by Ashe Barker
“I… Do I moan?” My first impulse is to deny it, but what would be the point? He’s in a better position to know the truth of this than I am.
“You do, baby. And you squeal when I spank you.”
Now this I did know. “It hurts.”
“Yes. And?”
“And?”
“Hope, it hurts and what else?”
My mouth is dry as I respond. “It feels good. Exciting, and—hot.”
“Are you wet, Hope? Are you wet now, thinking about it?”
I gaze at him, long moments pass, then I nod.
“How wet? Show me.”
“What? Here? In broad daylight?”
He looks around us at the vast expanse of Highland emptiness, makes a production of shielding his eyes to gaze into the far distance. He turns back to me, his deep blue eyes now glinting with a determined gleam that I recognize. “I think we’re alone. Pull your jeans down, touch yourself then show me your wet hand.”
“Sir?” Even as my boring, law-abiding head recoils in horror at the prospect of such blatant exhibitionism, I shiver. I can’t help myself. He makes me tingle—that tone, that look, a lift of one eyebrow and he’s all Dom. His demands scare me, but I want to do as he says anyway. And he’s right, I rationalize. We are alone.
I say nothing as I unfasten my jeans and lower my zip. I kneel up to slip my hand inside, reaching down under my underwear to caress my shamelessly wet pussy. He watches me, his eyes fixed on my exploring hand. This makes the act more erotic, more intimate. I raise my eyes to his. He smiles.
“Show me.”
I withdraw my hand and hold it out to him, all four fingers showing clear and decadent evidence of my arousal.
“Such a slut, but so sweet.” He takes my hand in his and lifts my wet fingers to his nose. He sniffs, appearing to savor the musky odor before raising his eyes to meet mine once more. He holds my gaze as he licks each of my fingers, taking his time to taste my moisture. The gesture is both tender and so sexy. Regardless of how much he might outrage my moral sensibilities, I know that whatever he asks me to do next, I will. Without protest.
“My turn.” He tugs me by my still-wet hand and eases me down onto the heather beside him. He leans over to kiss me, the brush of his lips gentle, undemanding. He breaks the kiss and glances down to my open zipper. My hands are above my head now, as Harry takes up where I left off. He slides his hand into my jeans and cups me, his middle finger flicking my swollen clit.
“Oh, Sir…”
“Nice?”
“Yes. Very nice. Sir.”
Harry’s response is to slip his hand a little lower, exploring between my moist folds to circle my entrance. He inserts two fingers, sliding easily into me. Instead of plunging deep he swirls around my entrance, curling his digits to rub my G-spot. He is unerring in his accuracy, the intimate massage shattering my remaining inhibitions. The entire massed ranks of the Scots Dragoons band could march past and I’d not care. I moan, conscious that I’m doing it since he pointed it out.
“Is that good?” He caresses that sweet spot again, increasing the pressure a little as he angles his thumb to attend to my clit.
“Oh God, yes. Yes…”
“Do you want to come fast, or shall I draw it out for you? Your choice this time, Hope.”
“I don’t know, Sir. I want to come, but I don’t want this to be over. It feels, oh, Sir… I could stay like this all day.”
“Yeah, I reckon you could. Slow then, we take our time. You tell me when you want me to finish it.”
I can’t believe it. He’ll take orders from me. Let me dictate the pace, say what happens and when. This is a new facet to Harry McLeod, one I’ll examine later. For now, I’m preoccupied.
Harry plunges his fingers deeper, thrusting slowly. My moans of delight are becoming more frenzied as I lift my hips, seeking more friction.
“Would you like to take your jeans off, Hope?”
“Yes, I would, please.” I kick off my canvas pumps and reach for my waistband, intending to shove my jeans off too, but Harry intervenes.
“Lie still. I’ll do it.”
Moments later my jeans and knickers are in a crumpled heap next to me. Harry moves to kneel between my thighs, lifting my bum to rest on his legs. My thighs are spread, but he presses them apart with his hands, my pussy open and on display for him. I relax entirely, allowing him to position me just as he sees fit. My left leg is bent at the knee, my right lying straight as usual. My thighs spread wide, he starts work again. Now he can watch what he’s doing, and the effect he is having on me, and I love the sensual intimacy of it. Oblivious to my surroundings, I give myself over completely to al fresco lovemaking.
There is nothing of the demanding Dom evident now. Harry is gentle, every inch the sensuous, caring lover intent on my pleasure. He drives his fingers deep into me, two then three. He massages my G-spot with each stroke, scissoring his fingers inside me to increase the pressure against my inner walls. His other hand is devoted to my clit, brushing the tip with the pad of his thumb, then rolling it between two fingers. Each time my orgasm surges forward, curling and tightening low down in my abdomen, I moan, the signal to ease back. Harry tunes in quickly, interpreting my responses with perfect skill. Again and again he draws me right to the edge of orgasm, only allowing me to slide back from the brink at the very last moment.
My eyes are closed, the gentle sunlight dappling across my face and my exposed lower limbs. I writhe, thrusting my hips against Harry’s warm hands, seeking more. I’m close. Very close.
