Rich Pickings

by Ashe Barker

  “Yes. Very much. I’m so glad Ashley contacted me.”

  “Me too. So you enjoyed all of it? No second thoughts?”

  He’s referring to the events of this morning. And yesterday on the steps to Black Combe. And the consequences yet to be addressed. I look up at him to meet his gaze and shake my head. “No. None.”

  His smile is warm. “None so far. That’s good. And later? After we finish here? I know I came on strong yesterday and you were feeling pressured, taken by surprise. I need you to understand that I’m not going to force anything on you that you don’t want. Really don’t want. You can say no. Always.”

  “I do know that.” I think. I’ve yet to say no to Dan and make it stick. But I don’t intend to try it tonight. “I accept what’s coming. I trust you. And I want you to understand that I really am sorry for what happened. For all of it.”

  I’m referring to my bizarre behavior at the club all those months ago as well as the debacle yesterday, though I’m hoping Dan won’t press me too hard to explain. Not here. Later perhaps, when we’re alone.

  “What’s coming? Mmm, that’s one way of putting it. I think you’ll survive, though. I’ve not spent much time with you this afternoon. I’m sorry about that but it’s been a bit manic.”

  “I know. And it’s okay. I came to this wedding on my own. I don’t expect you to…”

  “You may have come here alone but you’re not alone now.” Dan interrupts my flow of words, and I fall silent. Considering. He steers us toward the edge of the dance floor and into a secluded niche beside a huge potted palm. He tips up my chin with his fingertips and brushes his lips over mine.

  “You were Ashley’s guest in the first place, now you’re mine. Okay?”

  “Your…guest?”

  “Just…mine.” He lowers his head to kiss me again, and there is no further conversation.

  By seven in the evening I’m seriously flagging. Guests are starting to disperse, but there’s still quite a crowd as we all troop outside to watch the fireworks. I’d expected Ashley and Tom to disappear off on honeymoon somewhere, but they’re still here. According to Eva, Tom wants to oversee the initial stages of getting his wind farm scheme off the ground, so they’ve delayed their honeymoon for a couple of weeks. I’m glad, happy to have an opportunity to get to know Ashley all over again. Now that we’re back in contact I intend to keep in touch, but emails and Facebook are no substitute for good old face-to-face girlie chats.

  I’ve no firm plans for returning to Cumbria, but I suppose it’ll be fairly soon. I’d wondered about scrounging a lift back to Kendall with Freya and Nick, but it seems they’re also staying for a few more days. Nick intends to be at the wind farm meeting. I’m not sure my welcome will extend that far, after all, I hardly know Nathan and even if I am Dan’s ‘guest’ it’s his brother’s house I’m staying in. What I do know is, I’m in no hurry to be away.

  I wonder how long Dan will be here for?

  My phone pings in my tiny clutch bag, signaling the arrival of a text. I’m surprised. Apart from Ashley, and now Freya, no one has my number. And they’re both standing on either side of me. I reach into my bag to pull out the phone.

  Time to go.

  What the…? It’s an unknown number. Well, in fairness all numbers are unknown as far as my phone’s concerned. I peer at the message, then look up and glance around me. No clues. Nothing.

  Another ping. I press the little orange icon to reveal the new message.

  Behind you. Nathan’s car.

  I turn. Dan is lounging against the bonnet of Nathan’s sleek black Porsche, the driver’s door open. His phone is in his hand as he watches me from under lowered eyebrows. My stomach lurches, my pussy contracts, moistening. That look, pure Dom. He won’t be kept waiting.

  I turn to Freya. “I need to leave. I’ll see you soon.”

  “What? But, where…?” She stops signing as her gaze follows mine. She sees Dan, and knows the score.

  “Right. Later then. Have fun.” She reaches up to kiss my cheek then turns back to the fireworks.

  Fun? Maybe. Eventually. But first…

  I walk slowly over to the Porsche, as Dan moves around the bonnet to open the passenger door.

  Chapter Two

  “Where are we going?”

  I assumed we’d be headed back to Black Combe, but Dan drives straight past the junction leading up to Nathan and Eva’s house and on toward Haworth.

