by Ashe Barker
“Yes, I want to do all that, at Black Combe. And this too.” I lift my chin, ready. “I’m in.”
He nods, smiles. “Excellent, Miss Byrne. Take off the shirt.”
I do, hardly bothered anymore by my near nudity as I stand before him in just my lace briefs. My modesty and shyness do seem to have been beaten—or seduced—out of me, as he promised. I meet his gaze. His eyes are warm, appreciative. He looks me up and down slowly.
“At the risk of repeating myself, your body is exquisite, Miss Byrne. You are one lovely woman. You take my breath away.”
He comes to me, takes my face in his palms and kisses me lightly, touching his lips to my eyelids, my neck, and finally my lips before standing back. His gaze caresses my breasts, then his hands follow, slowly tracing the curved underside of each before trailing his fingers to the tips. Taking each of my nipples between his fingers and thumbs, he softly rolls them, delicately teasing them to swollen hardness.
“Should we use the nipple clamps today Miss Byrne? Or maybe save those for another time. Something to look forward to, for both of us…” He drops his hands, turns away.
Leaving me gulping in the middle of the room, he goes to the chest, opens it and takes out a metal bar about two feet long, with a leather strap at each end. “For your wrists, Miss Byrne. Please…”
Holding the restraint before me, he waits for me to place my wrists in the leather cuffs before tightening them. Then, while I hold my arms out stiffly in front of me, he grasps the metal bar and tugs me across the room. Glancing up, he pulls a metal ring on a chain from the ceiling. It’s clearly spring-loaded because he fastens the metal rod securely to it and when he lets it go, my hands are raised above my head, my whole body pulled upright, onto my toes, then into the air.
I am suspended, my feet about a foot off the floor. I scream. My wrists hurt like hell for a moment as all my weight is suspended from them, but Nathan quickly slips his arm around me, taking my weight as he kicks a low stool under my feet so I can stand. Just about, on tiptoe.
“I keep forgetting how small you are…” he murmurs. “If you turn your hands you can hold onto the bar—might be more comfortable.” His advice is helpful, as ever. I steady myself as best I can.
I’m shivering, but not with cold, nor fear now. I recognize this feeling—anticipation. My immobility is oddly empowering, and I realise that I felt a similar liberation last night as he tied my wrists to the bed. He‘s in control—as long as I let him be. But for now, I can relinquish responsibility and see what happens.
Nathan walks around to stand in front of me, his face now only an inch or so higher than mine. He kisses me again. “Safe words, Eva. Remember,” he murmurs before turning to pick up a bottle of water from the floor behind him. He snaps the plastic top and offers me a drink.
“Your mouth is dry, Eva. Drink. Small sips.” He holds the bottle to my lips. I drink greedily, only now realizing how parched my body feels. “Enough?”
I nod, grateful. “Yes. Thank you.”
“If you need more, tell me. And for fuck’s sake, use the safe word if you need to. When you need to.” With that, he turns away. He’s behind me, but I hear his footsteps crossing the room, then coming back slowly, unhurried. “I’m going to blindfold you, Eva. Hold still.”
Before I can react, he slips a blindfold over my eyes. All is pitch black. I’m disorientated at first, terrified I’ll fall from my perch. “Please, I don’t like it. Please take it off.” My voice sounds desperate, trembling again and I start to panic, tugging against the restraints on my wrists, struggling to be free.
He steadies me, his hands at my waist, but he’s unrelenting. “You’ll get used to it. And the sensations will be so much more…intense. Be still, you won’t fall. I’ll tell you when to move.”
A few seconds pass in silence. I struggle to regain my self-control, standing there in the dark with my arms stretched tightly above my head, unable to move, helpless. I’m beginning to appreciate that helplessness can have its own attractions, an appeal that I’d not dreamed of before, but this is still scary. I hope I don’t disgrace myself, do something ridiculous like faint. Or pee myself. God, how embarrassing. Still, that’d show him, the heartless bastard. Despite my apprehension that image amuses me, sort of, and I manage a tremulous little almost-smile.
“Something amusing you, Miss Byrne?” His voice is low beside my ear, and I jump nervously as Nathan slips his thumbs into the waistband of my briefs. He pulls them down to my ankles. “Step out,” he orders. Naturally, I do. Naked now, helpless and strangely free, I wait.
