by Nia Farrell
“I’ve never had a Dominant,” she said. “There’s so much to learn.”
“I can help you with that, if you’re ready for your next lesson. You still have a flogging coming. I could be persuaded to add some toys and sensory foreplay. A blindfold. Nipple clamps. Fur. Feathers. A riding crop. A Wartenberg wheel. I’d love to take you from behind while you’re bound to the St. Andrew’s cross with an anal plug in your back door, my cock in your pussy, and a vibrator on your clit.”
“Fuck,” she moaned. “How soon can we get started?”
Ian left her tucked in bed while he got everything ready. The room had cooled enough, he lit the fireplace for extra warmth, then raided the cupboard for what they would need. Positioning a small table full of toys within reach of the cross in the corner, he came back to the bed and helped Jannet from it.
Leather cuffs went on her wrists and ankles. Pinching her nipples, he brought them to full arousal, then fastened on the clamps. “We’ll try weighted next time,” he promised, flicking the tip of one breast with his fingernail and making her moan. Leading her to the St. Andrew’s cross and guiding her into place, facing it, he fastened her ankles, then her wrists.
“The blindfold’s next,” he said. “Taking away one sense heightens the others. The best way for sensory play.”
He put a black mask over her eyes and checked the fit. “Good?” he asked. “Not too tight? It’s harder to tell with all that hair.”
Hers was thick, and long. The weight of it straightened out most of her natural curl, so that it lay in waves that nearly reached her waist. If she ever cut it, she was afraid she’d look like Little Orphan Annie.
Or a clown.
Scary thought.
“It’s good,” she said.
“Excellent.” He moved away, then. Unable to see, she listened to his movements. To the table. And back. She felt something soft stroke down her arm, over her shoulders, and up her other arm. The fur mitt. He drew it down her back, across her hips, down the back of each leg and up the inside, stopping just short of where she ached for him to touch. It teased her crotch and tickled her sides.
Then it was gone, replaced by a feather. He traced patterns on every inch of her skin that he could reach, spiraling in, circling out, swooping around curves, and dipping into valleys.
Remembering what he’d said, she held her breath, wondering what he would choose to use next. Would it be the crop? The pinwheel? Would the anal plug come before or after…?
He took longer at the table this time. Applying lubricant? When she felt the coolness on his fingers touch her anus, she knew that she was right. He lubed her, outside and in, then pressed the anal plug to her pucker.
“Relax, and push back on it. Trust me, it will go right in.”
And it did.
Another trip to the table. More time there, cleaning his hands from the sound of it. When he returned, he stroked her side with what had to be a riding crop, dragging it over her shoulder, stroking her cheek, letting her smell the leather.
He traced the line of her back from the base of her neck to her lumbar spine, then tapped her sore bottom, making breath hiss between her teeth. Teasing the back of her knee, he dragged the crop up the inside of her thigh to her crotch and gave the anal plug a tap that made her writhe with need.
Then, thwack. The first blow landed on the back of her thigh, hard enough to produce a tiny sting. More strokes fell, on both thighs. Dozens of stings and stronger strikes, some of them hard enough to raise welts.
It was random, at first. He kept her guessing where the next tap would land. And then…there seemed to be a method to his madness. Gradually, a pattern emerged. He worked both sides of her body, with the focus on her inner thighs. At times, he’d change it up, stroking her with the tip, tapping the plug or her clit, teasing her pussy with the shaft and tormenting it with the leather-wrapped handle until she was ready to beg him to stick it in.
She arched her back and lifted her ass, presenting herself for his pleasure.
Leaning close, he bit the base of her neck like a stallion mounting a mare, wet the end of the crop on her juices, and inserted it, inch by fractional inch.
She moaned, needing more.
He pushed it in, pulled it nearly out, then shoved it back in again.
“Please,” she whimpered.
Ian chuckled…and pulled it completely out.
Jannet bit her lip to keep from begging him not to stop.
He gave her one last taste of the riding crop, making her yelp when he used the shaft like a cane across her tender ass.
