by Ashe Barker
“Mmm, yes, I expect so. What do you have?”
“You’ll have to guess, Miss Byrne. But I should tell you, even though I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, desserts are a specialty of mine.” Then he’s behind me, his hands at my neck, loosening my tie. He removes it and quickly repositions it across my eyes, before tying it behind my head.
“Comfortable?”
I nod, expectantly, my hands in my lap.
“Good. Put your hands behind you, please, I’m going to tie you up.”
“What? Why? I’m up for this, whatever it is. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Your hands, Miss Byrne.” His voice has taken that familiar, hard edge. The tone I have come to love and fear a little. But mostly love. I drop my hands to my sides, and he takes my wrists in each of his hands, pulling them behind my back where he quickly ties them together. Leaning past me he takes the serviette from my lap and I feel my chair turn as he pulls me away from the table. I hear the slight scrape of him moving another chair, I assume to seat himself directly in front of me. Tentatively I reach out with my foot, and sure enough, I find the soft denim of his jeans about a foot away from me.
“Wondering where I am, Miss Byrne? Don’t worry, I’m right here.” He takes my face between his hands and tilts it upwards, placing his lips over mine. The kiss is soft at first, gentle, tentative, then he slants his head to deepen it, sliding his tongue deep into my mouth. I open my lips for him, inviting him in, tangling my tongue with his, letting him suck my tongue into his mouth and nip it gently between his teeth. His hands are firm, holding my face in place, allowing me no choice but to let him have my mouth. He continues to kiss me, deeply, intensely, his fingers tunneling under the blindfold to tangle in my hair, forcing my head back. I feel the familiar tug of sensual awareness building as he ignites my senses, relentlessly driving my arousal, building that knot of greedy lust I have become accustomed to now.
Then suddenly he lifts his head, releases me, and he is gone. I gasp, moan in disappointment, frustration, wildly waving my head from side to side, blindly seeking him through the blackness of the silk covering my eyes.
He is silent. The room is silent. No clues. I could be alone, but I know better. I can sense him, somewhere near, and the not knowing scares me. My naked, helpless vulnerability scares me. The seconds tick by, then the minutes. I can’t bear it.
“Where are you? Nathan, please…” I can hear the catch in my voice, the slight waver that lets him know he has me, that I’m unraveling. Still he is silent. More minutes tick by. Has he left me? Surely, he can’t have…
“Open your mouth, Miss Byrne.”
The voice comes from right in front of me, and I jump to attention. He must be able to hear my heart pounding. Certainly, I can. As if he can hear my thoughts, he places his hand, warm and soft, at my left breast, flattened to feel my heart thumping under my skin.
“You seem nervous, Miss Byrne. That’s good. Now, do as you’re told. Open your mouth.”
I do and am rewarded with the delicious sensation of a creamy, sweet mousse dropped onto my tongue. The flavour is fruity and tart, the consistency fluffy. I savor the light, crisp taste, then swallow it, licking my lips.
“More, Miss Byrne?”
“Mmm, yes, please. What is it?”
“Mrs. Richardson’s special strawberry mousse. A particular favorite of mine. And yours too, perhaps? Open wide…”
I open my mouth to receive another delicious spoonful of Mrs. Richardson’s culinary masterpiece, and sigh as the delicious concoction slides down my throat. Christ, that woman knows her way around a pudding bowl. Wonderful. Bliss on a stick, or should that be a spoon?
“More?” I nod and open my mouth. Nathan obligingly delivers another mouthwatering spoonful.
“Mind if I have some?” His voice is soft, as he whispers against my ear. In my delight at the heavenly taste dancing across my tongue I hadn’t realised he was so close, but I can feel his breath against my neck, and now his fingertips are fluttering down, across my shoulder to my right breast. Lightly, gently, he feathers his fingers across my nipple, then circles more firmly as the little bud hardens and grows under his touch. My breath catches now, my attention snapping back to the sensuality of his caress and the intimacy of this moment. “May I share, Miss Byrne?”
What? Share what? Ah, right, the pudding. “Of course. Yes. But leave some more for me, please.” I’m feeling generous but not stupid.
“So kind. But I don’t want to lick mine from a spoon. I want to lick it from you. From your nipples. Is that okay, Miss Byrne?”