Suddenly something firm, supple, is trailed down my back, from between my shoulder blades to my bum, then down between my buttocks. It isn’t painful, but it seems all the more menacing for its softness. I guess he is teasing me, stroking me with a whip of some sort. “What’s that?” I whisper, arching my body away. “Please, if that’s a whip, please just do it.” I can’t stand the tension, the waiting.
“There’s no rush, Miss Byrne. This is about arousal, not punishment. Be patient.” His voice is soft, tender almost, and he draws the whip around to the front, trailing it over my breasts, my belly. Sliding it between my legs. I squirm, loving the touch, the exquisite scrape across my clit, which is even now quivering to attention, the randy little beast. But it’s different this time. I can’t settle, can’t relax and enjoy because I know what’s coming next. Or I think I do. My earlier unexpected reaction to being spanked has already proved to me that pleasure and pain are tangled together somehow, and I daresay I’m about to find out a whole lot more about that. I’m torn between wanting to know and wanting it to be over.
Standing very close—so close I can feel his chest brushing my nipples—and with the whip trailing down the backs of my legs, he takes my chin in his hand, holding my face still as he kisses me. He is rougher this time, forcing his tongue into my mouth, plunging, invading.
“Are you ready, Miss Byrne?” he asks me softly, releasing my mouth at last.
I don’t, can’t respond.
He asks again, louder, more forcefully.
I nod, shaking. “Yes, yes—I’m ready.”
“It will hurt. A lot at first, but don’t fight it. And it does get easier as the endorphins kick in. Breathe in between the strokes, and out after each one. I’ll give you plenty of time, as much as you need. And I’m going to go easy on you, but if it’s still too much you have to tell me. Amber light, remember? I’ll help you, you just have to ask. And I’ll stop if you want me to.” He waits for a moment, lets his words sink in. Then, “So, are we okay to continue?”
I nod. “Yes, I understand. And I’m ready.” And this time, I am. I really am.
I hear the swoosh of the whip flying through the air an instant before the pain shoots through me. The blow lands on my right buttock and despite my good intentions I scream. Loudly. Then I gasp, desperately trying to gulp in oxygen as the air has emptied from my lungs, forced from me by the shock. I am whimpering—my bottom feels on fire. I can’t help myself. I beg. “Please, please stop. It hurts. Please…”
“Are you safe wording, Eva?” His voice is cold. Like a bucket of icy water, it chills me. I stiffen. I don’t want to give in, be sent back to Black Combe. I can do this. I want to do this. Surely, I can. I know I can.
“No.” I shake my head.
His voice gentles. “Are you sure? Do you want to stop? Did I lay it on too hard?”
Yes!
“No.” My response is firm. “I’m fine. It was a shock, that’s all. I’m fine.”
No more words, but a moment later the whip whistles through the air again, and this time I brace for the blow. It lands, but it’s no worse than the first stroke. I cry out again, but I’m trying to manage my breathing, just as Nathan told me to. Maybe it’ll help.
“Eva?” The question in his voice is there, clear.
“D-d-don’t stop.” I am struggling for air and concentrate on drawing first one deep breath in and slowly expelling i
t. Then I do it again. I feel strangely grounded, and despite the pain I want to carry on. I will carry on. I will finish this.
The next two blows fall and my body jerks with each searing pain across my bottom. My whole body is on fire now, the pain close to overwhelming. I clench my jaw, desperate for this to be done, over. He’ll stop if I ask him to. Why don’t I just ask? Beg?
“H-how many more?” I whisper.
“Ten will be enough. Unless you want more…?” His tone is lighter now, teasing.
“Ten. Yes, ten. I can do ten…” I brace, my body rigid.
“Eva, you’re doing really well. Now you know what it feels like, don’t fight it. Try to relax your body a little more if you can. I know it’s hard, but it does get easier. I promise. Let the pain wash through you, blow it away as you breathe out. Do you want me to go more slowly?” His voice is low, and he caresses my cheek as he speaks to me. And miraculously, I’m okay again. More or less—all things are relative. He brushes my lips with his. I feel his breath on my cheek as he asks me if it’s all right to continue.
