by Ashe Barker
“An hour or so. Just enough time for me to deal with you. I promised your richness a spanking, you’ll recall.”
I wriggle contentedly as my pussy moistens. “So you did. My poor swallows won’t know what’s hit them lately.”
“Well, they have a choice this morning. My hand, a paddle, or maybe a tawse.”
“What’s a tawse?”
“A leather strap, split into two strands. Has quite a bite to it…”
I glance at him, and see a familiar wicked glint in his eye. Neither me nor my swallows may get any choice at all in this.
“I’d like to come to the meeting this afternoon, if that’s alright.”
He shrugs, seemingly not put out by the abrupt change of subject. “Of course. You’ll be welcome.”
“Thanks. And—I’d really prefer to be able to sit at the table without whimpering. I don’t want everyone staring at me.”
His smile is broad, his pleasure genuine. “Miss Jones, you are to be congratulated on your forward planning. It’s clear that Ashley made an inspired choice when she offered you that job. The paddle then. But I’m borrowing a tawse from Nathan’s box of tricks. We’ll take it with us. You really do need to feel it wrapped around your delicate little arse before much longer. Now, drink up and lie across the bed.”
I watch over my shoulder as Dan pulls his jeans on and zips them. He leaves the button unfastened as he rummages around in the chest before pulling out a heavy looking length of black leather. He tosses that onto the bed beside me. The tawse I suppose. It looks severe.
I clench my buttocks defensively as Dan crouches beside the chest again, and this time extracts a spanking paddle made of rubber, a deep scarlet in color. It looks a little like a table tennis bat, but it’s flexible. He demonstrates that as he stands behind me, bending the instrument in his hands.
“Ten on each cheek, I think. Keep your legs closed for this.”
There’s to be no spanking my pussy this morning then, by the sound of it. And no application of peppermint oil either. This puzzles me.
“Sir, may I ask something?” Always worth a little caution at this stage, worth checking he’s open to questions.
“Of course. Go ahead.” Apparently he is.
“What about the testing you did yesterday, the peppermint oil? Are we going to use that?”
“I admire your enthusiasm, girl, but as it would be the first time I’ve done that with you I’m not sure how long the effects of the oil will last, and I wouldn’t want to have to cut your session short. You would not bless me for it if that happened. Soon, though. Ready?” He flexes the paddle again, then slaps his thigh with it.
I stifle a pang of jealousy at the veiled reference to other submissives who must have preceded me. The submissives who he has used peppermint oil with. I suppose I knew, he’s clearly experienced in this craft of his so must have gained that expertise somewhere. I just prefer not to have to think about it if I can help it.
“Yes, Sir.” I roll onto my stomach, my hands stretched out across the bed, and relax to meet that welcome bite of pleasure mingled with pain as he paddles my bum.
Chapter Seven
The drive back to Black Combe passes quickly. Neither of us is saying much, but the silence is companionable and we are both contented enough I think. Well, I am, certainly. My bottom is smarting, and my pussy has a delightfully well-fucked burn to it as well. Dan is forceful and powerful as a lover, or Dom, and although I’ve been having a truly wonderful time my body is beginning to feel somewhat the worse for wear. I’m wondering if he might be persuaded to, I don’t know, let me have a night off…
Even as that notion forms in my head I dismiss it. He won’t, and I don’t want him to. I shift in my seat, savoring my discomfort even as I wince. Dan slants a glance in my direction.
“The next time I fuck you, it’ll be in your arse. And I intend to suck your clit until you plead with me to stop. Will that do, do you think?”
I don’t waste so much as a moment wondering how he knows. He just does, always he does. “Thank you. That will be perfectly fine, Sir.”
Dan just smiles, winks at me, and returns his undivided attention to the road ahead.
We arrive at Black Combe maybe fifteen minutes before the meeting is due to start. Nathan is already here, and Eva. So is Freya and I gather Nick just got here a few minutes before we did. He had to return to Cumbria yesterday to deal with some sort of hitch in one of his businesses, but he’s returned in time for the meeting.
