by Ashe Barker
“No. All done.” He’d have managed to fit her in whatever. “I thought you were expected at home tonight. Will your family be wondering where you are?”
“I texted my father. He knows I’m staying here tonight.”
“Here? You mean here at work? The hotel?”
“Yes. I think.” She paused, recalling her father’s somewhat enigmatic advice. “He told me to take care.”
“Wise man. Though that’s my department now. So, are you ready for me to tell you how this is going to go?”
Fleur nodded, her eyes widening. Has she any idea how sexy that is? How utterly sensual she is? He thought perhaps not and added that to his set of goals for her early education in submission.
“You’re staying with me all night, yes?”
“Yes.”
“That should be ‘Yes, Sir.’ Rule one, when we’re alone, you call me Sir. Without fail. In company, Ethan is fine. Any questions on that?”
“No, Sir.”
Ethan’s lips flattened in quiet satisfaction. He hadn’t expected any issues with the form of address, but her ready acceptance was promising, even so. He pressed on. “I expect you to obey me, to do as I instruct without argument. You can ask questions, seek clarification. It’s important you understand what’s required because I will punish disobedience or obstruction. Once we start, you are mine, in my hands. You said that earlier, and I intend to hold you to it, nothing less. Is that also clear?”
“It is, Sir. I accept those terms.”
“Good. There’s more, though. Do you know what a safe word is?” She was inexperienced he knew, but well read. She might have come across the concept.
Fleur nodded slowly. “Yes, Sir. I think so. If I want you to stop—”
“Not want. Need. If anything I do is simply too much, intolerable, you use your safe word. Not otherwise.”
“Would I be punished for using it? Sir?”
“No, you wouldn’t. If you need to stop, your safe word is there to get you out of trouble. You can have another signal for if you want me to slow down, or you need to talk to me, ask something. Or even if you think you might be about to use your safe word. I can help you. I will help you, but you need to tell me if you’re struggling. I’m a Dom, which means I can be hard, stern, demanding. I don’t compromise. But I’m not heartless, not cruel, not a bully. Always, this will be about what you want, not so much what I want. Does that make sense?”
“I… I think so. Sir.”
A knock at the outer door to the riad caught both their attention.
“Ah, your supper. Hold that thought…” Ethan stood, and made short work of accepting the trolley of perfectly prepared food from the young Moroccan waiter at the door. He tipped him a generous handful of dirhams and declined his offer to set out the food for him. She hadn’t said anything, but Ethan had the impression that his overnight guest might prefer her presence here in his suite not to be the talk of the Totally Five Star kitchens. He wanted the waiter out of the suite as quickly as he could decently manage it.
He wheeled the trolley into the huge living area and called out to Fleur, “Do you want to eat in here or outside?”
The answer came in the form of Fleur following him into the lounge and seating herself on one of the long, low sofas. Ethan laid the plates of food on the low table in front of her. Room service had included all the necessary utensils so he just handed her a knife and fork.
“I ordered something for me too. I thought we might just share.”
“Of course. It all looks delicious. Thank you very much.” Fleur’s stomach growled in agreement and this time she smiled with him. “I forgot to eat this evening.”
“Oh? Busy day, was it? Did I hear a Sir then?”
“Oh! I’m sorry. Sir. Yes, of course.”
He smiled to himself, enjoying her fluster. This boded well. In his experience, subs always got this wrong and always earned a punishment for it. It was a good way of breaking the ice, so to speak. He decided to lay his cards on the table now.
“Tonight, we just talk. And we fuck. I intend to tie you to my bed, and I have few things in mind I want to do to you. I might scare you a bit, embarrass you—a lot. I won’t hurt you, though. You will have a good time with me tonight. I can promise that. Tomorrow, though, we settle any scores. After we enjoy a delightful meal at your parents’ house, you are going to find a reason to return here, to the hotel. You will come here, to my suite, to wait for me. I’ll have more precise instructions for you closer to the time, but tomorrow is when I’ll punish you for any disobedience or failures to meet my instructions tonight. So far, you’ve earned a punishment for forgetting to call me Sir. I’ll be keeping a tally from now on.”