I whisper that it is, and I wait, ready now to let this thing happen to me, to find out where it takes me. I count the blows, my body now conscious of the pain but, incredibly, my level of tolerance increases as I manage to ride each stroke. It hurts, it’s definitely not pleasant. But it’s not quite horrible either. I’m confused, intrigued and a bit perturbed to find myself becoming aroused again. I hadn’t expected that, despite what Nathan told me before we started. I should have, I suppose. He’s been right about everything else so far.
The feeling builds as the blows fall, one after another, and I now want this to be finished. Not because of the pain—I’m on top of that, just about, though I’m not quite ready to embrace it yet—but because I desperately want him to fuck me.
“Safe word, Eva? Remember, if you need to stop…”
“I’m all right. Don’t stop.”
He continues, taking his time, offering me space to gather my wits and prepare myself between each stroke of the whip. I gasp with each blow, but he was right—it is easier now. I’m definitely getting there.
Then it stops. Was that ten? Really? Are we done?
After a few moments, I feel his fingers at the back of my head, unfastening the blindfold. He lifts it away and I blink in the light, his beautiful, chiseled face inches from mine. I hadn’t realised I was crying, but he wipes my tears with his thumbs, kisses me tenderly.
“You did well, angel. Really well. I really thought you’d had enough after the first couple of strokes, but you’re amazing. Who knew a little thing like you could be so…resilient?” Yeah, who knew?
Picking up the bottle of water again, he wets my lips, then gently trickles the cool, refreshing liquid into my mouth. I gulp it down gratefully. Reaching above me, he unhooks the metal bar from the ring in the ceiling and I fall like a stone. He catches me, swinging me easily into his arms, and carries me across the room to lay me facedown across the bed. My wrists are still held tightly by the straps, my arms extended in front of me.
I lie still, savoring my relief as my scorching flesh cools to a sharp sting. I wince as he applies some cooling cream, gently stroking it into my buttocks. A thought occurs to me. “Am I bleeding?” I whisper.
“No.” His reply is scornful. “What do you think I am? I told you, no blood.”
‘I think you should be fucking me by now’ is my response to that, but I decide to keep it to myself.
Apparently, he doesn’t need telling. “Playtime, Eva. Open your legs.” He lifts my knees onto the bed, so I am on all fours with my poor, abused bum in the air, my face resting on the duvet, my hands still stretched in front of me. He nudges my knees apart. I am dimly aware of my vulnerability, my exposure to him as he trails his fingers over my genitals, but well past caring. I want him inside me. Now.
I hear the sucking sound of wet-and-ready-woman as he slides two fingers into me, then three. Incredibly, I am wet, responsive. It’s my response to the spanking all over again, though more intense this time. After the pain—maybe because of it—the pleasure is immense, instant. I clench around his fingers, desperate for more, for harder, faster, deeper. “Yes, oh yes,” I moan as he plunges his fingers in and out of my pussy, using my own lubrication to smear over my eager clit.
Then his fingers are gone. I start to protest but his hand on my bottom—which is now only throbbing slightly—tells me to be still. There’s a slight coolness as something hard is inserted into my pussy, and something slides across my clit at the same time. Then I am overwhelmed by the glorious tingling sensation, inside me and all around my clitoris, as he switches on the vibrator. Nathan pushes his palm over my entrance, holding the gizmo in place, pressing it to my most sensitive spots where he knows it will have most effect. The stimulation is intense, irresistible. I scream as I shatter within seconds, flying off into the most intense orgasm whilst he watches me, holding me, murmuring encouragement.
Even before the tremors have subsided, he slides his cock into me, behind the still-whirring vibrator. “Mmm, the website was right. This is great—for you and me. Good choice, Miss Byrne,” he whispers in my ear, leaning over me as he starts to thrust. I lose it again, convulsing around him, shaking with the intensity of sensation flooding through me. The pain of a few moments ago was just the prelude, the setting leading up to this absolute joy. This extreme pleasure is only possible because it’s delivered in sharp contrast to what went before.