  “Leeds.” Dan’s answer is succinct, and he seems inclined to offer nothing more. I have visions of a club, or perhaps a hotel. I’m tired, I hope for the latter.

  “Where in Leeds?” I glance quickly across at Dan, his hard profile outlined in the dim light from the dashboard.

  He’s a handsome man, devastatingly so, I’m fast appreciating, but his features now are stark, unrelenting. Gone is the gentle, playful lover who made love to me this morning and danced with me this afternoon. Here instead is the Dom bent on discipline, on teaching me obedience. And respect. I suspect I will learn those lessons well, no doubt starting with not questioning him. But still, I would like to know where we’re headed.

  “Please, Dan. Sir. I would like to know. Where are we going?”

  He relents, perhaps in response to my polite inquiry. “Nathan’s apartment in Leeds. You’ll like it there. It’s very well equipped.”

  So, not clubbing then. I’m pleased. An apartment sounds fine. Better than fine. Private. Peaceful. But I’m struck by Dan’s odd choice of words.

  “Well equipped? In what way?”

  He shoots a swift, scornful glance in my direction before turning his attention back to the road. That look is enough, though, quite sufficient to clarify just what sort of equipment I might expect to encounter in Nathan Darke’s apartment in Leeds.

  Shit. I knew what was coming, but this makes it all so much more real.

  “I see.” I fold my hands in my lap and gaze out of the passenger window at the passing countryside. Or as much as I can see in the darkness. Dan offers no additional details, leaving me alone with my thoughts for now.

  The journey passes quickly, the traffic is light at this time and Leeds is only about twenty-five miles away. Soon we’re skirting the Bradford south ring road to pick up the motorway, and just minutes after that we’re pulling off the slip road toward south Leeds. Dan negotiates the route confidently, his hands relaxed on the steering wheel. I find my eyes drawn to his long, strong fingers, my pussy dampening as I recall how they feel inside me. Soon, I hope.

  He signals left and takes a sharp turn, steering the car into a small tunnel leading to an underground parking area. I guess we’ve arrived then. Dan pulls up in a parking bay sporting the initials ‘ND’. He kills the engine and turns to me.

  “Do you remember what I said to you about safe words? Back at the club in Lancaster?”

  I don’t pretend to misunderstand. “Yes. Red for stop, amber for slow down.”

  “Good. Use those any time you need to, really need to. Amber especially. I’ll be happy to give you time, explain anything you need me to. Red’s more serious. Use that only if you mean it. And, Summer, you don’t have to go through with any of this, you do know that?”

  “Yes, Sir, I understand.” He made that perfectly clear on the dance floor. I accepted it then, and I still do.

  “And? Still happy to be here? With me?”

  Happy? Perhaps not quite yet. But happy enough. I nod briefly.

  Dan gets out of the car, and before I can follow him he’s come round to open my door for me. He offers me his hand to help me out, and I accept the unexpected chivalry. I’ve noticed this before, the strange juxtaposition of intimacy and humiliation with infinite respect and perfect courtesy. Dan is unfailingly polite and considerate. I recall he managed to remain so even as he strapped me, naked, to the spanking bench in Lancaster. He opens the car boot and pulls out a small overnight bag.

  “A few things I asked Eva to pack for you. I hope you don’t mind.”


  Mind? I’m struck again by his attention to detail, and to my comfort. It never occurred to me to ask to go and collect my things from Black Combe. “No, of course not. Thank you. I must thank Eva too, when we get back.”

  He shrugs and gestures for me to precede him to the lift. Dan punches a series of numbers into the keypad by the door, and within seconds a whirring sound heralds the imminent arrival of the lift. The doors glide apart, and I step inside. Dan follows, dropping my bag to the floor as he punches in another short series of numbers. The lift starts upwards, the motion smooth but it feels as though our ascent is rapid. I lean back against the wall of the lift, idly considering my reflection in the mirrored wall opposite. Dan is lounging alongside me, infinitely at ease. We’re both still wearing our wedding finery, though Dan has long since discarded the tie, and his collar is unbuttoned. If anything, he looks even more attractive for being ever so slightly disheveled. My dress is creased across the front, so I smooth it out with my hands. Our eyes meet, reflected in the shiny metallic wall in front of us. The sardonic quirk to Dan’s lips suggests he considers my attempts to restore order somewhat optimistic, but old habits die hard and I can do no other.

