by Ashe Barker
He smiles, his expression sad. “You underrate yourself, Hope. I’ve noticed you do it a lot and we need to work on that. Can’t you just believe me when I say I took one look at you and I knew I had to have you? Would you have come with me, do you think, if I’d told you the truth? If I’d asked you to come to Scotland, to sleep with me, to fuck me, to let me give you orgasms, spank you, make you scream? Would you have said yes to all that?” He watches me, his lip quirking. “No, I thought not. So I hired you to drive me, paid you a bloody fortune in fact. But it was worth every penny because it got you here. With me.”
I gaze at him as if through a fog, peering to make out his features, battling to drag some sense or sanity from this madness. The mist starts to clear, slowly dissolving. Harry’s face comes into sharp focus. I open my mouth, and words come out. No one is more surprised than I am. “I might have agreed to the orgasms. And what about the purring? You promised me purring.” Is it really me saying these things?
Harry lounges against the pillows, the atlas abandoned. He inclines his head thoughtfully. “That too. And of course I haven’t spanked you yet.”
“Maybe you need to put that right then. After all, a deal’s a deal. But if my bottom’s going to be sore, I definitely won’t be driving.” No, this can’t be me. Some inner demon has taken control of my tongue. Bring it on.
Harry’s answering grin is nothing short of lecherous. “Agreed. Which means I’ll be taking first shift in the morning then. And you can lose that towel.”
* * * *
Am I really doing this? I must be—there’s no other reason I can think of that I would be kneeling naked on a bed about to lay my body across Harry’s lap. No other explanation for my presenting my bare and vulnerable bottom for him to spank. I sneak a glance at his right hand, and I wonder if he’s done this before.
Idiot, of course he has. The question is, how much experience has he had? Enough to know how to really hurt me? Or perhaps how not to hurt me at all? Because it’s really all the same thing, isn’t it? Pleasure and pain, two extremes with a wide expanse of gray in between. And where am I in all that grayness? I expect I’ll know soon enough.
“How should I…?” I look to him for guidance, for a clue as to how this ought to be done. It should be obvious. It isn’t.
“Face down, your hips on my lap. Just however feels comfortable to you.”
I’ve dumped my towel, as instructed, though it seems Harry saw no pressing reason to be rid of his. It remains knotted around his waist and the telltale bulge under the thick fabric suggests he is as aroused by this as I suspect I may be. In truth, the exact nature of my response remains right now something of an unknown quantity, but arousal might be the nearest description. That or sheer terror. I offer no further comment as I shuffle into position beside Harry and lean forward to position myself across his body.
“That’s good. Wriggle a little farther forward if you could…”
I oblige, to be rewarded by a soft tap on my bum. “Great, that’s just fine.” He continues to massage my bottom, his palm firm and warm, feeling slightly roughened against my skin. “Do you have any questions?”
Just the obvious. “Will this hurt? A lot, I mean?”
“Yes and no. Yes it will hurt, but no, not a lot. Well, not too much. I’ll take it easy on you, and I’ll stop when you ask me to. Fair enough?”
My heart is in my mouth, but still I manage a feeble little nod.
“Ready?” Harry’s voice is soft, his tone gentle, despite what I know will be coming next. I’m struck by the insane thought that here I am, at my most vulnerable, yet I still feel entirely safe with him. And any remaining ambiguity in my response dissipates. I am aroused. Very aroused indeed. I writhe, trying to rub myself against the towel under me. Harry chuckles.
“I think we should get on with this.”
Me too. “Ouch! Ouch, that hurts.” I jerk, try to roll from his lap as the sharp pain of the first slap radiates across my undefended right buttock. A firm hand in the small of my back puts a stop that.
“Keep still.” The command is terse, and very effective.
I stop wriggling and concentrate on steadying my breathing. “You took me by surprise,” I accuse him, peeved.
“I did ask if you were ready. Can we continue now, please?”
“Yes. But not so hard. Right?”
“Wrong. I decide how hard. You decide when we stop. Okay?”