Her eyes widened, and she shifted slightly in her seat. He would be prepared to bet the entire not inconsiderable fee he would be charging James Conroy that her pussy was dripping wet by now.
“I see, Sir. What will my punishment be? Is it permitted for me to ask that?”
Christ, she’s fucking delightful. “Yes, you can always ask questions. I may not always answer. On this occasion, though, I want you to know exactly what to expect. I intend to exact retribution on your bare bottom. I think two strokes for each offense. It would usually be more than that, but I’m making allowance for your inexperience. I expect you to make plenty of mistakes, though, so the numbers will rack up. So, you’re at two already.”
“With your hand? I suppose it must be. You don’t have anything else here to use…”
Ethan chuckled, and even to his own ears he knew the sound lacked any hint of mirth. “With your hand, Sir. That’s four so far now. You really do need to concentrate.” He shook his head, his smile wry. “Oh, Fleur, you’ll be amazed at what I can do to you with just my hands. My bare hands and your bare bottom.” He watched her pupils dilate further, and knew she was wet. Wetter. Ah, yes, words could be so much more effective than actions, carefully chosen words, delivered at just the right time. And anticipation would build the effects in her head until the actual event could even seem tame. Not that he’d let her arrive at such a conclusion. He smiled sweetly at her. “Would you like a prawn?”
Fleur was so nervous she hardly expected to be able to eat anything, but the food was oddly delicious. It was a deceptively simple meal, the salad crisp and succulent, the chicken expertly seasoned and grilled to perfection. Ethan’s choice of a potato with prawns and coleslaw was delightful too, and she accepted the forkfuls he kept holding out to her with polite thanks. She did not once forget to call him Sir. Whilst his promise of a bare bottom spanking was exactly what she’d been hoping for, her instinct was still to minimize the number of strokes. That said, she had a feeling he would achieve exactly the effect he wanted, making up in quality anything he felt may be lacking in quantity. His expertise was one of the main factors that drew her to him.
His superbly sexy chest and toned shoulders might be playing their part too. And that smile that made her knees buckle and her pussy cream. This was so much more than merely physical, though. Privately she acknowledged that he could do whatever he chose to her, tonight or tomorrow. The safe word was nice in theory. In practice, she did not imagine it would be required.
She was in. It was that simple.
Fleur laid her knife and fork beside the empty plate and reached for Ethan’s too, intending to re-stack the trolley ready to wheel it back out into the corridor for the staff to whisk away. Ethan stopped her, again with that single raised finger.
“Time you were undressed.”
Fleur looked at him, unblinking. “Of course, Sir. Shall I go upstairs?”
“No. I want you to strip here. Then stand still and let me look at you. I’ll tell you when to go upstairs.” The hardening in his tone was unmistakable, that timbre of command, the thread of steely resolve that demanded obedience. Fleur had to resist the impulse to drop to her knees on the floor in front of him. No doubt if he wanted that, he’d tell her. She lowered her eyes, murmured her response.
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br /> “Of course. I am sorry, Sir.”
Ethan leaned back on the low sofa and regarded her quietly. She did not move, uncertain how to do this. Was he expecting some sort of seductive swaying, some sultry belly-dance display? She hoped not. She possessed no such skills. And wearing her professional trousers and blouse, she just was not dressed for it.
“Problem? I thought I explained that I expect you to obey my instructions immediately, or if something’s unclear that you should ask. Why are you still sitting there?”
“I was not sure how you want me to do this, Sir. Should I be…enticing you? Entertaining you? I am not good at that.”
“Honey, the sight of you undressing is going to entice me perfectly fine. Your nudity will entertain me. Have no fear of that. I don’t want the dance of the seven veils. I just want you naked. So, if you could please stand and remove your clothes just as you normally would? You might like to fold them neatly, ready for tomorrow. Then, when you’re naked, come and stand here in front of me.”
