had it out with her two nights ago; taking charge and pushing her until she’d snapped and honest angry words had flowed freely from her lips. She was tired, she was busy, she didn’t have time for his nonsense- she’d hurled any number of hateful insults at him like a porcupine throwing up its defences. Unphased, he’d poked and prodded and annoyed her until she’d finally admitted that she was upset about the upcoming fundraising ball and how she wasn’t able to attend on his arm.
It was an old wound, but nonetheless painful for its age. Both of them hated those events now that they were together but unable to show it to the world. There was nothing more galling than having to watch as wealthy alumni tried to push their luck and slide their hands up his girlfriend’s thighs at dinner. It made Paul want to lay claim to her in front of the whole RBU administration. More than once, Raf had had to tear himself away from Ana’s side to stop him stabbing an alumnus with his bread knife.
Having gotten to the bottom of Tilly’s behaviour, he’d carried out a controlled detonation of her feelings-
pouring a cleansing inferno of burning smacks on her actual bottom until she’d given in and had had a good cry. Normally a good spanking as a reminder that she was his and he had her worked wonders to clear out the dead wood of Tilly’s muddled emotions and helped her focus on what really mattered.
And yet…
She still wasn’t right. Still pale and strained and refusing to properly meet his gaze. Quiet and respectful in her answers, yet not telling him more than the superficial details of her day when gently questioned. The obedient way she went about her business set Paul’s teeth on edge, though not nearly as much as the little half-fearful looks she kept shooting his way.
‘Did I not spank you thoroughly enough?’ he demanded during another dinner where she toyed with her food and gave soft monosyllabic answers when he tried to draw her into a conversation.
She looked up from her noodles, alarmed. ‘No, I mean, yes…I mean…’ She blew out a frustrated breath and composed herself. ‘You did. Quite thoroughly, thank you.’
He suppressed a smile at the prim tone. ‘Then what is it, darlin’?’ he asked, earnestly putting as much love and gentleness he could in his question.
He’d expected her to brush the question aside, or mumble something about being tired or having too much to do. Maybe give him another one of those wary looks she’d been giving him. To his surprise and dismay, her eyes welled with tears and her lower lip trembled.
Instinctively, but cautiously enough so as not to spook her into retreating from him, he put his fork down and reached over to take her hand in his. ‘C’mon, darlin’. Tell me what’s the matter?’
She shook her head wildly, blinking away the tears as best she could, and he stood and came round to her. He put firm hands on her shoulders in a deep grounding pressure and guided her from the table over to the sofa. He sat down, pulling her onto his lap and giving her no choice but to accept his care.
‘Now, come on. Just spit it out and tell me and we’ll work through whatever it is together. No, don’t try and tell me it’s nothin’. My Tilly doesn’t get all het up and tearful over nothin’.’
He cradled her head against his shoulder, keeping his body language relaxed as he waited. Sometimes eye contact helped them communicate, like when Tilly was trying to get away with lying to him. But then there were times when Tilly needed space to find the words. Paul suspected this was going to be one of those times, so he held her securely and let her take her time.
‘I just…I feel so guilty,’ she finally admitted, in a very small voice.
Paul nodded slowly, absorbing that. ‘About hiding your orientation at work?’
‘No.’ Tilly shook her head, hunching further into herself. Her cheeks reddened and she took an audible breath. ‘About the things I said to you. I was awful.’
Paul’s eyebrows lifted with surprise. ‘You’re fretting about that? Tilly, that was just a load of hot air. We both know that.’
‘Yes, but…I shouldn’t have said such things.’
‘You know I never pay no mind to the things you say when you’re upset and headin’ for a spanking,’ Paul said carefully, keeping his voice as reassuring as possible. Truth be told, it had been hurtful when she’d accused him of just wanting to spank her for his own gratification. It had given him pause, and he’d talked it over with Raf the next day to examine his own motives.
‘It doesn’t matter what it does for you, compadre,’ Raf had chuckled. ‘Not in the moment. It’s the effect it has on Tilly. Did it make her feel better? That is what is important.’
