A Dom is for Life

by Ashe Barker

  “Is this for me?” I breathe, ‘or do you always attend art exhibitions dressed for seduction?”

  “Of course, Sir. Do you like it?”

  “Is the Pope a Catholic?” I paint an invisible circle with my finger to get her to do a twirl for me. “Beautiful,” I announce. “You’ll need to lose the briefs, but the rest can stay.”

  She lowers her gaze and awaits further instruction.

  “The other day, I wanted to fuck your arse. But you weren’t properly prepared, and I hadn’t brought the necessary bits and pieces with me. That’s not an oversight I’ve allowed myself this time, as you can see.”

  “Yes, Sir,” comes the demure reply. Adorable.

  “You used to be able to insert your own plugs. Can you still do that?”

  “I haven’t, Sir. Not for a while.”

  “I see. I’m not the only one in need of practice, then. A refresher course, even.”

  “No, Sir,” she agrees.

  I choose the smallest plug and hand it to her, along with the lube. “See how you go with that one, then. Squat with your back to me and lean forward so I can watch what you’re doing and make sure you get it right.”

  She inclines her head just once, then proceeds to peel the pretty bikini briefs down her long, slender legs. I take them from her and stuff them in my pocket. I have no intention of returning them to her. They can be added to my collection.

  I remove my own jacket and sling it on the back of the nearest sofa, then sit on the cushion and sink back into it. My legs are splayed before me. I remove my tie and open the top button of my shirt before rolling up my sleeves.

  Libby snaps open the lube and squirts some onto her fingers. She smears it over the plug, covering the entire thing, then looks for somewhere to set it down.

  Really, she should have considered that first, but I make no comment. I just nod in the direction of a low table.

  She places the lubed plug on the polished wood, then turns her back on me. She drops into a squat, having seemingly lost none of her old suppleness, and leans slightly forward. At that angle, she can’t reach behind her, but instead she threads a hand between her thighs to splay her buttocks wide with her fingers, exposing her tight arsehole.

  “Very nice,” I murmur. “So pretty.”

  She leans even farther forward and stretches her other hand between her thighs as well. She has already lubed her fingers and proceeds to smear the gel all over her arse. She pauses, straightens up slightly to reload her fingers, then returns to her task. This time she inserts first one, then two fingers into her own arse.

  “Nicely done, Libby. Do you want me to pass you the plug?”

  “If you would, please, Sir.”

  I retrieve the toy from the low table, then crouch behind her to place it in her slick fingers.

  “Would it help if I were to hold your buttocks apart? Then you could use that hand for balance.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  I place my palms on her buttocks, tilting my head to better view the marks from yesterday, and push the two globes outward.

  Libby may be out of practice, but she’s lost none of her skill. She places the blunt nose of the plug against the puckered ring and presses firmly, at the same time pushing back with her hips. The toy slides inside as smooth as you like, leaving just the finger grip to be seen.

  “Good job. Now, you can go and lie down on the sofa.”

  She straightens, a little unsteadily, in fairness, and makes her way past me to the sofa. There, she settles on her side, her back to me and the plug proudly visible poking out of her arse.

  I follow her across the small room and kneel on the floor beside the sofa. I take the finger grip and slowly rotate the plug, then I tug it at an angle and swirl it within her.

  Libby groans.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “No, Sir.”

  I continue, working the plug until her rear entrance slackens. Then I start to draw it out of her, only to drive it back in hard. I fuck her arse with the plug in this way for a minute or two as she writhes on the sofa, then I pull it far enough out so the widest part is stretching her arsehole, and I leave it there.

  “How does that feel?” I ask.

  “A…a bit tight, Sir.”

  “Do you need more lube?”

  Perhaps, Sir. Thank you.”

  I dribble a generous helping onto the exposed part of the plug, then slide it right inside again.