My answering “Okay” is decidedly grudging, but must be sufficient as he lands the next slap immediately. I yelp, but in truth it feels less severe than the first. The next two are bearable as well, the pain sharp but tolerable.
Harry continues to land slap after slap, his rhythm brisk but controlled. He seems intent on covering the whole of my bottom, spreading the spanks evenly across both buttocks and the tops of my thighs. I lose count after about ten, but by then I’m finding the sensation strangely compelling. It’s uncomfortable, but intoxicating too. I don’t want him to stop, not yet. The burn is increasing, building now, the heat radiating across my sensitive skin. My pussy is wet, my clit throbbing, aching for friction. Harry’s relentless spanking is whipping my nervous system into a state of intense awareness. If I harbored any doubts about my level of arousal at the outset, they are thoroughly dispelled now. I need to come.
“Harry, I…”
He pauses, his palm heavy against my smarting bum. “Enough?”
“Yes. I mean no. I was just… Could you…?”
“Ah, right. Open your legs, please, Hope.”
I do so, willingly. His slides his fingers through my drenched folds, plunging three of them deep into my pussy. He withdraws, then thrusts again, hard.
“Oh, God, that’s fabulous.”
“More?”
“Please. Yes, please.” I’m writhing on his lap, my hips gyrating in desperation. “I want to come. Now.”
“Right now?”
“Yes!”
Harry obliges, finger-fucking me in earnest. He twists his angle of entry to pay due respect to my G-spot. The outcome is inevitable. I climax hard, my pussy contracting around his fingers. My body is spasming madly, the waves of orgasmic pleasure rushing at me. I grasp the duvet in my fists, twisting it as I moan my delight into the soft quilt. Christ, did anything ever feel as good as this?
My orgasm subsides and I lie still again. Harry pulls his fingers from my pussy. “So, do you feel better now?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Shall we continue?”
He means more spanking. I’m surprised at how attractive that prospect seems. Who would have thought it? “Yes, please continue.”
My body jerks as the next spank lands, sharp against my left buttock, the sound reverberating in the quiet of the room. I let out a satisfied little gasp. Harry spanks me again, and I moan. The next blow elicits a breathless squeal, the next a distinct yelp.
“More?” Harry pauses to check.
I nod, though I know I’ll need to stop soon. The old determination is reasserting itself, that inner compulsion to reach my limit and go just a little bit further. To have a goal and conquer it.
Harry resumes his spanking, the slaps dropping in a remorseless rhythm against my sensitized, tender skin. My bum feels to be on fire, but still I don’t ask him to stop. And Harry, bless him, doesn’t let up. The intensity is cruel, driven by his ruthless dedication to push me right to my limit.
I reach it. “Enough. Enough now.” I whisper the words, but Harry hears me and stops immediately. I lie still, not wanting—probably not even able—to move for a few moments. Harry says nothing. The bed shifts slightly as he eases his body back against the headboard. He relaxes there, to wait for me.
Eventually I roll to my side, to face him. His expression is inscrutable.
“Did I do okay?” I think I did, but feel compelled to ask.
“You were fantastic, babe. The question is, really, did I do okay?”
“You? Of course. Why woul
d you ask that?”
“You enjoyed that? Mostly?”
I have to think about it for a moment, but I nod my head. “It was painful. At first. Then I got used to it and it felt, I don’t know, sort of invigorating. It set me on edge, like a cold shower or maybe a rollercoaster ride. Scary, but so, so satisfying afterwards.”
“So, are you quite satisfied, Hope?” His voice is rich, overflowing with sensual promise.
I nod again, with rather more conviction this time. “It was fabulous. Really. Like, like nothing I could have imagined.”
“That’s good to hear. Particularly as I haven’t finished with you yet.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t considered that prospect, the possibility that there might be more. I clench my buttocks in self-defense, my new-found enthusiasm evaporating in a moment. I frown, uncertain what to say. Have we passed the point when I can back out, tell him no?