The names she had called him had also stung, though he’d known it for what it was. Tilly had been lashing out, plain and simple. He’d heard some of the students refer to it as ‘hedgehogging’, which conjured up an accurate and vivid visual of exactly what Tilly had been doing.
‘I still feel guilty,’ Tilly murmured. She leaned into him, both searching for and accepting the hug he gave. ‘I was horrible. The worst version of me.’
Paul kissed the crown of her head. ‘Still love you,’ he soothed. ‘But…no, never mind.’
‘What?’ Grey eyes peeked up at him.
Paul sighed. ‘Well, if you really do still feel guilty…I know something we can do to help. But you’re not gonna like the idea.’
Tilly shook her head. ‘I don’t need another spanking,’ she declared. ‘You already did that. It didn’t work.’
Paul hummed. ‘Mmm, that’s not what I was thinking.’
The furrows between her eyebrows deepened, then suddenly her eyes widened. ‘No. No, absolutely not.’ She sat up, pulling away from him with a horrified frown. ‘There’s no way I’m letting you wash my mouth out.’
‘I told you that you weren’t gonna like the idea. And of course I’m not plannin’ on doin’ it without your consent. It’s just an option, is all.’
‘No, it’s most certainly not an option,’ she decreed, shaking her head vehemently for emphasis.
‘Suit yourself,’ Paul shrugged amiably, drawing her back into the comfortable cuddle they’d been having. ‘It was only a suggestion.’
She shuddered, and he couldn’t help chuckling.
‘Is that a shudder from experience?’ he wondered aloud, kissing the side of her head.
‘No.’
Her outrage at the mere suggestion was deliciously funny. Paul buried a smile in her hair.
‘Fair enough. It is a disgusting process.’
Suspicious grey eyes peered at him, and he grinned.
‘My grandma was very fond of Irish Spring soap when I got…well, mouthy I guess.’ He winked at her. ‘Mama B wasn’t a fan of me gettin’ mouthy.’
Tilly covered her mouth with horrified fascination. ‘Was it…did she…’ Tilly blushed. ‘Did that happen a lot?’ she settled on.
‘Often enough,’ Paul laughed. ‘Took me from the ages of eleven to about fifteen to learn when to shut my smart mouth.’
‘Sounds like you were a slow learner,’ Tilly teased
‘Perhaps,’ Paul agreed. ‘So, you’ve really never…?’
‘No,’ Tilly confirmed. ‘Never. The very thought makes me gag.’
‘Mmm. Well, it’s not pleasant, that’s for sure. But it’s not meant to be. Wouldn’t be much of a punishment otherwise.’ He watched her carefully, and added, ‘I’ve known a few bottoms who find it helpful, though. For dealin’ with guilt when they’ve said somethin’ they shouldn’t.’
She chewed her lower lip, deep in thought, and he cradled her on his lap and gave her the mental space she obviously wanted. He could tell she was thinking it over, guilt and the desire for absolution warring with innate revulsion. He was more than happy to sit there with her in his arms while she processed the idea, her warm and pliant body a comfortable weight. Wordlessly, he reached over and grabbed the remote, flicking on the tv and finding a rerun of an old Braves game they could half-watch while she was lost in her thoughts.
It was the bottom of the fifth, and the Braves were ahead, when she spoke.
‘Do you think it would help me?’
Paul muted the game and gave her his full attention.
‘I don’t know. It might. Guess we don’t know unless we try it.’ She pulled a face, and he casually rested a hand on her hip and rubbed his thumb soothingly. ‘Some bottoms find that a bit of humblin’ with a sudsy mouth helps them forgive themselves and process guilty feelings. Putting their trust in their Top in that way…it’s a very intimate act, soaping a mouth. Or at least it can be. And the ritual, the symbolism-‘
‘Oh, Paul, don’t Topsplain the symbolism to me,’ she said irritably.
He laughed, patting her hip where he’d been rubbing. ‘Ok, ok, there’s no need to get pert with me. I was just trying to explain how it could help.’