Dan and I stroll into the kitchen together, and by the eager expression on her face Freya is ready with her questions for me. She waits until Dan is distracted giving the car keys back to his brother, and no doubt explaining that he’s also liberated a tawse from among Nathan’s collection of pain play instruments, before she gives me a quick hug to say hello.
“Where have you been?”
I reply in sign, “Leeds.”
She shrugs, opens her hands to signify a question. “Why?”
Still using sign I offer more explanation, “Nathan’s apartment. You’d like it there.” I’m ready to provide more detail, but from the look of delighted astonishment on Freya’s face I suspect that may not be necessary. It would seem the fame of Nathan’s fuck-pad has preceded us here. With a self-satisfied smile, I take an empty chair at the table, lowering myself carefully into it. I’m relieved that Nathan has seen fit to purchase nicely upholstered furniture for his home rather than the minimalist rustic-style hard wood stuff found so often in country kitchens. So much more submissive-friendly. Even so, I couldn’t really describe myself as comfortable.
Dan takes a seat next to me, smirking. He passes me a folder from a pile in the middle of the table. I open it to find it’s an information pack setting out the details of the proposed wind farm. I leaf through its contents, noting that Freya has also picked up a folder and is sitting down to study it intently.
Ashley and Tom are the last to arrive, and the gathering now complete the rest of the group join us at the table. Grace is not to be present this time, having decided to take Rosie and Isabella out for the afternoon instead. Her Clio is crunching across the gravel of the rear courtyard as Nathan calls the meeting to some sort of order.
He starts the proceedings by welcoming me, Freya and Nick. He goes on to assure us that the meeting will not be a formal affair and anyone who wishes to speak can do so. As I gaze at the others assembled round the table, I wonder if that remark carries more depth than face value might suggest. I know that Freya and Nick have a Dom/sub relationship, and based on his comments on the doorstep when I first arrived, I’m pretty sure Nathan shares those tendencies so it’s likely Eva does too. Tom and Ashley? Probably. So the dynamics among the couples here are not solely concerned with business protocol but also with the power shift between Doms and their subs. Nathan’s opening words are setting the tone, making it clear that, around this table at least, business is business. We are all individuals, all equal, and may speak freely. I appreciate the sentiment, though I don’t expect I’ll have much to say.
Freya will. I know she intends to participate in the discussion and I’m ready to interpret for her if needed though she hasn’t asked me to. Or Nick might. By now he will be aware of her intentions and their smiling, affectionate presence indicates that he supports her decision to invest.
I volunteer to take notes of the meeting I hadn’t intended to, but the task seems in keeping with my soon-to-be duties as company secretary. Might as well start as I mean to go on. It’s an opportunity to show that I can make myself useful, and I feel a strong urge to demonstrate that fact, to prove to Ashley, and to Freya, that their faith is not misplaced. It also gives me a role in the meeting so I won’t simply be observing in silence.
I dig a pen from my bag, and Nathan hands me a notepad. I’m all set by the time Tom gives us a brief outline of the project, and in particular, the funding gap that they are trying to bridge. It’s all there in the information pack so I make su
re I squirrel one away for future reference, but I jot down the main points too.
I gulp a little as Tom starts to rattle off the figures. Wind farms don’t come cheap. The entire scheme will cost around eleven million pounds. Between them, Nathan, Tom, Eva and Ashley have just over five million pounds already identified, so they are nearly six million short. I’m wondering how much of that Freya will want to put in when Nick offers to chip in half a million. Nathan thanks him and makes a note. I do too.
Dan is next to volunteer a financial contribution. He offers another half a million, which is duly accepted. I note that on my pad reflecting that I’ve clearly been hanging around with Freya so long that I’m not even surprised that these people are bandying around six-figure sums as casually as if they were sharing the bill after a meal in a restaurant.
Nathan does a quick summing up. There is now six point two million pounds identified. He asks if anyone knows of any other potential investors before the consortium turns its attention to the banks. I’m not surprised when Freya taps the table, her signal that she’d like to speak. I turn to her, expecting to be required to interpret, but find she’s looking straight at Eva.