  “Nice dress. Very sexy.”

  “Thank you, Sir. You look very nice too.”

  He smiles slightly, the only acknowledgment of my compliment. “Tell me, Miss Jones. How do you avoid a panty line in a dress so tight?”

  I see my eyes widen in my reflected image, but I’m pleased to note my voice remains steady as I reply, “I’m wearing a thong, Sir.”

  “Ah yes, I thought so. May I have it please?” He holds out his hand, palm up.

  I don’t move. Forget to breathe.

  “The thong, please. It would be better not to exacerbate your predicament by having me need to ask you a third time.” His hand is still outstretched, waiting, but his tone now has an impatient edge to it, a subtle nuance but it makes me shiver.

  And I know better than to waste any more time. I bend, lift the front of my skirt above my knees, and reach under to grab the front of my thong. I pull it down and step out of it, before handing the underwear to Dan. He thanks me politely and shoves the scrap of lace into his pocket before turning to the keypad again. This time the code he taps in causes the lift to shudder and stop.

  He folds his arms across his chest, regarding my slightly startled expression in the mirrored wall. His eyes narrow, hardening to a deep, stone gray.

  “You’ll need to shimmy a little I imagine, but I want you to work that sexy little skirt way up high above your waist. Then I want you to turn and face the wall.”

  I gasp. “Here? In the lift?”

  “Yes, Miss Jones. Here, in the lift. Get on with it please.” He steps away from the wall, and reaches for the buckle on his belt. He unfastens it and starts to slide it through the loops in his dress trousers.

  “Your belt? You mean to hit me with your belt?” I blurt out the obvious.

  “I do, Miss Jones. Any objections?”

  Yes! Plenty.

  “No, Sir.” I start to raise my skirt.

  He’s right about the shimmying, but the alternative is to remove my dress entirely, which I’d prefer not to do in a semi-public environment. A couple of minutes’ wriggling and tugging see the silky fabric bunched around my waist and under my breasts. I’m naked from the waist down. Unless you count my thigh-high stockings and shoes of course, which Dan instructs me to leave in place. With an imperious whirl of his finger he instructs me to turn to the wall, baring my unprotected bottom.

  “Lean on the wall—brace yourself against it. Now, arch your back and lift your bum up for me. Spread your legs a little more. Show me that pretty cunt of yours.”

  I adjust my position conscious of his eyes on me as I present myself for his punishment.

  “Shoulders lower and back arched a little more, if you would please. Your body is beautiful, you can be proud of it. Show it off to me, girl.”

  His words have the desired effect. Far from feeling scared and humiliated, I do indeed know a sense of pride. I feel beautiful, desirable. Sexy and hot, and very, very wet now. I lean farther forward, consciously raising my bottom a little higher for his viewing.

  “Turn your head—look at yourself in the mirror. See how gorgeous you are. You make me hard just looking at you, my sweet little fucktoy.”

  I do as I’m told, studying my body now reflected from the side, my naked bottom tilted upwards, my thighs parted. Dan is standing behind me, maybe three feet away, his belt now dangling from his hand. He’s folded it, the buckle and other end grasped in his fist.

  “How many stripes should I give you, do you think? How many have you deserved?”

  “I don’t know, Sir. Whatever you think…” But I hope it’s not much. That belt looks as though it might sting a bit.

  “You attacked me. I’m thinking ten, possibly twelve.” His tone is dispassionate. He shifts his stance, swinging the belt as if he’s about to start.

  “No!” I blurt out my response, driven part by fear, but also by a sense of injustice. Yes, I hit him. But I didn’t hurt him, and I have already apologized.

  “No? No not at all, or no, not twelve?”

  “I— Not twelve. Please.”

  “Ten?”

  I whimper, my buttocks clenching pathetically.

  “Eight?”

  I drag in a deep breath and nod. “Yes, Sir, if you think so. Eight.”

  “You could accept eight, I know that. But we’ll settle for six today. Three on each side. Are you ready for this?”