One more trip to the table, and he was back with the Wartenberg wheel. There was no mistaking the twinned rows of pinpoint pricks that tracked up her leg, over the curve of her buttocks, and up the left side of her back. He repeated the course on her other side. Instead of using it on her arms, he wrapped one arm around her waist and hauled her back against him, his erection prodding her back, her clamped nipples aching from the movement. He slid his hand down to claim her crotch and brought the pinwheel to her front.
“I can’t see it,” he whispered in her ear, humping her with his cock. “You’ll have to tell me if it’s too much. Just say it. No need for your mouthful of a safeword for this. Too much, okay, a little harder. Give me directions, and I’ll follow them. Be a good girl, and you’ll get fucked, then flogged, then fucked again.”
“Yes, Sir. If you please, Sir.”
“Let’s begin.”
He drew the Wartenberg wheel down her midline, rolling it over the chain connecting her nipple clamps and making her moan his name. Encouraged, he continued south, tracing her midline down to her abdomen. Then it was her chest. Her breasts. Sweet, sweet torture that would have had her writhing in his arms if she’d dared to move.
“Good girl,” he crooned when he was done. “Now, for your reward.”
Another trip to the table. And back. With himself and a vibrator.
He slid his hand up the inside of her thigh and rubbed her crotch. Her outer lips were engorged, and juices from her pussy had tracked down her legs, cooling as they dried. He slipped a finger into her, pressing against the plug with his thumb while he fucked her pussy with his hand. He added a second finger, and she whimpered with need, wishing it was his cock. But as wet as she was, she still needed stretched out to take him.
Three fingers now, thrusting rhythmically, the cadence timed with her breath. Taking himself in hand, he dragged his head along her slit to wet it, found her opening, and pushed his way inside. The plug made her pussy even tighter, and she was grateful that he’d taken the time to prepare her.
He had a magnificent cock. Long and thick, it more than filled her. Flexing his hips, he made long, slow slides into her and quick trips out. Eventually, his strokes became more even, until they took on a machine precision and he was pistoning in and out of her to the liquid sounds of sex.
After long minutes, he slowed his pace, nearly coming to a halt. She heard a buzz and felt the vibrator that he pushed against the apex of her thighs, seeking and finding her clit.
“Come for me,” he ordered, thrusting hard into her at the same time that he pressed the egg against her.
Her body stiffened, convulsing as she climaxed, one orgasm barely abating before the next one came, and the next, and the next. He caught the chain to her nipple clamps and pulled, triggering an orgasm like none she’d ever experienced. She ejaculated, releasing a flood of juices that wet them both.
Ian fisted her hair and forced her head to the side. Ravaging her mouth with a punishing kiss, he bit her lip, then rasped in her ear. “Oh, sweetheart. Look at you. Wearing my plug, taking my cock, squirting for me. I’m going to finish, but I’ll let you pick where. Just tell me, eilidh. Your pussy or your ass…?”
“My pussy,” she breathed. “Come in my pussy.”
Dropping the egg, he grasped her hips hard enough to bruise and began jackhammering into her. His breaths grew harsh. His rhythm broke. A few more strokes, and
he gave a guttural cry, shoved in deep, and held. Pulsing jets of semen filled her to overflowing, running down her legs and onto the floor.
He left her bound, blindfolded, and dripping wet, and went to fetch the flogger. Holding it near her face, he let her smell the leather falls before dragging them all over her body. Fisting her hair, he bit her ear and tongued it. “Safewords,” he rumbled. “To slow and to stop.”
“Arabesque to slow,” she gasped when he tapped the plug with the handle of the flogger. “Coda to stop.”
“Arabesque and coda. Good girl. I need you to relax. Don’t tighten up. Keep your skin loose and soft, where it welcomes the blows instead of resisting them. Trust me to keep you safe. No impact on the kidneys, the spine, or anywhere else that could be damaged. You’re going to feel it on your upper back, ass cheeks, and thighs. I’ll do several strokes in the same spot to build up endorphins, then move on to the next. My goal is to help you reach subspace. If you don’t, it’s okay. Some subs never get there. Others find it their first time out. Are you ready to try?”