Christ! Fuck! “Yes.”
Yes, please!
He gives a throaty chuckle at my undisguised enthusiasm. A moment later I wince slightly as the chill of the mousse makes contact with my erect nipples, first one, then the other as Nathan carefully, lovingly applies his helping of the dessert to them. The sensation is exquisite, the cool of the dessert and the warmth of his gentle fingertips. Then I gasp and throw back my head as he takes my right nipple into his warm, wet mouth and sucks. Hard. His tongue swirls around, lapping away the sticky mousse. I groan with pleasure as the sensation spikes, sending a bolt of lightning straight to my groin. I feel the wetness between my legs and I shift in the chair, subconsciously trying to create the friction where I need it. Want it.
Nathan lifts his head from my nipple, just gently flicking it with his tongue. “Be patient, Miss Byrne. Keep still. I’ll deal with that in a minute.” And by way of making me wait he takes my left nipple into his mouth, holding it lightly between his teeth as he licks the mousse off. The sensation, and the anticipation of what is to come—please, God!—is overwhelming. I am writhing in my chair, nearly mindless with desire and desperate for some serious attention between my legs. At last Nathan relents, and effortlessly picks me up from my chair and deposits me on the table. He slides me along the surface until my shoulders are flat on the table top, my hands still bound underneath me, my legs bent and my heels on the edge of the polished wooden surface.
“Open wide, Miss Byrne.” I don’t need telling twice and I don’t even pretend not to get his meaning. I spread my thighs for him and scream with pleasure as he smears a generous serving of strawberry mousse all over my clitoris, and the lips of my pussy. Pushing my knee upwards with one hand he raises me slightly so he can even spread the stuff around my anus. I forget to breathe. With no further ado, using both hands now to cup my bottom he lifts me, legs spread wide, and takes a long, slow lick from my anus right up around my pussy and across my clitoris. I scream again, to be rewarded by sweet, intense little nibbles around my clitoris.
My climax punches forward. I am beyond coherent thought, thrusting under his mouth, greedy and grasping for the delight he is offering me. He holds me still, steady, as he continues to lick every part of me and I unravel in his hands. The orgasm starts right there and seems to go on for hours. I hear myself gasping, then screaming again as the sensation spikes and grips me, as he draws every last shiver of sensation from me. Eventually I’m spent and he lowers me back to the table top, allowing me to lie still, my legs still spread wide, and I’m purring with delight.
Thinking it’s all over I start to stretch, only to be picked up again, still bound and blindfolded, and carried across the room. I think we’re headed back to bed, but no. He kneels down with me in his arms and places me on the floor. I feel a deep, fluffy rug under me and realise we must be in front of the tinted picture window. Before I can mutter anything along the lines of ‘Peeping Toms’ and ‘draw the curtains’ Nathan pushes me around onto my knees.
“Time for seconds. Turn over, please.” He sees that I’m struggling to shift, my arms still tied and the blindfold confusing me, so he gently helps me into place. “Lean forward. Put your face into the rug. And open your legs. Wide.”
All thoughts of decency and privacy dissipate as he pushes my shoulders forward and I find myself assuming the position. This time he spreads the mousse generously around my b
um, letting his fingertip slip inside to tease me and make sure I’m paying attention. I am. Definitely. He slides his fingers between the lips of my pussy to spread the mousse there too, and gently finishes the trail at my clitoris.
“You are one seriously lovely woman, Miss Byrne.” His voice is thick with his own desire, seductive, breathy. I feel a zing of pleasure that he seems to want me as much as I want him, if that’s possible. His tongue and lips are gentler now, swirling around my anus to remove every last smear before working forwards around my pussy. His tongue dips inside and I gasp, thrusting back against him to deepen the contact. Sensitive as ever Nathan takes the hint, and obligingly tongue-fucks me until I start to come again. Then, before I can get too carried away, he slips his tongue back to my anus, at the same time taking my quivering clit between his finger and thumb. He rubs, licks, and I come apart.
