Dark Melodies (The Black Combe Doms Book 1)

by Ashe Barker

  “Your shopping’s arrived.” Nathan nods toward the table, where I see an anonymous-looking, brown cardboard box perched on a chair. About a foot wide by about eighteen inches deep, and a couple of feet long, it looks harmless enough—could contain anything. I can’t think what ‘shopping’ is still to arrive, though. Harvey Nicks sent everything across, as far as I can tell. I frown, puzzled, trying to think what might have been missing from my purchases.

  “You’re frowning again, Miss Byrne. And I think you know what happens now. Come here.”

  Startled, I can only stare as he walks casually, confidently across the room to seat himself at the table, taking a chair next to my mysterious parcel. “What? W-what do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean. Come here, Miss Byrne. And bend over my knee, please.” His tone is even, quiet and absolutely unrelenting. I have enough presence of mind to realise he has nothing in his hand, but I am rooted to my spot by the worktop.

  “Don’t make me come and get you, Eva. Come here. Now.”

  I drag my feet across the floor, my eyes caught by his gaze, until I am standing a couple of feet from him. “What do you want me to do?” I whisper.

  “Lie face down across my knees.” Stiffly, shaking, I do as I am told. He pulls me forward, positioning me so my bottom is directly over his left knee, my stomach over his right knee and my upper body dropping forward toward the floor. My hair, still loose, falls around my face, pooling on the floor. I use my hands to try to steady myself.

  “Don’t try to push yourself up, Eva. I’ll tell you when we’re done. Keep still.” He lifts the shirt to my waist and gently pulls my briefs down to my knees. I idly note that I never seem able to keep a pair on for more than a few minutes at a time.

  His right hand firmly across my back, holding me in place, he rests his left palm on my left buttock, idly curling his fingers, fondling the soft flesh. I lie there, a little bit terrified and a lot excited. My bottom is quivering now, tensed, and I wait. “Are you ready, Miss Byrne?” Yes—yes, I am. I tell him so, and the first blow falls.

  Sharp, stinging, with a loud slap that shocks me nearly as much as the sudden pain, the palm of his hand connects with my bottom. Hard. I squeal, wait for the next blow. But it doesn’t come. Not yet. Instead, he strokes the pain away, gently caressing my stinging buttock until I unclench, relaxed, ready once more. He lifts his palm and spanks me again, maybe a little harder this time. The sound of the slap reverberates around the room and I jerk with pain, crying out. As before, he soothes, strokes, caresses until I relax, lying loosely across his thighs, ready and waiting.

  Another blow lands and I cry out again, my eyes starting to tear up now as the sharp, stinging pain shoots through me. I squeeze my eyes shut, clench my teeth as well as my butt and wait for the spanking to continue.

  “You seem very tense, Miss Byrne. We need you to relax. Open your legs.”

  Dazed, I do as I am told. With questing fingers, he probes between my buttocks, sliding farther to dip into my moist pussy before circling my clit. I can’t help it—I gasp, moan with pleasure as I am treated to the most erotic experience I could ever imagine. And my imagination is certainly getting a workout lately. He strokes me almost to orgasm before suddenly lifting his hand and administering another hard slap to my bottom. This time I scream out loud in shock, pain, frustration. Then his hand is back between my legs, working its magic on my swollen clit. I’m so wet it’s obscene.

  This time, surely, he’s not going to…

  I reach greedily toward orgasm, wriggling against his legs, moaning as he works my clit into a frenzy of throbbing need. Then he stops. Before I can protest, the fifth slap across my unresisting, helpless bottom sends me jerking, spinning into orbit as I shake with the intensity of my climax.

  He strokes me, caresses my smarting behind until I am still, quiet, complete. Then he gently pulls my briefs back up and draws me upright, then turns me to sit in his lap while he eases my face against his shoulder, combing his fingers through my tangled hair. “Was that okay, angel?” he asks me gently, stroking my hair, nuzzling the top of my head.

  I can only nod, not able to speak yet, stunned by my reaction. How did he make me come by spanking me, hurting me, scaring me?

  “Your shopping…” He nudges the chair next to him with his foot, making the parcel wobble. “You should open it.”