“Hope?” Harry knows it too.
“Now. I want to come, please.”
“Sure, honey. Be still. Let me do this for you. You don’t need to work for it.”
I let my body go motionless, boneless against him as he manipulates my eager response effortlessly. I’m mere seconds from orgasm, have been for ages, and Harry knows just how to touch me to send me hurtling past the point of no return. He twists his hand, combining a deep, driving thrust with firm, relentless pressure on my G-spot. He takes my clit between his fingers, squeezing gently, holding it in place for the final assault from his thumb. He rubs, light at first, then harder, increasing the pressure as I scream his name.
My senses shatter, my body is weightless. I seem to be floating, conscious of nothing outside myself, just the unstoppable waves of pure pleasure washing through my body, setting my nervous system alight. I’m shaking as the first powerful rush of release passes, to be followed by quivering aftershocks as Harry continues to caress me.
At last, the sensations fade and die. Harry’s fingers are still inside me, but unmoving now. I wait, expecting him to shift, to position himself ready to fuck me. He’s earned it. He doesn’t do that. He slides his fingers from me, idly twisting strands of my pubic hair as he gazes at me, a slight smile across his gorgeous face.
“You look flushed, Hope.”
“I— Yes, Sir. I expect so.”
“Are you ready to move on now? I was hoping to make Aviemore before dark.”
“Don’t you want to…? I mean, aren’t you going to fuck me?”
“You’ll keep.”
“But don’t you need…?”
“That was for you, love, because you looked to be needing it. What I need, I’ll have later, somewhere even more secluded.”
Ah, right. There are limits then, even for Doms. Publicly finger-fucking a sub into near oblivion is one thing—tying her up and laying into her with a hairbrush quite another. Actually, I appreciate his forbearance. And I’m looking forward to reaching Aviemore.
Harry holds my jeans for me to step back into them. I rest my hands on his shoulders, leaning on him as he draws the fabric back up my legs, I stand to fasten the zipper and glance back at our remaining picnic.
Except there isn’t any. Nothing remaining. What there is, a few feet from us, its nose stuck in the paper bag that had contained a particularly succulent chicken sandwich, is a small brown and white dog.
/> “What the…?” I exclaim.
Harry turns, sees the dog too. The animal looks up at us, snarling as it backs off.
“How the fuck did that get here?” Harry stands, edging me behind him as the dog’s ears flatten against its skull. The snarls seem to me half-hearted at best, but I prefer not to test that theory.
“Maybe it’ll just go away.” I whisper the words to Harry, hoping he isn’t really thinking of confronting the dog. Despite the snarls and show of canine bravado, it would be an unequal struggle. There’s something incredibly pathetic about the animal, and as we watch I spot a faint, almost indiscernible flick of its tail, a signal of timid, despairing hope.
“He’s scared of us. That’s all.” Harry’s voice is low, the gentle, calming tone I recognize. He crouches, holds out a hand, palm up.
“Be careful.” My voice is hushed but I’m also of the opinion that the dog poses no real threat to us.
Harry edges forward, picking up a stray piece of wholemeal bread from the edge of the picnic blanket. He holds that out to the dog, crooning softly as he waits for the animal to make up its mind. Eventually hunger wins out. The snarling stops as the animal slinks forward, almost on its belly, crawling toward Harry’s outstretched hand. It takes the bread from his fingers, gulps and swallows, then backs off a couple of paces. Harry moves forward, the dog backs away, but only one pace this time. It’s letting him get closer. One lip curls, but there are no further growls. Harry picks up a piece of cheese and holds that out. The dog comes forward more readily, sniffs the food before delicately taking it from him. This time it lies down to eat it.
I watch as Harry reaches for the dog. The animal flinches as he lays his hand on the smooth-haired brown head, but displays no further aggression. Harry scratches its ears, and the dog tilts its head, turning to flick his palm with its tongue. Harry smiles. “Good boy. Friends now?” He strokes the dog more firmly, moving in close to pat the bony flanks. He runs his hand along its ribcage, and instantly the dog rolls onto its back in a posture of total submission.
I know that feeling.
“Ah, good girl. My apologies.” He turns back to me. “She’s thin as a rake. Come here, feel her ribs. Poor little thing.”
I step forward. I’ve never had strong feelings about dogs one way or the other, but have to agree that this specimen seems harmless. I kneel next to Harry and reach out. Sure enough, each individual rib is sharply defined beneath the skin. The animal must have been starving and our unguarded picnic too much of a temptation.
“How do you suppose it, sorry, she, got here? We’re miles from anywhere.”
Harry glances up from his perusal of the dog now shivering under his hands. “A stray? Perhaps she wandered off and her owners left her behind. Maybe she was dumped up here. She doesn’t look to have been doing very well at fending for herself.”
“What are we going to do with her?” Even as I ask the question, I know we won’t be leaving her behind.
“How do you feel about dogs in your taxi?”
“I don’t usually allow them. But I suppose this once…”
Harry turns back to the dog. “So, how about that? You want to come with us then?” The skinny little tail wags, tentative at first, but unmistakable. We’ve made a friend. Well, Harry has, without a doubt. I suspect the jury’s still out on me.
