by Nia Farrell
“He was upset that you’d had an episode, and he wasn’t there to help you,” Ian told her. “A lot of what he does is help people process the Replay experience, and benefit from it. If he had known that you had triggers, he’d have coached the Doms on what to expect. If you still struggled, he would have talked you through it. He hasn’t reversed his initial assessment. You’re still cleared for play. And you still need ice. Stay right here. I’ll be back.”
Their session had taken a toll on her. Feeling very tired, Jannet closed her eyes. When she opened them again, darkness had fallen. Candles were lit, and Ian was in bed with her, his brow knit with concern.
“Sorry,” she whispered, her voice rough with sleep. “I didn’t get much rest last night.” She’d tossed and turned for hours before finally drifting off. She had gotten up much later than normal and thought she was caught up on her sleep. Evidently not.
“I knew you had to be exhausted. You slept through the ice packs and arnica. How are you feeling? Do you need some ibuprofen?”
“Water,” she said. “Thirsty. Ibuprofen is probably wise.” She could feel the heat of her skin and wondered if her ass was as red as it felt.
He returned with a heavy glass goblet of water and two tablets. She pushed herself to a sitting position and winced at the soreness.
And cringed at what else she felt.
“Thank you, Sir,” she said. “I’m going to need to use the restroom next. May I put on my chemise and ghillies and make the trek to the far side?”
“I have a better idea. Let’s both go to the bathhouse. They keep one whirlpool cooler for aftercare. It’s a warm tub, not a hot tub like the others. There are restrooms there, too, and plenty of towels.”
“Sounds heavenly.” Now, what to wear? She wasn’t a prude for public nudity, but it was October 2. This time of year, the temperature could drop dramatically after dark. If it did, she would need something to keep from getting chilled.
Jannet slipped into her chemise, laced up her ghillies, and grabbed her folded plaid, in case she needed more. Ian put on his shirt, which hung to mid-thigh, and found his own ghillies. Opening the door to their cottage, they stepped out into the cool night air.
Chapter Seven
It was two days past the new moon. With no natural light, Jannet appreciated the candle lanterns, hanging on posts that dotted both sides of the lane where they walked.
Jannet’s stride—less than Ian’s on a good day—was shorter yet with her aching backside. Eventually they reached the bathhouse. Two Doms and a woman wearing only plaids wrapped around them like togas were coming out as they were going in, leaving the space all to themselves. Jannet voided first, and emerged from the ladies’ restroom to find Ian chest-deep in the one tub that didn’t have steam rising from it. There were plenty of bubbles, though. Lots of jets in this one, it seemed. She set her folded plaid on a bench, unlaced her shoes to put beneath it, and added her chemise to the stack.
Not feeling very graceful, she walked slowly toward Ian, letting his hungry gaze consume her naked form. When he stood to help her step into the whirlpool, there was no hiding his body’s reaction.
As much as Jannet had wanted to forget last night when it happened, she couldn’t deny that she’d been thinking about that cock of his. Ian was definitely the biggest man she’d been with—not to mention, he had the most talented tongue to go with it.
And he could dance.
Jannet sighed and sank down in the water. He’d been right. Warm, not hot. And more jets, with gentler action than the ones churning the water in the other tubs. Positioning herself where she needed massaged the most, she sat in amiable silence, happy to be here, grateful that she was sharing this experience with Ian, and, for the first time since Alexis was hurt, envisioning a future that could be hers, if things worked out between them.
“Talk to me,” she said. “Tell me about Ian McGregor. Anything and everything. What you were like as a little boy. Your favorite Christmas. Your family and friends. Where you went to school. When you first became interested in design. And dance,” she added. Last, but far from least.
He angled his head. There was a gleam in his eye hinting that whatever he gave her, she would likely have to give something in return. “Sit on Santa’s lap, and I’ll tell you.”
“Ooh, Santa!” Pressing her palms together, Jannet rested her face on the back of one hand and playfully batted her eyelashes at him. “I’ll try, but your…lap…might be too hard for my sore bottom.”