  Sitting up, I try to concentrate, reach for the parcel, then turn it around so I can read the address label. Sure enough, it’s addressed to me, Eva Byrne, at Nathan’s address here in Leeds. But I’m puzzled, confused. “I didn’t buy anything else. Are you sure it’s mine?”

  “Certainly is. It’s your Internet shopping from yesterday.”

  I jerk back from it. He catches me before I topple us both, chuckling at my alarm. “There’s some nice stuff in there, Eva. You chose it yourself. I’ll get you some scissors.” After pushing me to my feet, he crosses to the kitchen units and fishes in a drawer for a pair of kitchen scissors. I stand, my eyes riveted to the innocent-looking brown parcel that I now know contains dizzying extremes of pain and pleasure.

  And it’s here so soon. I’d sort of assumed I’d have a few days, at least, to get accustomed to this, this…arrangement. To practice a bit more before getting into the really rough stuff.

  Nathan’s chuckle is soft, sexy. “We’ve been practicing.” Oh, Christ, I said what I was thinking out loud again. That could be a dodgy habit—I need to watch that. “And I paid extra for next day delivery. Didn’t want to keep you waiting, Miss Byrne. You might have been bored.”

  Fat chance of that.

  He hands me the scissors, nodding toward the parcel. Obediently I set to, slicing through the shiny brown parcel tape. The top flaps spring loose, and a stream of polystyrene balls spill out to dance crazily across the dining room floor. Ignoring the mess, I tentatively reach in. First to emerge is my sweet little U-shaped vibrator, discreetly packaged in a little pink and white cardboard box. ‘Batteries not included.’ Oh, dear…

  “I have plenty of batteries, Eva.” Yes, you would.

  Next out is a cane. Less happy to see that, I lay it on the table top next to my vibrator.

  “You’ll come to love that too, Eva. Just takes a bit more getting used to. Like being spanked.”

  I blush, remembering what he’s just done to me. Absentmindedly, I rub my bum.

  “Let me do that for you.” He pushes my hand aside and he strokes my bottom, under the shirt, over my panties. “Your gorgeous, sexy little arse is going to be so busy today. What else is in there?”

  Not scared now, not really—more nervously anticipating—I pull out the feather tickler and suede flogger, laying them next to the cane.

  “Ah, Miss Byrne, how little you know…”

  Then comes a spanking crop. The pressure on my bum increases—Nathan slides his hand under the lace on the back of my panties and I wince without thinking, but add the crop to our collection calmly enough, glancing at him over my shoulder. He is smiling, obviously enjoying my nervousness.

  I pull out what looks like a bracelet of shiny metal beads. I don’t remember ordering this—maybe it’s a free gift or something. I turn the short string over in my hands, not taking it out of the clear plastic covering, and can see the end bead, the largest one, has a small switch on it. And a tiny flap fastened by a screw. Another battery compartment?

  “Anal beads,” he whispers into my ear. “Fabulous sensation. You’ll love them.”

  “But, how do I…? How do they get in my—?”

  “That’s my department, sweetheart. And trust me, I’ll make sure they get where they need to be.”

  “That’s got to hurt.”

  “Not if it’s done right. With a lot of lubricant. The lubricating’s half the fun. And when I fuck you, good and hard, with those in your arse, you’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven. I promise.”

  Dear God! My face flaming scarlet, I stick my nose back into the brown parcel and ret
rieve the last two smaller boxes. One contains my nipple clamps, complete with vibrating bullets. The picture of the busty model on the outside of the box, the mauve nipple clamps gaily swinging from her larger than life nipples, is a bit daunting and I can’t help a sympathetic glance down at my inoffensive pair of modest boobs. I don’t dare cast a glance Nathan’s way. I just know he is also staring at my chest and I only hope he’s not comparing me to the picture. It’s all right for her—she clearly makes a decent living demonstrating nipple clamps. I’m just a novice.

  The final package is unmarked, just a small, brown cardboard box. I open it to find seven brightly coloured plastic objects inside, ranging from about three and a half to five inches long, the smallest about the width of a thumb, the largest maybe three times as thick. They are blunt at one end and have a little ring at the other end, attached to a molded plastic stem about two inches long. I am baffled. I certainly didn’t order these, and have no idea what they might be for.