That seemed clear enough. And she had undressed for him once already, yesterday, in the courtyard after their dinner together. This should be no more difficult than that. It was, though. This time Ethan was much less the passionate lover-to-be, and more the objective observer. Fleur felt exposed and vulnerable.
In a flash of lucid self-awareness, she realized that was exactly the point. He had played her masterfully. Just as she wanted him to.
Fleur stood, stepped away from the ottoman couch and started unfastening the buttons on her blouse. She looked down at her fingers as she worked. She had to because her hands were shaking so much she never would have managed the task otherwise. She pulled the blouse from the waistband of her trousers and slid it from her shoulders. As he had instructed, she folded it and laid it carefully on the seat of the sofa beside her. She deliberately avoided looking at Ethan as she unfastened her trousers and pushed them down to pool at her ankles. They were loose fitting and made of a soft, light fabric, comfortable to wear all day in a Moroccan summer. She bent to pick them up, shook the wrinkles from them and folded them too.
Now only her bra and disgracefully moist knickers remained. There would be no point placing her pants on the neat pile of clothing, they were fit only for the bin. Pity, they had been one of her favorite pairs, a pretty confection that matched her white lacy bra. Fleur reached behind her back to unhook the bra and quickly placed that with the rest of her things. She did not turn yet fully to face him, but was nonetheless acutely aware of his gaze on her breasts. They felt heavy—she was more than usually conscious of their fullness, her swelling nipples. Naturally slender, Fleur still managed to sport a few curves where it mattered. Her breasts might not be as large as many other women’s were, but they were a decent shape. Ethan had seemed to appreciate them yesterday. And again this morning. Nothing had changed.
Who was she trying to kid? Everything had changed and nothing was the same any more. Fleur felt assessed, judged, and was suddenly afraid she’d be found wanting. Pleasing Ethan was the most important thing in the world to her right now. She chanced a peep in his direction.
“Looking good, Fleur. Just the pants now, please.”
It was all she needed, the quiet encouragement, the affirmation. Fleur slid her briefs down and stepped out of them. Her impulse was to kick them away, under the sofa, but she bent to retrieve them. Sure enough, they were limp and soggy. She glanced at Ethan, wondering if he’d mind her simply dumping them in his rubbish bin.
“Give them to me please.” Ethan’s hand was outstretched, waiting.
Surely he couldn’t mean… Why would he want these disgusting things? But obedience was coming naturally enough to her, and she stepped forward to drop the soiled lace into his hand. She watched in amazement as he laid her damp knickers flat across his palm, and lifted them to his nose to inhale the aroma.
“What a perfect little slut you are. We’ve only just talked about what’s to happen to you, and your cunt’s already drooling. Am I right, Fleur?” His tone was deceptively soft, seductive, at odds with the crudeness of his words. Not being a native speaker of English, many of the more coarse expressions were ones she was unfamiliar with. ‘Slut’ and ‘cunt’ fell into that category. Her medical training had equipped her with a clinical vocabulary sufficient for every eventuality and Fleur thought she knew what he meant, but she needed to check the translation.
“Sir, you use words in English I do not know. I am a doctor, I do understand the, the…”
“The plumbing?”
He lifted one enquiring eyebrow, and she noted that he now seemed to be absently running his thumb across the scrap of fabric in his hand.
“Perhaps. I meant the process, the biology. The anatomical facts. I think I may have heard… I am not sure about all of these words.”
Ethan smiled. “Your English is better than my French. I’ll teach you the words as we go along but don’t repeat them in your surgery. Come here, please, and stand in front of me as I asked you to.”
Fleur moved forward the couple of paces required to bring her immediately in front of him. She stood, determined to remain still but feeling awkward and very uncomfortable. Yesterday this had seemed natural, she’d actually enjoyed undressing for him. Today, despite his having agreed to do exactly as she’d asked him, she was on edge.
Fleur stepped back involuntarily as Ethan rose to his feet. Her nose was level with his shoulder, and she was once more struck by the heady male essence of him. He smelled of coffee, and of some sort of woody-scented cologne. But most of all he smelled male. She could not have described it, that musky, slightly tangy aroma that was unmistakably him. Her impulse was to lean in further, to bury her nose against his hard torso and just breathe him in.