Odd. Still, I can concentrate on note-taking. Through Eva, Freya offers to provide the balance of the money needed. She names the figures carefully and accurately, a sum not less than four point eight million, and not more than six point eight, depending on the final scope and nature of the scheme. I scribble this down, and consider the matter probably concluded.
There’s a deathly hush in the room. The issue appears not to be settled. Nowhere near. Nick turns to Freya. “Six million quid! For fuck’s sake, Freya, where would you get six million quid from?”
Hasn’t he been listening to her? I know she must have told him by now, and in any case, what gives him the right to speak to her like that? Freya lifts her hands, clearly about to sign her reply. Her expression is one of apology, and my protective instincts surge to the fore. I won’t sit here quietly while he puts her down. My words are blurted out before Freya has a chance to say anything.
“From down the back of her sofa probably.” I glance around the room. “Why are you all looking so stunned? Six million quid is small change to Freya.” I direct my final remark to her. “And it’s about time you bought something useful. You can’t just fritter away forty odd million on racehorses and trips to Australia.”
Long, silent moments pass. I have a sudden, ridiculous vision of my words wriggling and squirming on the table, like a knot of slithering worms as we all peer at them distastefully.
Ashley is the first to speak. “How much? How much can’t Freya fritter away?”
I look around the table, realization dawning too late, much too late. For reasons I can’t even start to guess at, Freya has not told anyone about her money. Not even Nick. Incredibly, stupidly, for some bizarre and unfathomable reason, she hasn’t told Nick about the millions salted away in her bank account. No wonder he’s angry. I’m dismayed, mainly at my part in all this. Freya may have started this ball rolling, but I’ve just given it a huge shove. I just made everything a whole lot worse. Why didn’t I just keep my head down and my mouth shut?
“Didn’t they know? I assumed you’d have told them. Isn’t that why we’re here?” My words are whispered, directed at Freya who just shakes her head.
“I was going to tell Nick but I never got the chance.” She turns to him, and continues to sign. “I’m sorry. I can explain.”
Nick’s response is to bundle her from the room pretty much bodily. Freya just has time to reiterate that her offer is a serious one, and that I can vouch for her ability to raise the funds. Clearly any explanation is to be delivered in private, and any retribution too. I know what’s about to happen when he gets her alone. We all know, and I doubt any of us would dispute that punishment is deserved. But probably not here. Nathan won’t stand for blood on his hall carpet, or for screams reverberating around his house. That stuff is confined to Leeds, though I don’t doubt he’ll make the facilities available should Nick wish.
The door closes behind them, and five pairs of curious eyes are now trained on me. My face is flushing, the heat radiating upwards. I can’t believe the part I played in this debacle. Why didn’t I just stay out of it? Freya didn’t need my help, was well beyond anything I might have been able to offer in any case. I’m mortified.
I look first to Dan. His expression is not one of condemnation, just puzzlement. His lip is quirked in his familiar air of inquiry, his forehead creased as he tries to understand what just happened.
“I didn’t mean to… I mean, I thought… I assumed you knew, all of you…” I’m stammering, not making a lot of sense at all. So much for impressing my future employers.
Dan reaches for my hand, removes the pen I’ve been gripping and wraps his palm around mine.
“She made quite an impression, our little Freya. Can you tell us what’s going on?”
“I’m not… I mean…” I stare at our hands, linked on the table in front of me. I don’t want to tell any more of Freya’s secrets. I’ve never been disloyal, never intended to be this time. I feel awful, frankly terrible. I look up at him, my eyes pleading with him not to press me on this.
Maybe he picks up my signal, I’m not sure. The silence is broken by the slamming of a door upstairs, presumably Freya and Nick are now in their bedroom. I glance at Nathan, whose expression is decidedly pained. I hope for Nick’s sake he doesn’t do a lot more banging about in Nathan’s house. He clearly doesn’t like it.