Harry’s smile is sweet, but with an edge of something more. I detect an almost indefinable grimness in his expression, a flash of steely resolve. I’ve glimpsed this before, this resolute determination. I caught a fleeting glance the first time, as he sat in the back of my taxi directing me to the Queens Hotel. There have been flashes since, gone in a moment, but it is undisguised now and going nowhere. There’s an intimacy too, a knowing that is vaguely irresistible. His mouth curls in a wicked smile.
“Could I interest you in another fuck then, for old times’ sake?”
Whatever I might think—and at this precise juncture I’m not convinced I can put a name to my reaction—my pussy has no such qualms. My cunt is moistening and clenching in delighted anticipation. I abandon my misgivings, laughing out loud as I launch myself at him. I lace my fingers together at the back of his neck as I lock my lips over his. Harry allows me my brief moment as the sexual aggressor before I find myself on my back, my legs spread wide. He’s between my thighs and reaching for a condom. Moments later, sheathed, he buries his cock in me.
He’s quick, ruthlessly efficient this time, driving deep. His hand is caught between our bodies, his fingers on my clit. He rubs, the motion perfectly in sync with his pumping hips as he fucks me hard. My bottom is sore, my skin still raw and burning as he presses me into the bed, each stroke a harsh reminder of this thing we just did. I wince, unable to help it. He must know how uncomfortable I am, he misses nothing. This apparent disregard is entirely deliberate, and, I realize now, calculated to enhance my desire. The pain is exquisite, a sensual reminder that I am his, marked by him, used by him.
“Come for me, Hope. Now.” The command is guttural, his terse instruction growled into my ear. He increases the pressure on my clit, firm and demanding.
Obedience is instantaneous. I’m becoming accustomed to being told what to do, and finding it rather more agreeable than I might have anticipated. Up to now I’ve always considered myself something of a loner, a rebel. Independent certainly, and not accustomed to taking orders. No longer, at least not around Harry McLeod.
My orgasm is a hot and sticky, tumultuous affair. My pussy quivers and contracts around Harry’s solid cock, gripping him, milking his response as surely as he is commanding mine. I dig my fingers into his shoulders as he reaches for my right leg and lifts it high to open me more fully. His final thrust fills me, stretches me to my absolute limit as he holds still, buried deep, the head of his cock nudging my cervix. His growled “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” precedes the final lurching jolt as his semen spurts in a hot flood. I squeeze, using my inner muscles as well as my arms and my leg to hold him in me, to me, taking possession of him as he seems intent on claiming me.
Chapter Seven
I’m stiff. And sore. I hurt everywhere, even in places I wasn’t sure that I had. My pussy is tender.
I feel seriously well used. Well fucked, to be more accurate.
More than that, my bum is throbbing like a bitch. I lie still, allow a wave of hot irritation to pass, relishing both that and the guilty sensation of wicked pleasure that follows. I’m lying on my side, breathing deep and slow, acutely conscious of every twinge and stab, every prickle offering residual evidence of last night’s incredible events.
He tied me up, touched me, played with me as he liked until I came, until I couldn’t hold it back, then he punished me for being unable to suppress my response. He spanked me, breaking off in the middle of that to give me yet another awesome climax, before thrashing me into final submission.
Then, he simply fucked me. Hard, no frills fucking, and quite, quite beautiful. Incomparable. Just the memory causes my pussy to dampen and my clit to swell.
I roll onto my back, knowing I’ll encounter evidence of another first for me. He’s here, still here, with me. Harry McLeod shared my bed, all night. Or perhaps I shared his. Whatever, I don’t do all-nighters. Or I didn’t. I suspect I’ll be discovering a lot of new habits around Harry. First, though, my bladder is demanding some attention.
“Don’t you dare.”
His harsh voice stops me as I wriggle cautiously toward the edge of the bed, favoring my smarting buttocks. I halt, turning to peer at him over my shoulder.
“I need the loo.” I can’t suppress the hint of indignation. It’s one thing to bark out orders in the heat of lust. I find I have no objection to that. But now, nature calls and she is a far sterner taskmaster than Harry. Or so I think.
“Leave this bed before I say you can, and I’ll paddle your ass so hard you won’t want to even think about sitting for a week.”