‘I know the theory,’ she sighed. ‘It’s just…it’s so humiliating.’
Paul wrinkled his nose, considering. ‘I think it’s only humiliating if you think it is. Know what I would see, if you went through with it? My brave, intelligent woman takin’ responsibility for words said in anger.’
‘Oh.’ She reddened, ducking her head diffidently, and he rubbed at her hip once more.
‘I won’t think any less of you if you want to give it a try. Nor will I think any less of you if you say no and decide it’s a hard limit. Ball’s in your court, darlin’. I’ll follow your lead.’
She swallowed, nodding slowly as she thought it over. He knew the exact moment she made up her mind from the way she pulled back her shoulders and straightened her spine. Never had he loved every brave, determined cell of her more.
‘I think…I’d like to try it. Please. Er, Sir.’ She visibly gave herself a little shake, pulling herself together. ‘What I mean to say is…would you wash those awful words from my mouth please, Sir?’
‘I think that sounds like an excellent idea, Matilda,’ he replied, matching the honorific with her full first name. He kissed her cheek and then shifted her off his lap, standing up with her. ‘C’mon then. Let’s go wash your mouth out. Teach you a bit of a lesson, hmm?’
He held her hand and walked her through the apartment, keeping his pace casual but steady. He felt her tremble as they crossed the threshold of the bathroom, and he squeezed her hand in wordless reassurance.
‘Take a seat on the edge of the tub,’ he instructed, waiting until she did so before opening the mirrored cabinet on the wall. It had been a while since he’d done the full bar-of-soap rigmarole; when he washed out his players’ mouths, he tended to use Articulate Wipes for ease and speed. But if he was going to help Tilly leave her guilt behind, he was going to do it properly. His woman deserved his best efforts. And, if he was honest, she deserved them too. He found a fresh mini bar of soap he’d swiped from the hotel at one of the away games, still wrapped in its pretty paper. It wasn’t the new-fangled, vitamin-enriched stuff you could buy at Wear Out, specifically made for washing out the mouths of naughty bottom types. Nor was it the nostalgic Irish Spring from his youth. But it was new and perfectly adequate for what he had in mind.
Tilly’s eyes were huge as he closed the cabinet door and then slowly unwrapped the soap. Normally during a punishment, he’d keep his expression stern or, at the very least, neutral- which was probably why most of the baseball boys were convinced he didn’t even know how to smile. But he could see how anxious Tilly was, how much the unfamiliar territory was worrying her. He could see it in the determined way she was holding her head up, her nostrils quivering imperceptibly. He could see it in the way her hands clutched the edge of the bathtub, her knuckles white as she clung to it. Most of all, he could see it in the way she couldn’t take her gaze off the soap in his hand. Accordingly, he gentled his tone and softened his expression.
‘Alright, darlin’. I’m gonna wet the bar and lather it up. Then you’re gonna open your mouth and let me scrub away all those hateful things you said. Then you’ll hold the bar in your mouth for a little while, until we’re sure all those nasty words are quite gone. Then I’ll let you spit and rinse. Ok?’
She nodded, white-faced and eyes still riveted on the small bar of soap.
‘You have your safewords,’ he reminded her, watching her expression carefully for any sign that he was doing the wrong thing by her.
She shook her head. ‘I know. But…I think I need this. I don’t want it…but…please?’
The bravery, the trust, the submission she was showing by bringing this to him and offering it up to him - it was the greatest natural high he knew. That this woman, this articulate and intelligent woman should humble herself before him, should actually ask him for a punishment he knew damn well she’d never even considered before…well, Paul prided himself on being an excellent Top and there was a greater chance of hell freezing over than of him voluntarily letting her down.
He smiled and kissed her forehead. ‘Of course, darlin’. I’ve got you.’
He ran the faucet and lathered up the soap, keeping one eye on Tilly the whole time. If possible, she’d grown even paler and her eyes were suspiciously shiny. He didn’t draw it out, deciding to put her out of her misery as speedily as possible.