“Has someone been naughty?” His eyes narrowed. The corners of his mouth pulled down.
“Yes,” she admitted, pushing out her bottom lip and pouting. “I got spanked. And paddled. And my Dom says that he’s going to flog me, too.”
“Damn right he is,” Ian rumbled. “Now, get over here, little girl. Santa’s waiting.”
Enjoying Ian’s playful side, she rose from the submerged bench and went to where he sat. He reached for her waist and spun her around, pulling her onto his lap so that she was seated with her back against the manly thatch on his chest and her head pillowed on his shoulder.
Ian wrapped his arms around her, one hand at her waist, his other claiming a breast.
Santa was definitely excited, and not just for Christmas.
Ian blew out softly. “Where to begin? I was a military brat, born in Ohio but raised in Franklin, North Carolina, after my mom left the Air Force. I wanted to be an astronaut. Or dig for dinosaurs. Or captain a pirate ship. Didn’t happen,” he added. “We were comfortable, for the most part, but not well off. When times got lean, I did odd jobs to help out. Mowed lawns. Painted porches. Ran a newspaper route for a while—which sucks, by the way. But one of my customers was a master carpenter, always doing something to his home. He offered to teach me some basics and discovered that I had a gift for it. Not only for building, but for design. When my mom couldn’t afford college, and I had a hard time finding a job that would accommodate my class schedule, Bill loaned us what was needed, on my promise to pay him back when I could.”
He pressed a kiss on her shoulder. “Everyone should be so lucky, to have people who believe in them. When I was twelve, Mom and I went to the Highland Games at Grandfather Mountain. The largest gathering of clans in the world. Being twelve, I wanted to see the caber toss and all that manly stuff. My mom wanted to listen to the Gaelic Mod singing competition and watch the Highland dance. She loved it all, but when the men crossed their swords and scabbards and bowed, she grabbed my hand and held her breath, waiting for the magic to happen. That was it. I wanted to learn it, for her, to do for her birthday, or Christmas, whenever we couldn’t afford presents, or when I just wanted to make her light up. It took every penny I’d saved, plus ten dollars from my mom to buy a sword and sheath. I had to practice while she was at work, but on Christmas Day, I danced for her. When she wanted to see me compete at the games, I danced for her. And when she was dying of cancer two years ago, I’d show her videos of the competitions that she’d had to miss. And now,” he said, his voice cracking, “I’d give anything to be able to dance for her again.”
Jannet was crying by this point, feeling the pain of his loss, tears tracking down her cheeks. Twisting, she arched back, slid a hand around his neck, and pulled his head down. Their mouths touched. Softly. Gently. Sweet and salty with the taste of her tears, and his. Lips parted, seeking more, needing the affirmation of life and finding it in each other.
She straddled his lap, his erection rising between them. The buoyancy of the water buffered everything. It took extra effort to grind her clit against the base of his cock, until his hands anchored her waist.
Ian took over from there.
He kissed his way down her neck to her breasts. Parting his lips, he fastened his mouth over her nipple and feasted on her flesh, teasing it with his tongue, tormenting it with his teeth. When he sucked, hard, at the same time he pinched and twisted her other nipple. Jannet orgasmed, riding out the storm while the waters swirled wildly around
them.
“Please,” she begged him. “Don’t make me wait.”
Ian lifted his head, hazel eyes blazing. “Fuck me.” He relaxed his hold that had pinned her in place. Lifting herself up, she reached down, grasped his erection, and guided the tip to her center. She notched the head in her opening, and slowly impaled herself on his length, sinking down in a long, slow slide that ended in sighs of contentment from both of them.
He let her take control, riding him like she would a stallion, using his cock for her pleasure. She orgasmed again, her walls tightening around him, milking his length, urging him to join her.
“Not here,” he grated. “Someone may need this tonight. They won’t want to soak in my spunk.”
“Unless it’s their kink,” she said. “Tell me what to do, Sir.”
“Feels too good to stop.” He shook himself. “The shower. Let’s finish in the shower.”