  “I think you’re about ready for the next one. It’s bigger, but it will help you to take my cock more easily.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “This time, I do the honours. I draw the used toy out and set it aside for cleaning. That can be Libby’s job, later. The new plug is both longer and thicker and would be a challenge at any time.

  “Am I right in assuming you’ve done no anal play since you and I split up?”

  “Yes, that’s right, Sir. I never fancied it with anyone else.”

  That pleases me more than she will know, probably, especially given her trust now in letting me use her body as I wish. There’s something especially intimate and wicked and deeply personal about anal. Libby’s arse is mine, and mine alone. I lube up the new plug and place the snub end at her entrance.

  “Lift one knee and rest it on the sofa. That should help you to press back when you need to. And, if you want to stroke your clit while I insert this, feel free.” That could help take the edge off if she finds what I’m about to do very uncomfortable. “Are you ready?”

  She manages a nod, but I wait until she answers me. “Yes, Sir.”

  I begin to push the toy into her arse, taking it slow. We have as much time as we need. I pause to add more lube, then press on, gaining each inch with infinite care.

  Libby’s fingers work her clit, and she pants into the cushion, her eyes closed as I make progress. At no time does she ask me to stop, though I know it hurts her when I finally force the widest part past her ring of muscle.

  Once it’s inside, her body closes snugly around the intruder, caressing the plug like a lover.

  “How are you doing, Libby?”

  “I… I’m fine, Sir.” Her voice is breathy, laboured.

  I pat her on the bum. “Looking good from this end. Roll onto your back.”

  She does so, her thighs spread wide. It’s an invitation not to be missed. It’d be rude not to…

  I release my solid cock from within my trousers and sink it into her pussy. She’s delightfully tight, with both her holes filled, and I know this must be even more intense for her than it is for me. I slam balls-deep into her, using my hands to grasp her knees and shove her legs high to provide me with a better angle. Her inner walls are convulsing already, the sensuous ripples rolling the length of my cock.

  “If you want to come, you can. Now.”

  Like the excellent sub she us, Libby comes on command. The contractions around my shaft are enough to send my semen surging to fill her. Hopefully, having taken the edge off my own lust, this will mean I can manage to fuck her tight arse longer than I might have otherwise.

  It’s been three years for me, too.

  I withdraw and allow her to settle back on the sofa, but I’m not letting her get too comfortable.

  “I need you to fuck your own arse with the plug, now, while I watch.”

  “Should I turn over, Sir?”

  “Yes. You can kneel on the sofa.”

  She shifts her position again, and the hand snakes between her legs once more. She grasps the finger grip and slowly draws the plug out of her body.

  “Stop when the widest part is stretching you, and wait for me to tell you when to push it back.” I need her to become accustomed to the sensation of being stretched and overcome any reticence. My cock is wider and longer than the plug, so she still has work to do.

  Libby pulls the plug until her arsehole is impossibly tight around the thickest part.

  “Let go of it for a moment,” I command.

 
When she does, I trace the outline with my fingers, then, as a treat in recognition of her acquiescence so far, I reach for her clit and roll it between my fingers.

  “Oh God…”

  “Did you say something, Libby?”

  “I… I may come again, Sir. If you carry on doing that.”

  “Oh dear, I do hope not. You can come when my cock is fully inside you, not before.”

  “But, Sir, I…”

  “Libby, you know how to behave. You will have your reward, later.”

  “I know. I apologise. It was just…”

  I release her plump clit, knowing that just a few moments more, and she would have shattered, despite my instructions. My Libby is out of practice. We have time to make up.

  “Fuck your arse with the plug again, please. Keep going until I tell you to stop. Do it slow, right out to the widest part every time.”

  I kneel on the carpet and watch, fascinated, as the plug disappears within her, then reemerges a few seconds later.

  “Tell me when you think you might be ready to take my cock.”

  She nods and repeats the arse-fucking a couple more times. “I think I’m ready now, Sir.”

  Jesus, if she isn’t, I certainly am.