‘Alright, Matilda. Open up,’ he said, keeping his voice level and matter-of-fact.
Tears welled up and overflowed, spilling silently down her cheeks, but she obediently open her mouth. She shuddered as he took hold of her jaw and slid the bar of soap over her tongue.
‘I’m not cross with you, darlin’,’ he said as he methodically rubbed the soap over the inside of her mouth. ‘This isn’t needed for me to forgive you. This is to help you forgive yourself. You’re so smart, so articulate. You know better than to let your mouth run away with you when you’re angry or upset.’
Her tears kept falling, and she whimpered and gagged as he carried out the dreadful deed. He felt the familiar thrill course through his veins at the power he had over her, and the trust she had in him, and he acknowledged the effect punishing Tilly had on his own emotions even while focusing almost entirely on her. She was so proud, so intelligent and independent, but she submitted to him and him alone. Paul would have had to have been made of stone not to have felt the rush of having that power.
Plus, she was very pretty when he made her cry.
When he was happy there was soap coating every part of her mouth, he moved the little bar to the tip of her tongue.
‘Hold it there for me. No, bite down. There we go. I know. I know it’s disgusting. I know it makes you feel small and humiliated. But that’s what you were aimin’ for when you cursed me out the other day, wasn’t it? Tryin’ to make me feel small and to humiliate me. Makes this punishment kinda fitting, hmm?’
Her shoulders shook and more tears poured down her cheeks. He wrapped an arm round her shoulder and pulled her close, holding her together in his arms while she fell apart. He didn’t bother watching the time, preferring to judge when to stop by following Tilly’s cues. Her tears and disgusted faces had no impact on his decision. Only when he saw the tension in her shoulders ease and the furrow between her eyebrows vanish, when something small and subtle but unmistakable shifted in her expression- that was when he ended the punishment.
‘Alright, darlin’. You can spit and rinse.’
It should’ve been funny, the speed she flew to the sink. But she didn’t look ridiculous frantically rinsing the soap from her mouth, not to him anyway. His heart ached with compassion for his proud woman, and he rubbed her back as she spat out as much of the vile taste as possible.
‘That was horrible,’ she gurgled at one point. It looked like she was still weeping, though it was hard to tell with the water also wetting her face.
‘I know. You did so well, darlin’. C’mon, I think you’ve rinsed the worst of it away.’
Grey eyes glared half-heartedly at him, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders once more. With her body so close to his, he could suddenly feel her trembling. His gut twisted, misgivings creeping in. He chased his own feelings away for the moment, focusing on Tilly. He wasn’t sure if the trembling was a good or bad sign, but either way it demanded he get her somewhere more comfortable than a bathroom so he could take care of her. So he could provide them both with some much needed aftercare.
The game was still playing mutely on the tv as he got them both settled back down on the sofa, and he clicked it off entirely the better to remain in the now with Tilly. Her tears had slowed but not gone entirely, and he pulled her into his lap and just held her.
‘I know that wasn’t easy,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘I know you hated every moment of it. But I am so, so proud of you. Beyond proud of you. You did well, real well darlin’.’
She grew pliant and heavy under his loving words, and he cradled her close and let the body contact soothe both of them. He was relieved to see her troubled expression clear to one of relief, and then to one of peace as he rocked her and murmured to her and loved on her. Tilly’s mood lifted while he came down from his high and they evened each other out in each other’s arms.
‘I’ll be spitting bubbles for weeks,’ Tilly eventually complained, her voice subdued but contented.
Paul grinned at her grumbling. ‘Probably. But if you don’t want a sudsy mouth in future, you know how to avoid it.’
Tilly hummed drowsily in agreement, nuzzling against his chest and closing her eyes, trusting him completely to have her back in the aftermath of her punishment.
With Tilly’s warm body pressed against his, Paul basked in the peace that could only be found in having a pliant and contented sub cradled in his arms. Did he think that soaping her mouth would curb her acid tongue forever? Probably not, he acknowledged. But he knew one thing for certain. He’d do it again for her, whenever she needed him to.
He’d do anything for her.