Jannet shivered. “Yes, Sir. Please, Sir.”
“Good girl.”
Chapter Nine
Jannet lay in bed, processing a gradual return to awareness. She remembered being flogged, how pain had yielded to pleasure, a sense of euphoria, the sensation of flight, as if her spirit had broken out of its physical cage and was free to soar. A strange phenomenon, but not frightening, once she’d recognized what it was.
Subspace.
She cracked open her eyes to find Ian propped on the other pillow, watching her intently.
He crooked a smile, looking far more pleased than concerned. “Welcome back. Quite a trip you took, there. You’ve been out for a good half hour. Shh. Just lie still. Get your bearings. Good girl. I’d like you to drink some water. You need to hydrate. Think you can manage?”
“I think so.” She waited until he came back with a half-filled goblet before trying to sit. Pushing herself up, she winced at the tell-tale soreness to her backside.
Ian let her get situated, then offered her the glass. “Do you need me to hold it for you?”
For some reason, that made her think of Rich, and his need to feel Domly. What if Ian felt the same? “I don’t think so,” she told him. Lifting her voice on the end made her sound doubtful. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. Thank you, Sir.”
He held the goblet to her lips. She placed her hand on the back of his much larger one to help guide him while she drank.
Jannet was thirstier than she realized. She drained the glass and asked for more.
This time he filled the goblet, and helped her drink nearly all of it.
“Thank you, Sir. I’d probably better make the trek down to the ladies’ room before bedtime. All that water has to go somewhere.”
“You’ll want another shower before going home. We can do it now, or later….”
She blinked, then remembered he’d changed his plans to fucking, flogging, and fucking. They’d only crossed two of the three off his list.
She must have looked less than enthusiastic at the prospect.
“Sore?” he guessed.
Too sore was what he meant.
“Yes, Sir. You’ve given me quite a workout. I suspect I’ll be sitting funny for days. I don’t know what to tell Alexis if she asks.”
“Tell her you’re saddle sore. That’s something she can understand.”
Jannet grinned. “Saddle sore. That, I am. And in need of the loo. And a shower. And sleep at some point. Tomorrow’s a work day and a school day.”
“And you teach.”
“I home school my niece. After the accident when we almost lost her, at first it was sitting with her, seeing her through rehab while Micheil made the money to pay for it all. The best surgeons. The best therapists. Everyone who had a hand in getting her on the road to recovery and seeing that she made it. There were rounds of appointments. We still have them, but fewer and farther between now. Poor thing had to relearn everything. Speech. Manual dexterity. Mobility. When she learned to walk again, Micheil promised that he’d give her anything she wanted, and he made that happen. That’s how he met Rowena. She has a degree in English, but she has her own full-time career, writing and illustrating children’s books.”
She also had a blog and a weekly television show, but Jannet couldn’t say anything about those. Only a handful of people knew that ginger-wigged Regina Wright was Rowena’s naughty alter ego.
“She’d have to cut back her hours to home school Alexis. They asked if I’d continue, and I said yes. I could have gone back to dance, but once you walk away, it’s an even bigger challenge to get where you want to be. I’d just done my first performance as a principal dancer when Xander called me about the accident. Jayne was dead, and they didn’t know if Alexis would make it. I can’t tell you how awful that was.”
Jannet shuddered, remembering those dark days.
“I can. Kind of,” Ian said softly. “My dad was killed by a drunk driver when I was five. I remember seeing him in the casket. Despite what Mom had been telling me, I thought he was sleeping. I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t wake up. That he would never wake up again.”
“Oh, Ian. I am so, so sorry,” Jannet whispered, her heart aching for the little boy who’d seen his family torn apart by tragedy. “Alexis was three when she lost her mother. Nearly four when she learned to walk again. Now she’s five going on thirty, and she very much keeps her auntie on her toes. As bright as she is, it’s a task to keep her challenged. She’ll be six at the end of December and she’s already doing work two years ahead. A genius, like her father. God knows what she’ll do when she grows up. Change the world, no doubt.”