Instinctively, though, she knew better than to move. He had told her to stand here. She would do that, just that, nothing else.
Ethan raked his eyes over every inch of her from her small, slender feet, her slim legs, her smooth mound and slightly rounded stomach, up to her breasts and their swollen nipples now verging on the decadent. His eyes reached hers and held her gaze for a few moments before he lifted one finger, twirling it to indicate that she should turn around to show him the rear view.
Fleur obeyed, standing still as he trailed one fingertip along the top of her shoulder, from arm to neck, then slowly down her spine. It tickled, but she willed herself not to move. He reached the base of her spine and continued on, down the furrow between her buttocks until he reached the tight little hole of her anus.
“Shall we have a little biology lesson, submissive style? Bend over, please. If you need to rest your hands on the table, that’s all right.”
Fleur’s pussy clenched violently. It was starting. He was starting. Now. She had to move slightly to be able to place her hands easily on the table that pressed her bottom more fully into Ethan’s hands. It felt strangely nice. She had no qualms about doing as he asked, assuming the position and even spreading her legs before he asked her to.
“That’s good anticipation. Be careful, though. Usually, I’ll tell you exactly what I want. Can you open your legs even wider, please?”
Fleur complied and was rewarded with a long, open-handed stroke across her pussy, from clit to anus. Despite her anxiety, she groaned aloud.
“When I refer to your cunt, I mean all of this. I’m not being specific. Pussy means the same. I’ll use both words a lot. What would you call it?”
She thought for a moment, searching for the correct medical terms and translating those into English. Or was that Latin? She wasn’t sure. “I would say vulva, Sir. Or labia majora. Labia minora. Perineum. Vagina.”
“Ah, yes, very clinical.”
“But I do know pussy, Sir.”
“Excellent. We’ll be talking about your pussy and your cunt. Which includes here, too.” He slipped one long finger inside her, sliding easily through her entrance to bury the digit deep. He thrust twice before withdrawing to trace the outer lips on eith
er side of her opening.
“Pussy lips. Clit?” He slid his finger forward to rub the swelling nub.
Fleur gulped, struggling now to hold still. “Yes, Sir, my clitoris. Clit. I am familiar with that word too.”
“You’ll be more familiar with it soon, sweetheart. You’ll come to know it intimately.” He swirled the pad of his finger lazily across the tip of her clit before working his way backwards to her circle her anus again.
“And here?”
“My, my anus. Sir. Oh!” Fleur jumped as Ethan slipped the tip of his exploring finger inside, now lubricated from his brief foray into her pussy.
“Arse to us, love. Do you like this?” He rotated his finger slowly, pressing gently to ease it past her sphincter.
“I am really not sure, Sir.” Then, as an afterthought, “It does not hurt.”
“It’s not meant to. I will hurt you, a little perhaps, but not by accident. And not now. I intend to be very, very gentle with your arse, when I fuck you here.”
Whether her unsteadiness was caused by his words or his actions, she had no idea. Fleur only knew she stumbled forward as her knees threatened to give way. Ethan slipped an arm around her waist quickly, holding her in position. His finger sank deeper inside her arse.
“Are you all right, Fleur?”
“I… I think I am, Sir. It is difficult to remain on my feet, though, while you do…that.”
“While I finger-fuck your arse? Is that what you mean?”
“Yes, Sir. Oh…” She ground out the words as he withdrew his finger then plunged it back inside, hard.
“Did that hurt?”
“No, Sir.” She braced her hands more firmly on the low tabletop, closing her eyes as his firm, rhythmic movements in her anus focused her attention totally. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, biting down hard in her concentration.
Ethan continued to support her, taking most of her weight, she realized, as he thrust his finger in and out of her now unresisting arse. It felt good—incredibly good, in fact. Intimately wicked. This was in essence only the same thing he had done to her yesterday, but it felt different, more intense. And this time, she knew he would not stop at just a finger.