  Always helpful, Nathan has the answer. “Butt plugs, love. One for every colour of the rainbow. Or every day of the week. We’ll start small and work up to this bad boy.” He takes the largest one from the box and tests the weight and size in his hand. “Hmm, your tight little virgin butt might need some persuading, but we’ll get there. Like I say, plenty of lube.” Looking up, he catches my stunned expression and smiles wickedly. “Hey, you might have noticed, my cock’s thicker than this. And I do intend to fuck your arse very soon, so please take that look off your face, Miss Byrne, before I’m tempted to spank you again.”

  Speechless, I stare at him. I seem to stare a lot these days. My mother would not be amused, as she has always told me it’s rude to stare. I am beginning to appreciate that all things are relative.

  Leaning against the table, his hips braced on the edge, Nathan gently turns me in his arms, loosely looping his fingers together at the small of my back. His chest is bare, beautiful, sculpted. My nose is about level with his flat, hard nipples, and I have a sudden urge to lean forward and flick one with my tongue. So I do. Fair’s fair. He’s done the same—and much, much more—to mine. I tip my head back, grin up at him. He is shaking his head, his smile gentle, amused. And tender.

  A sudden, unexpected thought strikes me. “Am I allowed to touch you? Do subs do that?”

  Head cocked to one side he smiles at me. “It depends. Not as a rule, I suppose. But yes, I would like you to, if that’s what you want right now. Feel free.” He leans back, his hands extended, palms out, in a gesture of invitation. I don’t need to be asked twice.

  I run my palms up and down his hard chest, exploring. To the best of my recollection—and I do have an exceptionally good memory—this is absolutely the first time I’ve had my hands on anyone—anyone at all, male or female—and I am entirely fascinated. Nathan’s chest is smooth. He has a sprinkling of chest hair, but he’s not as hairy as so many others seem to be. I had sort of assumed all men were alike. His nipples are small, flat, hard little nubs, and he shivers when I rub them.

  “Does that feel like it does for me?” I am intrigued. Could it be the same?

  “Probably, a bit. But yours are very sensitive.” He starts to reach for me but I step back, defying him. At his raised eyebrow I hurry to explain, plead my case before he takes over, dominating me again. “Please, you said I could touch you. Let me. Let me touch all of you. Please.”

  He hesitates a moment, then drops his hands, nods. I continue.

  I run my palms up his ribs, feeling the hard bones of his ribcage below the skin and muscle. His arms are firm, the biceps tight, bulging slightly—strong, certainly, but not pumped up. I remember how easily he lifted me, swung me around, that night back at Black Combe when we went out stargazing. I lay my cheek against his chest, listen to his steady, slow heartbeat, and wonder if I might be able to pep it up, just a bit. I slide my hand under the elasticated waistband of his sweatpants and he breathes in sharply, his posture stiffening. Yes!

  I slide my fingers lower, combing through his pubic hair just as he trailed his fingers through mine yesterday. He’s already hard. His heavy, large erection nudges the back of my hand, but I ignore it. For now. I reach lower, cupping his balls, squeezing lightly. They are heavier than I imagined, and he groans as I roll them in my palm, his head thrown back, his arms braced on the table. “Eva, please… Eva.”

  “What? What do you want me to do, Mr. Darke?” Two can play that game.

  I continue to stroke his balls very softly, very, very gently.

  “Shit, Eva. You’ll pay for this. Or your backside will…” he growls, his eyes glinting down at me. Intimidated, I start to pull my hand back. Have I gone too far? Overstepped my submissive role, before I even properly understand what it is? I start to apologize, but he grabs my wrist, my hand still in his pants. “Fuck it, Eva, just put your hand around my cock. Grip it. Hard.”

  I do as I’m told. It’s big—my fingers can’t quite close around it. And it’s hard, solid, smooth and silky. “Run your hand up to the top, and slide your thumb around over the head,” Nathan whispers hoarsely. “Please, Eva.” I do as instructed at the same time leaning in to drop kisses across his chest.