Even before I stop convulsing, he is inside me, his thick, hard penis stretching me impossibly. The sensation of fullness is incredible, wonderful, overwhelming. I cry out with the sheer joy and intensity of it. I feel his fingers deftly unfastening the knots at my wrists and my hands are free. He slips the blindfold up and away, and I blink at the sudden light. One hand on the rug to take his weight and the other caressing my breasts, my hips, my bottom, he leans over me. He is sliding in and out, slowly, deeply, achingly gentle. I stretch my arms out, clutching the deep pile rug in front of me, and circle my hips against him. This feels so good, so damn good.
“Do you like it like this, Angel? Long and slow and easy?” His voice is a soft, seductive whisper, a breath against my ear.
I answer him, “Yes, oh God, yes. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”
“I aim to please you, Angel. Enjoy.” He nudges my hair aside to nip my earlobe, easing back almost to the point of slipping out of me. He hovers there at my entrance, waiting for me to whimper my need before sliding back in, right to the hilt. He angles his penetration to hit just that spot, deep inside me where he knows the nerve endings bunch, and I stiffen as the warm waves of delicious pleasure wash over me, and through me. Even when I would have started to thrust back against him to force the pace, he holds me, gentle and firm, drawing out the pleasure. He uses his fingers, strumming them continuously across my clit, tickling and teasing and heightening every sensation, but not enough to send me over the brink. Not yet. His gentle, slow strokes build slowly. Too slowly, nudging me toward orgasm again. I am gasping, my breathing heavy, desperate for more. For more, what?
At last I can bear it no longer. “Please, oh God, Nathan, please. I need… I need…”
“This? Is this what you need, Angel?” He strokes my clit more firmly and I arch my back, quivering as he stills to rub my most sensitive spot before withdrawing and plunging back into me, deep and hard. I scream and convulse around him, gyrating my hips to wring every last greedy scrape of friction from his cock as my orgasm ripples through me. With a muffled, “Fuck, ah, my sweet Angel”, he thrusts, hard and sharp, and his own climax is here. I feel the hot spurt inside me as his hands grip my hips, holding me in place for his final deep and none too gentle penetration. It feels fabulous as we come together, spiraling away over the edge.
Afterwards we are both lying on the rug, on our sides, my back snuggled against his chest, his arm around me and my bum tucked up against his groin. I can still feel his cock against my buttocks, still semi-hard as his breathing, and mine, returns to normal. We are silent, each of us savoring the moment, enjoying the satiated aftermath of shit-hot sex. Well, it seemed shit-hot to me.
“Nathan?”
“Mmm, what?”
“That was good. That was so good.”
“Yes, I thought so too. And like I said, we aim to please, to provide full and complete satisfaction. I’m so glad you approve of my efforts.” He pulls me closer, kissing my hair.
“I do. I really do. So much. You’ve taught me, shown me, so much. And I want to satisfy you too. Completely. I want to make some efforts of my own.”
“Do I look to you like a guy who’s not entirely satisfied, Miss Byrne? What sort of ‘efforts’ do you have in mind to top what we just did?”
“What you just did. I’m a passenger, along for the ride.”
His snort into my hair tells me what he thinks of that. “Mind-blowing sex is hardly a solo performance, Miss Byrne. It takes two to tango and all that. And even you, Eva, the wonder kid, brilliant musician, linguist and mathematician that you are, and a sexy little hot bird into the bargain, would find it kind of hard to be the sexual aggressor when your hands are tied behind your back and you’re blindfolded. Your role is—was—to respond. Which you did beautifully, I should add. Passenger my arse!” To emphasize his point, he nips my shoulder hard enough to make me yelp, then licks the spot, holding me still as I start to wriggle.
“Keep still while I bite you, that’s a good little sub.” His voice is playful as he trails his hands lightly over my body, using his teeth to scrape the point of my shoulder, my neck, my ear, his stubble scratching my skin.
“But that’s just the point, I’ve not been—a good little sub, that is. I fainted, duh.” Turning in his arms I take his face between my hands, gazing into his eyes. He shakes his head slowly, obviously puzzled, wondering what’s eating me now—the creases between his eyebrows deepening as his lips quirk up at one side.
“Are you still on about that? It doesn’t matter, love. Really it doesn’t. What’s one little caning malfunction between friends?”