He lifted her off of him, leaving both of them feeling bereft and unsatisfied…but only for as long as it took to walk to the shower room, pick an empty unit, and turn on the rain heads and body sprays. Hotter water this time. Not so good on her bottom, but it felt great everywhere else.
Rather than get right back to it, Ian washed her hair, his large, strong, capable hands working the lather through its lengths. Massaging her scalp made her want to melt against him as he worked. It was all she could do to keep standing upright and not puddle at his feet.
He grabbed a handheld spray head and had her tip back her head for rinsing. Once he was certain the suds were gone, he bit her ear to get her attention and told her what he wanted.
The price she’d pay for the information he had given was her anal virginity.
“I’ll go slow,” he assured her. “Make sure you’re wet and stay that way. The shower is the perfect place for that, and for cleaning up after. You’re going to love the handheld. Just in case, what are your safe words?”
“Arabesque to slow. Coda to stop.”
“Good girl. Now, I want to you to bend forward, grab that bar, and spread your feet hip distance apart.”
In a shower built for kink, this one was equipped with a full-length bench on one side, a shorter bench on another, a horizontal bar that reminded her of ballet class, and a couple of rings that were not for hanging towels.
Taking hold of the bar, Jannet folded her body forward until her torso was parallel with the tiled floor, stepped sideways with one foot, and adjusted her hold. Ian pointed the handheld showerhead at her anus, wetting it, teasing it with the pulsing stream, adding a finger and pushing it inside.
She’d been this far before. She could do this, she told herself.
He added a second finger.
Oh, God.
“Ian…” She breathed his name, then forgot to breathe altogether when his hand started moving, warm water pulsing, lubricating where they were joined.
He added a third finger.
Jannet went still. Forcing her body to relax, she reminded herself that he knew what he was doing. Then there was more movement, probing, pulling back, and tunneling in again. When he judged her ready, he pulled out his fingers and rinsed them off. The next thing she felt was the head of his cock pressing against her sphincter, pushing into it, through it, slowly, carefully, a sinful stretch of tissue.
“That’s it, baby,” he crooned. “Take it. Take me. Fuck, yessss….”
Jannet bit her lip and focused on relaxing. Tightening up would make things unnecessarily unpleasant, if not impossible. She didn’t know what it was about anal that got some men so hot, they wanted to claim every part of a woman, including the most forbidden.
She’d never trusted anyone enough to try, until Ian.
He was careful. Considerate. Making certain she was handling him—which was no little feat, given his size. But eventually he would want to move. And move, he did, slowly at first, shallow pumps, barely in and out. Gradually, he lengthened his strokes, flexing his hips, pulling back more, before pushing in again. He pointed the handheld shower to wet them, and the next thrust was more forceful. Commanding. Demanding.
He would not be denied.
Ian started driving into her, then, reaming her out with his cock, making her pant and gasp and moan, struggling to take what he was giving her.
“Too much,” she hissed. “It’s too much. I can’t….”
“Touch yourself,” he ordered. “Part those pussy lips for me.”
Jannet gripped the bar with one hand and thrust the other between her legs, stroking her clit before exposing it.
He brought the shower head around her front and directed the spray on her sensitive bundle of flesh. She climaxed at once, and he was right there with her, shooting hot jets of cum into her dark passage.
Ian washed her off. He gave her permission to use the restroom, with orders to rejoin him as soon as she was done.
He washed her again. This time, he turned the water off and wrapped her in a bath sheet. “Do you want a second towel for your hair?”
“Yes, please.”
Bending at the waist, she flipped the length of her hair forward, draped the towel over her head, caught the ends, and twisted them together to form a turban. His hair was long—not as long as hers. He used his single towel to rub away the excess moisture.
“There are hair dryers, if you need to use one.”
She smiled softly. “Whatever pleases you, Sir.”
Ian nodded. “Good girl. Leave it, then. I want to watch it dry and see how it curls.”
Jannet thought that was one of the most romantic things that a man had ever said to her.
She was happy to oblige. Adding their used towels to the laundry bin, they dressed in what they’d worn and headed back.