  The head of his cock is wet. More moisture dribbles out onto my thumb. It’s hot and slippery. And so tempting. Instinct taking over, I slide my hand up and down along the shaft. Each time I return to the top, I swipe my thumb around in the dewy moisture there, then spread it over the rest of him.

  He is shuddering—this huge, intimidating man who has thrashed and spanked me and scared me half to death is shaking under my hand. Not stopping to think, to ask permission, I drop to my knees and pull his sweatpants down. Taking his penis between my hands, I angle it away from his body so that I can take it in my mouth. And I suck. Hard. Just like he does to my nipples and my clit, with such devastating results. Maybe I can…

  “Jesus, Eva, that’s so fucking good.” His voice is low, a growl. And he’s thrusting his hips, his cock going deeper, hitting the back of my throat. His hands are in my hair, but not holding me, not forcing my head forward. I can withdraw if I want. Encouraged, willing, I graze my teeth along the shaft, and swirl my tongue around the head, experimenting with the salty taste. Not unpleasant.

  “Eva, if you don’t fancy a mouthful of spunk, you need to stop. Now!”

  There’s no way I’m stopping now, or anytime soon. By way of answer I run my hands over his tight buttocks, pulling him closer before I slide my hand down to squeeze his balls from behind.

  “God, you’re a fun date, Eva,” is his appreciative reply, groaned in a low, guttural rasp. Moments later, he squeezes my head tightly between his hands and holds me still at last, thrusting his cock once, twice, to the back of my throat before I feel and taste a gush of hot, salty semen. I swallow fast, to clear my mouth and throat, and breathe again.

  Combing his fingers through my hair, he gently lifts my head, drawing his still-erect cock out of my mouth. He looks down at me, kneeling at his feet. No doubt that’s the correct position for a sub…

  Crouching, he smiles into my face before kissing me softly. “That was so damned good. Thank you. And you didn’t have to finish with me in your mouth. But I’m glad you did.”

  Standing, he lifts me easily, carrying me back into the bedroom. “Now for some more fun. Are you ready to try out your new toys for grown-ups, Eva?”

  Chapter Eight

  Standing in the middle of Nathan’s big bedroom, surrounded by his chunky, solid furniture, I glance around nervously, especially reluctant to go anywhere near the chest at the foot of the bed. I needn’t have bothered worrying, as he goes striding back into the dining room for my new collection of erotica, then brings everything back in the large box, which he tosses onto the bed.

  “You’ll need your safe words, Eva. Do you remember what they are?”

  “Why? I may not need safe words at all. I was okay yesterday. And again, just now.”

  “Just now, I was only playing. And yesterday
was yesterday, and still pretty mild. Today we ramp it up a bit. So safe words, Eva—what are they?”

  His gaze is hard, steely, uncompromising. Gone is the playful lover of just a few minutes ago. I answer quietly, obediently, the perfect little fearful sub. “Red if I want you to stop, yellow to slow down, to be careful. Do you really think I’ll need to use them?” There’s a tremor in my voice. In moments I have gone from willing and eager sex kitten—yes, me, sex kitten!—to terrified sub, a knot of dread forming in my stomach as I realise he means it. He intends to hurt me, and by the sound of it he’ll hurt me more than he did yesterday. I agree this morning was different—not serious. But the beating I received in his office yesterday was absolute agony, the pain was quite blinding.

  My every instinct screams at me to run, and I know if I say I want to leave he’ll drive me back to Black Combe without argument. But I’m still here, standing, waiting. Watching while he selects the spanking crop from the box. Holding it at both ends, he regards me seriously, intently. I gulp and back off.

  He sees it and offers me a way out. “You don’t have to go through with this, Eva. Do you want to back out of our deal? You can go back to Black Combe. Teach violin and walk the moors with Rosie and Barney, break in your new shoes and waterproof.”

  I’m frightened of what’s in store here and now, but more scared by the emptiness of my future if I fail. I dread failure, the loneliness of losing this exciting, fabulous sensuality that he is unwrapping in me, the sparkling opportunity to discover insights, feelings, sensations that will last me a lifetime. I need this—it’s that simple. So, I answer firmly, with certainty.