by Ashe Barker
Still reeling, I mumble, “No.”
He shakes his head sadly. “You forgot one very important thing, Miss Byrne. I’m not convinced you’re paying attention.”
“I’m sorry, I…” Confused, nervous, intimidated, I look again at the list, searching for any clue that might help me to avert… what? His displeasure? Disappointment? I am already getting a very clear notion of what that could mean.
His voice suddenly gentles, and he leans forward, tipping up my chin with his palm. “Safe words, Miss Byrne. You need to know what your safe words are. And so do I. Do you have a word you want to use?” I shake my head, aware my eyes are as big as saucers and my lips are trembling.
“Red, then. That’s pretty usual. If you ever need me to stop—whatever’s happening, whatever I’m doing, however much I might seem to be in control—you say ‘red’ and I will stop. You have my absolute promise on that. You need to understand that, ultimately, you have the control, and that way you can keep yourself safe. And if you say ‘yellow’ I’ll know to take care, that you’re struggling. Is all that clear?” I nod, still wide-eyed and trembling.
Dropping his hand, he leans back, looking down at me, at the top of my head, now bowed again as I study my knees. “Eva, look at me.” I raise my eyes to his, and he smiles at me slightly, his head cocked to one side as he watches every emotion flit across my face. “What are your safe words, Eva?” he asks softly. At my continuing silence he gently prompts me. “Eva? Your safe words?”
“Red,” I whisper, “if I want to stop. And yellow to…to…slow down?”
He nods briskly, all business again. “Good, that’s clear then. So, any more questions about that first list?”
At my slight headshake, he points again to the sheet of paper—this time the shorter section to the right-hand side of the page.
“Read out the don’ts. I want to be sure you have seen and read all of them.” I start to read, slowly. I’m definitely getting the idea of this obedience stuff.
The following practices will NOT be applied or undertaken, in any circumstances:
Strangulation, suffocation, drowning or other impeding of airways
Electrocution
Burning, scalding, use of naked flames
Any activity that involves deliberately breaking the skin
Any activity involving children, animals or other vulnerable/non-consenting individuals
Age regression
Any activity involving feces or urine (not to be confused with anal penetration).
I reach the end of the list and look up at him in disbelief. It’s not a long list, but hell, there’s a whole world of sin and pain in there. I can’t believe that anyone in their right mind would think any of this stuff was fun.
“Anything you’d like to add, Miss Byrne?”
“Crucifixion? Impaling? Pulling out my teeth?” Probably not wise to scoff, on reflection. Careful, girl.
He doesn’t seem to mind my brief foray into gallows humor, thank God. “Yes, I get your drift, Miss Byrne. But you need to understand that some Doms are a lot more…sadistic than I tend to be. Some of them really hurt people. It can get dangerous. And some subs expect this stuff. Some actually want it—they like it, get off on it. But it’s not for me. I’m not going there, and I want that clear up front. I don’t want to be carting you off to A & E if something goes wrong, and I don’t want to be facing charges for assault and grievous bodily harm. This is a standard list that I put in front of all my new subs, Miss Byrne, so it has to cover all possibilities.”
I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head. “Have you had a lot of new subs?” God, where did that come from?
“Over the years, yes.”
“Do you have any other subs just now?” I’m not jealous. I’m not. But I need to know. This is important to me.
“No, Miss Byrne. I dumped the most recent one a couple of weeks ago. The day you arrived at Black Combe, in fact. And since I met you, I’ve wanted you to fill the vacancy.”
With an unerring instinct for self-degradation that I daresay will serve me well in the weeks to come, I plow on. “How many? How many other subs before me?”
“Strictly speaking, you’re not my sub. Soon, but not yet. But to answer your question—not that it has anything to do with you, with us—I don’t know exactly. Dozens. Sometimes more than one at a time.”
Christ. No way!
“Will you be…? I mean, will there be others…with us? I don’t want that. No, definitely not.”
“I’m not too fond of threesomes either or swapping subs around. And don’t worry, I won’t pass you on to any other Dom, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
It had never even occurred to me that he might. God, what sort of world have I strayed into?