Still flushed from their shower, now familiar with the way, Jannet listened to the sounds of the night, moans and whimpers escaping from a window that was slightly opened, the hoot of an owl, the beat of her heart.
By the time they reached their cottage, she knew that she was falling for Ian McGregor.
Chapter Eight
She thought that Ian might want to get right to the flogging. Instead, he wanted to talk.
“Your turn,” he said. Kneeling, he untied her ghillies and pulled her chemise over her head. Lifting her chin in his hand, he brushed a kiss across her lips and pulled her down with him onto the bed. Lying naked, side by side, he covered them both with a sheet and pushed the damp hair back from her face. “I want to know your favorite Christmas. Your favorite foods. Hobbies, pastimes—whatever brings you joy. I want to hear what appeals to you about the lifestyle. Tell me what you hoped to learn here, and what you want to do.”
“Well, Santa…,” she murmured, “the Christmas when I was eight, I got exactly what I wanted. A Snowball Furby. If I’d left it unopened in the package, I could have made out like a bandit selling it online.”
“Sounds like my Star Wars figures.”
“Exactly. Hmm. Favorite foods. King crab legs. Maryland softshell crab. Snow crab legs. Not Dungeness, though! That stuff’s awful! Shrimp. Lobster. Clams and scallops but not oysters. Fresh fruit—strawberries, peaches, grapes, blueberries, nectarines. Oh, watermelon. There’s nothing like watermelon in July. And chocolate, of course.”
Ian arched a brow.
“I’m a woman. Comes with the territory. A really good steak. Caramelized Vidalia onions. Grilled asparagus. Grilled anything, really. I love to grill. Meat. Seafood. Veggies. Fruit.”
“That gives us lots of options,” he noted, “for eating in or dining out.”
Jannet warmed at his words, painting a picture of a future beyond Replay. “As for hobbies, right now, it’s horseback riding. Reading. My mom taught me to sew. I’m teaching Alexis how to do counted cross stitch. Simple things right now. But the math, the color matching, the physical dexterity—they’re all good for a young mind and mending body. Eventually, we’ll tackle making our own patterns, but that’s a long way off. As for what brings me joy…since I had to leave d
ance…music, I guess. Family. Books. Movies. I’m not much on television, and I’ve never made friends easily. If I want to treat myself, I’ll go to the salon just to have my hair washed, or schedule a deep tissue massage. No happy ending, but a very grateful body.”
“And the lifestyle?” he prompted.
“You’ve met Micheil and Xander,” she said. Both of her brothers were Dominants. Micheil didn’t like to share. Xander seemed to prefer it. “When Fifty Shades of Grey came out—I know, I know. But still, like everyone else, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Then, when everyone was damning it for not being a true portrayal of the lifestyle, I couldn’t agree or disagree without knowing what the lifestyle was. I went online, found some sites, and, suddenly, things clicked into place. It all made sense. I knew what my brothers were. More importantly, I knew what I was. I discovered Regina Wright’s blog, A Naughty Girl’s Guide for New Submissives, and I wanted to experience the things that she had done. Well, some of them, anyway. Bondage. Kinbaku. Wax play. Sensory play. Sex toys. Flogging. I came here, hoping to learn what it means to submit. I still need to see if I have what it takes for more than just a weekend. With my anxiety, I’m always second guessing. Insecure and doubting myself. It really helps when you let me know that I’ve pleased you, but I still struggle with believing that I’ve earned that good girl and you’re not just being kind.”
“Hey.” He ran the backs of two fingers down her cheek and chucked her chin. “I am kind,” he said. “And I’m generally truthful, except when it’s kinder to say nothing. If I tell you that you’ve been good, you can bank on it. So far, you’re passing Submission 101 with flying colors, but you’re right. There’s more to the lifestyle than weekends at Replay. You live with Micheil and Rowena. You see how they are, in public and in private. I’m guessing that most—if not all—of her submission is in the bedroom or playroom, and there’s very little evidence of D/s outside of it. She’s an incredibly strong woman, but it takes a strong woman to surrender control to a stronger man.”