  I quickly lube up my cock, then take my time finally extracting the butt plug. I drop it next to the other one, on the cleaning pile, and I move up close to set the crown of my cock at her thoroughly prepared entrance. I part her buttocks with my fingers, then rock my hips to drive the head past the muscled ring.

  Libby lets out a grunt, and I know this time it is one of pain. I pause for a few moments, allow her to become accustomed to the new intrusion, then I rock my hips again.

  She’s beautifully slick inside, and despite the tightness of her channel, my passage is relatively easy. I gain inch by cautious inch, determined not to hurt her any more than is necessary, and certainly not to harm her. In her turn, Libby trusts me implicitly.

  The friction is divine. The snug feel of her wrapped around me like a vice is almost intoxicating. I resist the urge to drive forward harder, faster, to impale her on my cock. And, eventually, my balls slap against her thighs.

  “We’re there,” I murmur. “Do you feel it?”

  She nods. “I… I love you, Sir…”

  “I love you, too, girl.” It’s a moment of raw honesty and perfect tenderness.

  I kiss the nape of her neck, then lightly bite her shoulder, before withdrawing half my length. I pause for a few moments, then fill her again.

  “Oh God, I need to come,” she moans. “Please, Sir, you said…”

  I did. I kiss her neck again, then nibble on her earlobe. “Come when you want, sweetheart.”

  I withdraw, take a breath, then drive my cock back inside her again, and again. Libby makes a sound somewhere deep in her throat, and her entire body convulses around mine. I manage three or four more strokes, then my balls contract. I let out a hoarse shout when I’m hurled into another climax, too. Wet, sticky heat envelops my cock, my own heat mingling with Libby’s to create an inferno of wicked, dirty lust.

  Perfect.

  Chapter 12

  Libby

  I wake the next morning in my own bed, alone. It’s bright daylight outside. I check the clock beside my bed. Nine thirty-nine, late for a weekday, even if I’m not due in the office until this afternoon.

  I roll over and groan. I’m sore, deliciously, delightfully sore. I smile, remembering last night.

  Remembering Josh.

  He drove me home in my own car at around two in the morning, saw me safe indoors, then sent for an Uber to take him back to his city centre apartment.

  I should have asked him to stay here. I wanted to…

  Are we back together? We must be. Anal sex says we are, surely.

  But, if so, why didn’t he ask to stay?

  Why didn’t I plead with him to come inside and sleep here, with me?

  It’s not real, our marriage, unless we live together. Is it?

  I pause. Maybe Josh would want to stay in his apartment and have me move in there. I’ve heard those city loft conversions are really nice, and it’s handy for his work. Mine, too, for that matter. But I like my house. Correction, I love my house and I don’t want to move back to Manchester.

  I sit up. I’m getting way ahead of myself here. This is all so new, so…uncertain still. We want to be together, and that’s enough for now. The details can wait.

  I shove my arms into the sleeves of my dressing gown, tie the belt, and pad downstairs, barefoot, to put the kettle on. The pile of files that Heidi dumped in my arms as I left her cramped little office yesterday teeters on my kitchen table, threatening to spill a mountain of paperwork onto my parquet tiles. I straighten the stack to avert disaster and open the top one.

  Personnel details. How fortuitous.

  I thumb through until I find the folder I want and check out the contact details inside before dragging my phone from the pocket of my gown and dialling. A sleepy voice answers.

  “Pru? Sorry, I hope I didn’t wake you. It’s Libby. Libby Novak. We met last night. I was wondering if you might be free to meet me today for an early lunch?”

  Two months later

  “Arboreal looks superb out there. You should have told me you wanted it and I’d have pulled it from the sale?” Michele gazes proudly out of my kitchen window at the garden beyond where her masterpiece now occupies pride of place on the edge of my lawn.

  “I know you would have, and that’s why I never said anything. You can’t be just giving all your best work away, not if you want to make a living as a sculptress.”

  “Sculptor,” Michele corrects me. “It’s gender neutral.”