“Shall we add that to the list of don’ts?” He takes the sheet, sliding it out of the clear wallet to scrawl some notes at the bottom of the don’ts list. “I’ll also put punching and kicking and other aggressive violence on there too, as it did come up earlier, back in the car,” he adds. “Anything else?”
“Gagging?” I know I’ll feel happier if that’s clear, enshrined in the documentation.
“Excellent idea, Miss Byrne.” He adds it to the list before pushing it back at me. He smiles, then winks at me, his gorgeous chocolate eyes alight with anticipated pleasure. My stomach clenches at the intensity in that look, at what it promises. Maybe. Hopefully. “Now for the fun bit. Read the list in the middle. Out loud.”
Breaking his gaze with some reluctance, I look down at the list again and start to read.
The following are examples of sex toys, equipment and apparatus that Nathan Darke may utilize and apply to his submissive for the purposes of stimulation and/or punishment. The submissive will usually be physically restrained during the use of these items.
Acceptance of this list by Eva Byrne implies her consent to such restraint, and to the use of sex toys, equipment and apparatus, at any time and in any circumstances of Nathan Darke’s choosing.
I swallow hard, glance up at him. His eyes are intense, unwavering. This is it.
Butt plugs (sizes and shapes to vary)
Ben wa balls
Anal beads
Vibrators (sizes and shapes to vary)
Dildos
Lubricants as required
Nipple clamps and suction devices
Paddles
Canes
Straps
Whips
Spanking crops
Speechless again, whether with shock—surely not, after the conversation we’ve been having—or embarrassment—more likely, I daresay—I can only stare at the list, starting to visualize the reality of what is to come. Not easy when most of this stuff is quite beyond my experience and not inconsiderable powers of imagination.
With his unerring instinct for knowing what I’m thinking, it seems, he gets straight to the heart of it. “Eva, do you know what these things are? What they look like? What they do?”
“I know what canes and whips look like…”
“Yes, that’s the easy part.” He reaches for the iPad, forgotten until now, but still on the table in front of us. With a few presses of buttons and screen strokes he has fired it into life and connected to the Internet. Quickly typing into the search box, he navigates to…somewhere. Passing the flat screen to me, he inclines his head.
“Go on, take a look. Just tap on any of the words that interest you and see what’s there. Read the instructions, the explanations. Look at the pictures. Take your time.” He reaches for the also long-forgotten coffee pot. “More coffee?”
I nod, realizing my mouth is dry, and I watch him pouring me a top-up. I straighten my glasses on my nose, then I am distracted, fascinated by the website he has let me loose on. I am looking in the window of an online shop specializing in kinky sex toys and erotica. Bloody hell! Talk about Dildos ‘R’ Us! With knobs on.
“Just look at any sections that interest you. The information about
the products is all there, but feel free to ask me any questions if you want. Or not. I’ll shut up now, leave you to it.” He pushes a fresh cup of coffee at me and stands, then strolls across the office to gaze out of the huge picture windows across the dock outside, before turning and sitting at his desk. I am dimly aware of him firing up his laptop before I tune out everything except the fascinating, forbidden horror of unbridled, uninhibited sexual appetite laid out for my delectation, every whim and preference catered to via the wonders of the web.
I start with vibrators. That seems safe enough, and I do at least know what those are. Correction—I thought I knew. The first one I see is a cool-looking little item, sort of U-shaped, which is apparently designed to slip one end inside my pussy during intercourse, the other end vibrating against my clitoris. Holy fuck! I wonder if he has one of those. Please.
There’s more. Much more. DIY vibrators in all shapes, sizes and colours, guaranteed to produce amazing orgasms. Vibrating eggs, clitoral vibrators, some designed to be switched on remotely—I need to think that through—finger vibrators, G-spot vibrators…the range seems endless.
Dragging myself away from the breathtaking array of erotic choices, I turn to nipple toys. That should cool me down.