“No doubt. If we’re going to get any sleep, we’d better saunter down to the bathhouse. This time of night, we might not be alone.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “No biggie. When you dance, or act, you get used to nudity in changing rooms.”
Ian gave her the look.
“Eilidh,” he said, “it’s more what the nude people will be doing. Scenes aren’t limited to the cottages. At Replay, you can expect to see anything, anywhere, any time.”
“Oh. Oh!”
Reaching, he brushed a kiss across her lips and pushed back the hair from her face. “It’s our choice to watch or join, to do a quick in-and-out or stay and play. You have your safewords. They’ll work for this, too. Arabesque if you’re interested in something that’s going on and want to linger longer. Coda if it’s too much and we need to leave.”
“No sharing,” she said. “I’m like Micheil that way.”
“No sharing.” Ian nodded. “Now, scoot your ass, and let’s go get clean. If we can’t sleep, we can always get dirty again.”
Jannet was glad that she’d been forewarned. When they entered the bathhouse, two of the hot tubs were occupied…by five people. In the closest unit, a man and a woman sat side by side. His head was thrown back, and he was biting his lip. Only her upper arm was visible, but the way that she was pumping it left no doubt as to what was happening below the surface.
The second whirlpool had two men and one woman, locked at the hips. One of the men was seated. The woman was on his lap, facing him, her hands clinging to his shoulders. The other man was behind her, one hand on her waist, the other fisting her hair as he took her from behind.
DP. Double penetration. Something that she’d read about but never thought she’d see.
And she couldn’t stop watching.
Ian rubbed his chin. “Do you….?”
The want to join them went unsaid.
“No!” she whispered. “Goodness, no. It’s just…it’s like a video that you accidentally stumble across and don’t want to see but you find yourself glued to it until it’s done.”
He draped her hair over one shoulder, baring her neck. Dipping his head, he pressed a kiss below her ear and whispered into it. “They won’t be long. We can stay here…or head for the showers.”
&n
bsp; “Showers.” She didn’t explain her choice, but she’d glimpsed dark hair on the seated man. From this angle, he was hidden by his partners. She’d find it very awkward if he turned out be to be Rich.
It wasn’t, thank goodness. They ended up having the shower room to themselves. She used the ladies’ room and joined Ian in the stall that they’d shared earlier, only this time, there was no sex, just continued aftercare and reciprocity. He made sure that she was clean and comfortable, and she did the same. They took turns washing each other, rinsed off when they finished, and toweled themselves dry. Putting their clothes back on, they laced up their ghillies and headed back for the cottage.
“Do you know what time it is?” she asked as they walked.
Ian looked at the sky and found the thin crescent of moon. “One or two AM,” he guessed. “After midnight, for sure.”
“I’ll have to go back to my suite and get my things before checking out. If I’m tardy dragging myself home, at least I don’t have to worry about getting fired tomorrow. Today. Whatever.”
“Me, neither,” he chuckled. “Some days, it actually feels good to be the boss.”
“Before I left, Rowena told me not to hurry back. It almost sounded like she expected me to be late. Or maybe she was hoping that I would have a reason to be.”
“I’ve tried my best to give you one,” he said, pulling her tighter against him. “Too bad we can’t both play hooky tomorrow. We could spend the day here, or go back to my place, or sneak into yours.”
“It is too bad,” she agreed. “Can I take a raincheck?”
He bent his head and kissed her hair. “Yes. You certainly may. I want you to think about what you’d like to do next weekend…if I can stay away from you that long.”
Jannet hugged his waist and fought the urge to pinch herself. She thought that this weekend would be a fantasy brought to life. Now it seemed more like a dream come true.
“I don’t think your brother will object to my seeing you,” Ian said. “If he does, I’ll handle him.”