  I nod again. “Yes, Sir. And, thank you.” I am genuinely grateful for his consideration. He could have insisted on twelve strokes, I wouldn’t have protested, though I might have been screaming ‘red’ well before the end.

  “After each stroke I’ll wait until you tell me you’re ready, then I’ll deliver the next one. So, the quicker you recover each time, the faster we’ll be done with this. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “No questions? No more negotiations?”

  “No, Sir. Please, just do it.”

  “My pleasure, Miss Jones.”

  The soft whistle of the belt whizzing through the air is the only warning I get before the pain explodes across my left buttock. I scream, staggering under the shock, even though I know he didn’t hit me especially hard. I’m shaking as I regain my balance, my arms braced against the cool metal wall.

  “Miss Jones? Are you ready for me to continue?”

  “Yes, Sir.” I manage to force the words out through gritted teeth.

  The belt whistles again, and this time my right buttock takes the hit. I scream, I can’t help that, but the shock is less. This hurts like hell, but it is bearable. So far.

  He waits patiently as I concentrate on breathing. He doesn’t prompt me this time, and I manage to gather my wits enough to ask him to proceed.

  “I’m ready. Aagh!”

  He wastes no time in applying the belt again, the second blow to my left buttock, just below the previous one. I know the tears are now streaming down my face, but I’m half way there and not giving in now. I stiffen my legs, lock my knees under me.

  “Please continue, Sir.” I manage to gasp out the words.

  “Thank you, Miss Jones. You’re doing very well, by the way.”

  My polite acknowledgment of his compliment is lost as the fourth stroke connects with my right buttock, the sharp crack resounding around the small lift car. I scream, of course, but manage not to move. Or I think I haven’t.

  “I’m going to lay the last two across your upper thighs. You’ll find it painful to sit for a day or two, which is intentional. This is a punishment, after all, Miss Jones, and I want you to remember it. So, drop your shoulders please and lift your bottom up. I want a clear shot.”

  I moan softly, but follow his instructions, leaning farther down and deliberately raising my bottom up to give him ready access to the backs of my legs.

  “Say wh
en, Miss Jones.” His voice is low, but quite implacable. Something tells me these last two will really hurt.

  “Now. Please, just do it, do both and let me get up.” I’ve given up trying to sound brave. I can hear the tremor in my voice, so he must too. Now, I just want this to be over. I need it to be over.

  “Happy to oblige. You can thank me afterwards.”

  The sound of the belt whooshing through the air warns me, and I clench up solid in anticipation of the blow. I am not disappointed, and scream in real agony as my left thigh feels to be on fire.

  “Oh, God. Please, that hurts…”

  “Last one, Summer. Accept it, then we’re done.”

  I don’t answer, can’t verbalize anything in this moment. Instead I nod frantically. It’s enough. I open my eyes in time to see his feet reflected in the mirrored wall. He shifts his stance, the belt whistles one last time before landing across my right thigh. The pain explodes, my knees buckle, and I would have been on the floor but for Dan’s arm suddenly encircling my waist and holding me upright.

  “Steady. Lean on the wall and don’t move yet.”

  “Please, can I stand up? We’ve finished.” I’m whimpering, I know it. But I don’t care.

  “We have finished, but I want you to stay there a little longer please.”

  Obedient, I lay my forehead against the cool metal in front of me, heaving great, noisy sighs as my body adjusts to this latest turn of events. What now?

  Dan allows me a few moments to recover. Then, “Open your eyes, Summer. Look at me.”

  With some effort I pry open my eyelids, turning my head to see Dan crouching beside me. His face is below mine, his eyes beautiful in the harsh strip lights, his expression soft and infinitely caring. He smiles, and I’m amazed to realize I’m smiling back. It’s a watery effort, but surely it’s the thought that counts. Dan seems to think so, at least as he reaches up to stroke my wet cheek.

  There’s a sharp snap, then, “Here, take a drink.” He places an opened bottle of mineral water against my lips, tilting it for me to drink. The cool liquid is wonderful, refreshing in my dry mouth. I gulp it gratefully, wrapping my hand around his to hold the bottle in place.