“But it does matter. And it was a big malfunction, you were furious with me over it. It was part of the deal, the arrangement. Your sheet of dos and don’ts. It was a do.” I am staring at him earnestly. I need to make him understand, I mean to prove myself.
“I want to do it again. Now.”
“Now? Have a heart, love. Give me a few more minutes to recover then I’m willing to try if you really insist…”
“Not that, idiot.” I punch his shoulder. “Caning. I want you to cane me again, and this time I’ll do it. All of it. I’ll be able to see it through now. I know I will.”
Rolling forward he pushes me onto my back and leans over me, his weight across my chest pinning me down. This time it is him holding my gaze, his hands tangled in my hair. His eyes are no longer laughing, his expression is serious, intense. “I know what you meant, and you don’t have to do that. Ever. You never need to do that again, love. You’ve nothing to prove.”
“But I…”
“No, listen to me, Angel. I was angry when you fainted, that’s true. But not because I had to stop, not because I wasn’t finished having my fun with you when you passed out. I was angry because of the danger you put yourself in by not safe wording when it got too much for you. You scared me, really scared me. I thought I’d really hurt you. And I never, ever want to feel scared like that again. I don’t want to harm you. Ever.”
“You’ve never harmed me, and you won’t. Not really. I know that now, and that’s why I can do it. I know I can. Please, you have to let me try again. I need to try again. I want to be… I want to be everything you want. Everything you need. Please, let me…”
For a long, slow moment he looks down at me, into my eyes, and I hold my breath. Waiting. Silently I mouth the word ‘please’ again. He starts to shake his head, but my expression must have stopped him from turning me down. Slowly he lowers his forehead to mine. Then he gently kisses me before whispering, “Okay, we’ll try again.”
“Now?”
“No, not now. Tomorrow, if you still want to. And I hope you don’t want to in the cold light of morning. And just so’s we’re absolutely clear, I’ve had more sex in the last few days than I’ve had for months. Mind-blowing, brilliant sex, the sort of sex I’ve only dreamt about. You are all my fantasies rolled up into one sexy little package, Eva. You absolutely delight me, in every way. You’ve done all I’ve asked, and more. I know you’ve been scared at times, embarrassed. I’ve outraged your modesty, taken your virginity in every which way I could
think of and you’ve let me. You’ve responded to me, given me everything I wanted, given me pleasure by sharing your own. You may not be the perfect sub, but who gives a fuck? I don’t want just that from you anymore. By now you must realise you’re so much more than a sub to me. You’re in my home, my family, my life. You absolutely owe me nothing, Eva. You’re perfect being just you.”
I can only stare at him, wide-eyed, as the words sink in. The wonderful, affirming, empowering words, words that say I’m okay, that I’m perfect even. Maybe. Definitely? Me. And he means it, he really does seem to mean it. My lips are moving, but I have no words to respond. Nathan solves the problem by dropping his head and kissing me, lightly at first then deeply. He slides his tongue between my lips, stroking inside my mouth. His arms are around me and he is holding me, tightly, crushed against his chest, still pinned under him. Uncaring of the weight pressing down on me, my hands tangle in his hair as I return the kiss, desperately seeking to communicate this rush of feeling, this sense of belonging that is so new to me, so alien, and so wondrous.
Eventually he breaks the kiss, lifts his head. I open my eyes to find his gaze fixed on me holding my eyes with his own. “Is that absolutely clear, sweetheart?”
“Is what clear?” I whisper, uncertain.
“How I feel about you, about us, about what you need to do, or not do, to make me happy?”
“Yes. Thank you. Yes.”
“No need to thank me, love. It’s my absolute pleasure.” Then, in one of his trademark mercurial swings, he’s shooting off at a complete tangent, “Now, do you feel like going out? On another date? With me?”
Chapter Fifteen
“Out? You want to go out? At this time?” I realise as I’m saying it that I have no idea what time it actually is, but I feel sure it must be late. A belated glance at the window suggests not—it’s not quite dark yet. Nathan, who incredibly has managed to still be wearing his jeans, more or less, digs into his pocket and pulls out his phone. After handing it to me he sits up as I fiddle with the phone to switch it on and get a time check. Twenty-one twelve. Not even quarter past nine. The night is indeed still young…