  I shrug. “Whatever. It’s a truly beautiful piece, and I love it. Pru suggested adding water to make a sort of fountain but I’m not sure where I’d hide the reservoir.”

  Pru, also seated at my kitchen table, shakes her head. “Don’t take any notice of me. I know nothing about art.”

  Michele ignores her, looking thoughtful. She cocks her head to one side and studies the sculpture intently. “Now, that’s a nice idea. Good shout, Pru. I could add on a base, hollow, for water.”

  “I’m not sure,” Pru protests. “It’s perfect as it is.”

  “Even so, I think it would work as a water feature.” She smiles at me. “Let me know if you want me to adapt it. I’ll have plenty of time now…”

  I eye her curiously. “Oh?”

  She smirks. “I handed in my notice. At the end of term, I become a full-time sculptor. It’s official.”

  I gape at her, open-mouthed. This has been Michele’s dream for as long as I can remember. I know she’s been working towards it for years, but still, it’s a bold step. “Are you sure?” I ask.

  She nods, not a hint of doubt evident. “Since the Riverdale opening, I’ve been inundated with commissions. I have enough work stacked up to keep me in knickers and tampons for at least two years.”

  “There’s more to life than knickers and tampons,” I point out, ever the wise elder sister.

  “I know that. Don’t worry your accountant’s head about it. I reckon I can already earn as much through art as I did as a supply teacher, and my work has the potential to increase in value. Unlike teaching.”

  “Well, I think this is fabulous news.” Pru beams at the pair of us from her place at my table. “It calls for a celebration, and I have just the thing.” She produces a bottle of Prosecco from her voluminous bag. “It’s not been out of the fridge long, should still be chilled enough.”

  Despite our slightly awkward beginning, Pru and I have become firm friends. We met for lunch, and she explained the nature of her relationship with Josh far better than he had, not that I particularly doubted his account. Josh has always been honest with me, apart from that one time which he admits was one gigantic fuck-up. He would never lie to me about something like this, but I still needed to understand just how their dynamic works, and Pru was able to fill in the b
lanks. Now, I prefer to think of her and Josh as occasional dancing partners, both skilled, with a rapport around the activity they share, but that’s it. The rest is just common or garden friendship, a friendship which now includes me.

  Pru lives quite near to me and often spends the evening at my house when she’s not working. Sometimes Josh is here, sometimes not, but we hang out and enjoy each other’s company.

  This evening it’s late-night shopping so Josh is at work, but Pru and I had already decided to curl up with Netflix and a bottle. Our plans extended to include three when Michele phoned to ask if she could come round. She brought pizza, the remnants of which are strewn across my table.

  Pru goes to my cupboard and helps herself to three tall, stemmed flutes. She pours the bubbles and hands both me and Michele a glass.

  “To new beginnings,” she says, holding her glass up in the air. “And to old friends. God bless Arboreal and all who sail in her.”

  “New beginnings” Michele and I echo, then we all knock back a healthy slug of the wine.

  Pru replenishes the glasses, and we repeat the process, this time drinking to the future and to a long and successful career for Michele.

  “May the critics never stop kissing your arse,” Pru intones solemnly.

  Michele hoots with laughter. “Especially the hot lady ones,” she adds

  By the time we’ve refilled again and drunk to my future with Josh and at Heidi’s, we’re in need of a fresh bottle. I go to raid my own fridge, while Michele quizzes Pru about the availability of hot ladies at the club.

  “Could you sign me in there?” Michele asks me as I pour the Chardonnay.

  I shrug. “I suppose so. I have a staff pass, so, yes. Probably. If not, Josh would.”

  “Or, you could come in as my guest,” Pru murmurs. “But, be warned, I can be quite a hot lady when I want to.”

  Michele raises an eyebrow, clearly interested. Pru smiles back at her and winks.

  I sit back and watch the by-play between them, thinking it’s odd, sometimes, how things work out.