Eva looks worried. “Nathan, do you think we should intervene? He might hurt her.”
Nathan shakes his head, but his eyes are on Dan. “Nick’s angry now, but he won’t lay a finger on her until he’s cooled down. Do you agree, Dan?”
Nick is Dan’s friend rather than Nathan’s. As Doms they all know the rules, but Dan knows Nick best and Nathan is looking to him to confirm that Freya is safe, at least for now. Dan has no hesitation.
“Absolutely. Nick will have plenty to say, but he won’t actually punish her while he’s angry. He’ll make her wait.”
Nathan nods slowly. I know Dan’s probably right, but I’m still desperately worried. “Even so, do you think we should go up there? I mean, maybe I could help her to explain. Or Eva could…”
Dan shakes his head. “No, love. Leave it. They’ll need to sort this out themselves.”
“I know, but…” My words trail off. He’s right. And anyway, I’ve done enough damage. We all fall silent for a few moments, listening to the raised voices—sorry, voice, from upstairs. My stomach churns nervously. Even though I can’t make out the words I’d really hate to be on the receiving end of that tirade.
“So, what are these details you’re going to fill us in on?” This from Ashley, who’s been fairly quiet throughout the proceedings so far.
I gaze at her, my mind racing. I don’t want to appear uncooperative, but this is really not my secret, despite what just happened. I’m not sure just how much information Freya wants me to provide. I need to talk to her first.
“I’m not sure, I mean, I can confirm that she’s good for the money. She can afford to invest the amount she offered.” I’m hoping that will be enough to satisfy everyone’s curiosity for now, but without any great optimism. Ashley’s eyes narrow. She clearly has a whole lot more questions.
“Did Nick say she won the lottery?”
He did briefly mention that, just before he ordered Freya out of the room so I suppose that much of the secret is out there too. I nod, and brace myself for the next salvo, but we’re interrupted by a loud thumping from upstairs. Someone’s knocking on the floor. We all stand, and Nathan’s already halfway to the door when Nick’s voice echoes down from upstairs.
“Summer! Get up here.”
I shoot past Nathan, frozen in the doorway and bolt up the stairs. It takes me just moments to arrive at Freya and Nick’s bedroom door. It’s open, and I hurtle through to be met by the sight of Freya huddle
d on the floor, weeping in that silent way she has. Nick is crouching beside her, a phone in his hand.
I’m horrified. Dan was so sure he wouldn’t lay a finger on her. Now look. I rush over, hurling abuse at Nick Hardisty, “You utter bastard. What have you done to her?”
He stands, turns to me. He doesn’t react to my accusation. Instead he hands me the phone. “What do you make of that?”
I’m stopped in my tracks. Confused, baffled, I look at the phone. It’s Freya’s. There’s a text on the screen. I’m dimly aware of others rushing into the room hard on my heels, of Eva and Ashley crouching next to Freya, of Nathan’s angry tone as he rounds on Nick. Nick just lifts a hand, asking him to wait. He turns his attention back to me. “Summer, what do you know about this?”
I turn my attention to the screen, start to scroll through the texts. They are from a Malcolm Patterson, not a name I can place, but the upshot of the messages is that Freya’s racehorse has had a fall at a race meeting and is about to be destroyed on the course.
As the significance of what I’m seeing dawns my heart turns over. Poor Freya. She adores that horse.
My voice dull, hushed, I confirm what he must already know. What Freya already knows.
My words spark a signing frenzy in Freya. Her hands are flying as she protests. “They can’t, they can’t. She’s mine. My horse.”
I drop to my knees next to her, my hands reaching for her stricken, tear-stained face as I try to comfort her, help her to deal with the inevitable. I’m dimly aware of Nick’s voice, and Dan’s as they discuss the catastrophe. Dan returns Malcom Patterson’s call, then talks briefly to the course vet at Thirsk racecourse. The news is not good. Dan’s expression is sympathetic but professional as he explains to Freya that her horse has a badly broken foreleg and that the best thing is probably to have her destroyed. Her racing career is definitely over.