“What? I beg your pardon?”
“You heard. Ask permission, Hope.”
Something in the timbre of his voice tells me he’s not joking. Unless I want to find myself across his lap again in the near future, enduring Christ knows what, I have no choice but to plead with him for permission to use the loo. It rankles, but I take the softer option, for now.
“May I please use the toilet? Sir?” I add on the last intending it to be sarcastic.
“You may. And, Hope, I like it when you call me Sir. You can use that in future, please, though without the attitude. Attitude will earn you another spanking. Or worse. Do I make myself clear?”
I consider a retort that would without doubt qualify as ‘attitude’, but refrain from sharing it. Harry seems to be in no mood to be informed that he’s an arrogant shit and advised to go to hell. Instead I mutter something along the lines of “Thank you, Sir” and scramble from the bed.
I reach for my discarded top from last night but abandon that at his sharp, “Stay naked.”
I turn to glare at him. He’s wide awake, lounging against the pillow, his right arm behind his head. His other hand is lying on top of the quilt, his fingers drumming ominously. He watches me, his expression dispassionate.
“Attitude, remember? Do what you need to do. Take your time, then come back here to bed. I want to talk to you.”
My stomach lurches. He is sexy as sin, without doubt the most gorgeous man I have ever seen, let alone fucked, and he’s in my bed waiting for me. Even so, my body is delicate, still aching from everything he did to me already. I don’t want to be spanked again, not so soon.
“Please, Harry, Sir. I mean, can’t we just…?”
“Scared, Hope?”
“No. Yes, perhaps. I feel a bit fragile right now, if you must know.”
“Glad to hear it. And you can relax, I’m not about to inflict more bruises on you. When I say I want to talk, that’s exactly what I mean.”
“Oh. Okay. I see.” Relieved, I turn to make for the en suite, wondering if I might have time for a shower before he demands my presence back in his bed. I’m halfway there when his words penetrate. Bruises?
I twist my body in an attempt to see the damage he might have wrought to my bottom, but can’t see anything. Harry chuckles from the bed. “Use the mirror.” He gestures toward the wardrobe, which has a full-length glass on one of the doors.
I detour over there, pirouetting awkwardly to examine my abused bum.
Deep red handprints still ador
n my skin, in places already starting to yellow in glorious promise of bruises to come. Christ!
“You have a heavy hand, Sir.”
“Indeed. But it was exactly what you wanted.”
In the cool light of morning I might be tempted to say otherwise, but I’ve never been much given to self-deception. My reply is truthful. “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”
His smile is dizzying. “You’re welcome. Now go, do your ablutions, then get that sweet tush of yours back here.”
Again, I find myself obeying.
* * * *
“You must realize by now how things are going to be between us.”
“In bed, you mean?”
We’re snuggled in the huge four-poster, Harry propped against the pillows and me resting against his chest. His arm is looped around my shoulders in a posture of relaxed possession, his palm caressing that sensitive spot between my shoulder blades. I am utterly content.
“In bed, and out of it. I’m a Dom, and now that you’ve had a taste of submission, Hope, it seems to me that we’re very well suited.”
I ponder that, deliberately flexing the muscles in my buttocks to test the extent of our ‘compatibility’. I’m sore, this is true, but it’s more than that. Much more complex. I feel—complete. Fulfilled. I’ve tested my endurance and not found it to be wanting. Harry may scare me, but at the same time he excites and challenges me. Deep down I know I scare myself. He hasn’t done anything to me that I wasn’t prepared to allow, and I trust him. I know he never will. That leaves it down to me then—it’s my responsibility to set our limits, my limits—whatever those may be. And to live with the consequences.
Harry kisses the top of my head before using his free hand to tip my chin up. Holding my gaze he repeats his statement, though now it’s framed as a question, “So, Hope, we are well suited, aren’t we? You want this too?”
I nod, swallowing hard. My association with Harry McLeod may not be destined to be a long one, just a few more days at most, but it promises to be memorable. And I suspect at least some of the marks he will leave on me will prove to be indelible.