Wrong again. I find vibrating nipple clamps in various shades of pink, purple, blue. Nipple rings, chains, pumps to simulate sucking. Sweet Jesus and Mary! And Joseph!
There’s a section on anal stimulation. I must confess that concept has been a bit difficult to grasp so far, so I venture in there, among the butt plugs—again all colours of the rainbow, shapes, sizes, some vibrating, naturally—and anal beads. Amazing!
Who needs the likes of Nathan Darke when there are shops like this in the world, selling these wonderful DIY experiences? Why haven’t I found all this out before now?
Leaning back in my chair, I realise he has come to stand behind me. He is looking at the screen. How long has he been there? He bends to whisper in my ear. “Anything you particularly fancy?”
Christ, yes!
“Show me.” Oh, did I say that out loud?
“Eva? What do you like the look of?”
Unabashed, I go back to the vibrators page, to the lovely little U-shaped gizmo. “That. That looks…fun.”
“Definitely does. What colour would you like?” At my stunned silence, he leans over me to tap the screen, quickly adding a purple one to his basket. Bloody hell, it costs fifty-four quid.
“What else do we need?”
“I…don’t know. Don’t you have this, this…stuff already?”
“Mmm, I do have lots of this stuff. You’re welcome to anything of mine you’d like to try. And I’ll certainly bring out a few of my favorites. But it’s nice to choose some of your own. So, what else would you like, Eva? Did you check out the whips? The canes?”
“I… Yes.”
“Well?”
“What about a feather thing? They looked okay…” Innocuous enough, hopefully.
“Wimp. You’ll find I can do some amazing things to you with feathers.” He taps the screen as the bondage toys page re-emerges, and he selects a feather tickler and a suede flogger. I shudder as a rattan cane and a spanking crop join our growing collection. “What else did you look at, Eva?”
I go back to the nipple clamps. They look sort of fierce, but fascinating. “Do these hurt?”
“Yes, if they are tight. Most are adjustable, though. But tight’s good. Like this.” He slips his right hand down the front of my dress to cup my left breast, gently caressing my uplifted curves over my new, gravity-defying bra before nudging it aside and taking my nipple between his fingertips. He rolls it gently, then more firmly, increasing the pressure with his fingers until I wince, sucking in my breath sharply.
“Did I hurt you?”
“Yes, a little.” He squeezes again, harder still. I gasp, but don’t pull away this time.
“Still hurting?”
“Yes. No.”
“Shall I stop?”
“No, please don’t stop.” My voice is a whisper, my head back against his shoulder, my eyes closed.
“With nipple clamps I wouldn’t have to stop. I could leave you gasping, your beautiful, sexy nipples well attended to, while I’m busy elsewhere. On your clit, for example. Or I could spank you while your nipples are clamped. That would be so erotic—just imagine…”
Is that me moaning? I can feel the moisture pooling between my legs at his filthy, erotic imagery, at his fingers still squeezing my nipples hard, mercilessly. Oh my word!
“I think we need nipple clamps, don’t you? Nice pink ones with vibrating bullets suspended from them. Vibrating bullets are great on your clitoris too. Very versatile,” he whispers in my ear.
I can only nod as he clicks on the item and adds it to the basket.
“Now what? Butt plugs? A girl should have her own personal butt plugs, I think. More hygienic. Don’t you agree, Miss Byrne?” He never lets up the pressure on my nipple, squeezing it between his fingers whilst his thumb rubs the tip, hard, as he swiftly adds more products to the basket. “And some anal beads, I think. Very interesting sensation. You’ll like those. Would you care to bend over the table and lift your skirt, Miss Byrne, let me demonstrate?”
What? Now? “Do you have some handy?” Did I actually say that?
“Never leave home without them, Miss Byrne. But maybe now’s not the time. Definitely something to look forward to, though. Have we finished shopping?”
I nod, desperately writhing against his hand.
“Okay.” He taps the screen a few more times to complete the purchases. Then, slipping his hand out of my bra, he pulls me to my feet and quickly turns me to face the table. His hand in the small of my back, he pushes me face down across the hardwood surface, sliding the iPad and my coffee cup to one side.