I am starting to see, to understand. My light-bulb moment liberates me. Pain, fear—those are the flipside of ecstasy, each sensation brought into sharper focus, sharper relief by its opposite. ‘Gentle fucking’ was good, beautiful even, but bland in comparison to the intensity of sensory stimulation I am now experiencing. Every touch, every slide and stroke, every shivering tingle is amplified. Every nerve ending is on alert, standing to attention following the whipping. My entire body now shakes with need, desire, lust.
I can’t get enough. I scream for more. And he gives it. His cock is huge, forced into me as well as the vibrator, stretching me, connecting with all of me. Slipping his hands under my knees, Nathan raises me off the bed, holding me there, more fully exposed to his hard thrusts. I come again, shaking, exploding. Shattered. There’s more yet—he knows it and forces it from me. I climax once more, this time taking the time to savor the delight rather than be swept away by it. Lowering my legs back to the bed, he leans into me, his chest against my back as his thrusts become more gentle, caressing, calming me as he reaches around me to lightly feather his fingers across my breasts, stroke my nipples, whisper sweet words into my ear.
“Angel, you are so beautiful. So sweet. So tight and hot and brave. You delight me…” I feel the hot rush of semen pumping into me as he climaxes, and I squeeze him to acknowledge it, to accept it, to welcome it.
Afterwards we lie still, both of us facedown, my wrists still bound. Noticing, I flex my arms. “Are you going to undo these now?” I ask, rolling onto my back.
“Not much point, sugar,” he replies, lifting himself onto one elbow to lean over and kiss me. “I intend to stretch you out over my sofa in a couple of minutes and see how you respond to that sweet little cane you bought. But let me get my breath back first.”
“You must be kidding! I’m done. Just let me sleep.” He’s joking, right?
“Sleep if you want, Miss Byrne. For a minute or two. But I guarantee you’ll be wide awake as soon as you feel that cane across your tight little butt.”
Holy fucking shit! Then— Bring it on…
I have a sudden rush of blood to my head—that’s the only explanation. “Whenever you’re ready, big boy…” I smile and bring my hands down, dropping the bar across the back of his neck as I pull myself against him, kissing him.
* * * *
“Kneel on the sofa, facing the back.”
Nathan is gently positioning me for the next leg of my voyage of self-discovery. The sofa is a dark brown leather affair,
rather boxy in shape. The back is solid, thick, the cushions flat and firm. It reminds me of the furniture in a classy dentist’s waiting room. “Lean forward, across the back. Let your arms and head drop down.” I find myself dangling over the back of the sofa, and am not surprised when Nathan flicks a catch to release more leather straps from between the cushions under my knees. Clearly, this is no ordinary sofa.
Spreading my knees wide apart, he quickly loops the restraints around them, then produces more straps to do the same at my ankles. The sofa’s back is low, so the effect is to shove my bottom up into the air, a perfect target for his cane. I know it’s going to hurt. It’s going to hurt like crazy. At first. Just as the whip did. But I also know I can handle it, accept it, use it. And the orgasms to follow will be incomparable. I feel my pussy start to moisten in anticipation. I shift against the leather, instinctively trying to find a way to rub my clit against it.
Nathan moves around to my head, crouching, lifting my hair to see my face. “Remember your safe words, Eva. This will be more intense. We can stop, or slow down, whenever you want. Understand?”
“Yes, I know. I think I’m ready…”
He raises one eyebrow, glancing up at my naked body, spread out and restrained for his attention. “Yup, I guess you are, Miss Byrne. You do seem very eager, much more enthusiastic than before. Are you perhaps starting to enjoy yourself?”
I feel myself blushing. How can I be remotely embarrassed after all we’ve done? Seeing my flushed face, Nathan smiles, kisses me, offers me another sip of water. “Embarrassed, Miss Byrne? That’s cute. Remember—safe words.” With that final parting shot, he clips the bar between my hands to the foot of the sofa, which means I am effectively pinned in place, unable to move at all. He stands, walks around the sofa to stand behind me. I feel his gaze on my quivering bottom even though he is out of my line of sight.
His voice is cool, businesslike. “I won’t blindfold you this time, Miss Byrne. You can’t see anything from down there, anyway. I do want you to concentrate, though. Are you paying attention, Miss Byrne?”