I start in surprise as he lifts the hem of my dress—surely he just said…
Then I moan out loud as he again slips his hand into my clothing, this time down the back of my lovely red lacy briefs, down the hollow between my buttocks, slowing slightly to circle my anus with one gentle fingertip. I stiffen, waiting…
“So sweet and tight. We’ll come back to this,” he murmurs softly, leaning close to kiss my neck before continuing on between the wet, swollen lips of my pussy. He slips one finger inside my moist entrance, working gently in and out, circling the outer lips, spreading my juices all around. I moan faintly, lifting my bum up in welcome. He slides a second finger inside, whilst with his other hand he attacks from the front to take my swollen clitoris between his thumb and finger, gently rubbing.
The combined pleasure is so intense, so sudden, it overwhelms me, and I come immediately. I scream, unable to contain any of the fabulous sensation of internal fragmentation now shooting out through my outstretched fingers—white-knuckled, still gripping the edge of the table—and my toes, still encased in my lovely, red fuck-me shoes. I whimper, almost in frustration that my climax has hit me before I even saw it coming.
“I’m not finished with you yet. Stay there.”
More? How wonderful.
His voice is low, seductive and commanding. I stay still. Waiting. He straightens, steps away from me, goes over to his desk. He returns a moment later, gently pulling my underwear down to my ankles. “Step out.” His command is clear. I obey.
“You have a beautiful bottom, Miss Byrne,” he observes, trailing his fingertips lightly down the furrow between my buttocks, then tracing the line of each lower curve before bringing something down on me—hard, sharp, fierce. I scream out loud, with shock more than pain, though the sting is real enough. Instinctively I start to stand up, but his hand goes to the small of my back, pressing me back down.
“We agreed on five strokes for every frown. I counted at least four frowns since we came into this room, and that’s me being generous, Miss Byrne. So that’s twenty strokes. Agreed?”
I don’t answer, still reeling from the sudden assault. He strikes me again, and I scream a
gain, louder. “Agreed, Miss Byrne?”
“Yes, yes. Please don’t…”
“Eighteen to go, then. Grit your teeth, Miss Byrne.”
I do, flinching with every blow, my fingers curled desperately around the opposite edge of the table. Counting slowly. He takes his time, waiting between each blow for me to settle again, to be ready. After ten strokes he stops, places a ruler beside my face on the table, and steps away again. I know not to move. He comes back after a few moments and I feel something cool, soothing, being smoothed into my red-hot and extremely sore buttocks. He gently massages me, kneading my tender skin where his ruler has done its work.
“You’re new to this, Miss Byrne, so I’m really being very gentle with you. Next time it will be harder.” He taps my buttock lightly with his palm. “Relax—we’ll soon be done.” He stands, picks up the ruler again. “Are you ready to continue, Miss Byrne?”
I know he will demand an answer, so I whisper my consent, and he starts again. The next ten blows are excruciating. He alternates between bringing his ruler down hard on first one side of my bottom, then the other, always hitting the same spot on each cheek and now not even waiting for me to collect myself between blows. Each new blow builds on the sting left by the one before it. I lie there in my world of pain, biting my lip to keep from sobbing, waiting for him to finish.
After the twentieth stroke he straightens, stands still behind me. I can imagine his eyes on my abused bottom, and just hope he’s satisfied. I know better than to say as much, though, and I wait, desperate for him to give me permission to get up. I lie there, frozen with dread at what might be coming next.
“Open your legs, Eva.”
I comply, too scared to resist. Tense, shaking, I can feel the tears streaming from my eyes. Am I about to lose my virginity here, humiliated and hurting, face down on a table, trying not to sob out loud? Please, no, not like this…
“Wider, Eva.”
I force myself to spread my legs as far as I can. There’s no point arguing. His fingers are on me, gently opening the lips of my pussy. I gulp, tensing, waiting for the pain I know is coming. I feel something slip easily inside me. It’s not… What is it?