* * * *
“What are we going to do with her?”
Our canine passenger is curled up on my back seat, where she fell asleep as soon as the car started to move. I’m driving now as Harry consults his map again. I whispered the question to him, almost as though the dog could understand what I was saying.
“I don’t know. She seems kind of sweet, though, now all that snarling has stopped.” He leans around to look at the little brown and white shape huddled on the car blanket.
“We could take her to the police. In Aviemore.”
Harry glances at the back seat. “I suppose. She doesn’t look much like a hardened criminal to me, though.”
“Idiot. The police take in strays. They hand them over to the council, I think. Or maybe a vet…?”
“What then? After the council get them? Oh, and it’s not advisable to refer to your Dom as an idiot. Not when he has a boot full of bondage gear and a raging hard-on.”
The car lurches as I process that last remark. “I did offer, but you wanted to wait. I’m not sure about the council. They keep stray dogs for a while to see if anyone claims them, then if their owners don’t turn up they get re-homed, I suppose—or put to sleep.”
“That seems a bit harsh, just for nicking a chicken sandwich. A vet’s a good idea, though. We should get her checked over, then we can have another think.”
“What’s to think about?” I glance sharply at him. “We can’t keep her. I live in a tiny bedsit in Leeds, and you’re going back to Canada in a few days.”
“True. Let’s see what the vet has to say first.” He closes his map and reaches for the glove box. He pulls out his iPad and starts tapping.
“Are you consulting the local tourist board again? Looking for dog-friendly hotels?” I’m joking, but Harry smiles at me serenely.
“Exactly.”
There’s a faint snoring from the back seat as our passenger settles in.
I shake my head, resigned, and apply my attention to the road in front.
It’s just after six by the time we purr into Aviemore, Scotland’s premier ski resort. Summer is not the busiest time of the year here, but the place looks lively enough even so. Restaurants, tea rooms, the ubiquitous tartan tat shops, but also some of the classier stores are represented along the main shopping street.
“This looks nice. Will we have time to look around in the morning, before we move on?”
“Of course. No rush. Are you fancying a spot more shopping?” Harry’s gaze is fixed on the satnav. “Next left. It’s this turn coming up.”
I execute the maneuver. “Maybe, nothing specific. I just fancy a mooch around. We’d miss the rush hour then.”
“Rush hour?” Harry’s sardonic grin is infectious.
“Yeah, well, I might fancy a lie-in.”
“I expect you will, honey. I’ll drive again in the morning.”
Meaning I’ll be in no shape to drive. I say nothing as my bottom clenches and my pussy moistens. Harry McLeod has a devastating effect on me.
A mile or so along the side road I follow Harry’s directions to turn through a wide gate and along a graveled driveway. The sign at the entrance proclaims we are at the Loch an Eilein ski resort. On either side of us are lodges, in varying sizes, all clad in the local pine. I follow the signs for reception, and pull up outside a long, low glass-fronted building. Our little furry friend stirs on the back seat.
Harry and I get out.
“You wait here if you like. I’ll go check us in and get our keys.” Harry drops a quick kiss on my lips as he passes, leaving me leaning against the driver’s door.
I stretch, enjoying the early evening coolness. A scratching on the back door alerts me to the fact that the dog hasn’t been out for a couple of hours. I don’t fancy the prospect of cleaning up after her. I do have a living to earn after all this, and a back seat ponging of disinfectant doesn’t do much for trade.
“Right, okay.” I flap my hand at the insistent little face peering at me through the window. I hurry around to the boot, thinking there must be something in Harry’s bag of tricks that will double as a dog lead. After all…
I settle on the telephone cable. It takes a bit of brute strength to wrestle it from the bubble pack without scissors, but I have good teeth. The wire isn’t too thin, I don’t want to garrotte the poor creature. I fold the length in two, thread the loose ends through the loop, then go back to open the car door. The dog offers no protest as I slip my makeshift collar and lead over her head and only jumps down when I tell her to. I’m surprised to find that she trots along next to me without any difficulty at all. Either she’s been trained to walk to h
eel, or she’s just naturally willing to please. If someone cared enough to teach her good manners, surely they wouldn’t have just abandoned her up there in the mountains?
I walk her the length of the grass verge that borders the drive, and she crouches obligingly. House trained too, apparently. Or should that be car trained? Our immediate business concluded, we’re making our way back to the car as Harry re-emerges. He waits there for us, opening the back door as we arrive. The dog leaps in immediately. I reach in after her to slip the telephone cable from around her neck.
“Right. We’re in lodge number seventeen. I’ve booked us a table for dinner at eight o’clock. There was a mini-market in there so I bought some dog food too. And a couple of dog bowls.” He holds up the plastic bag containing our little friend’s supper. He glances at the wire in my hand. “And I see I’m going to need to improvise another whip for you.”
My pussy dampens. A whip? I’d assumed he’d use the cable to tie me. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something, Sir.”
His expression is wry. “Indeed. You driving still?”
I decide against any further banter and slither back behind the wheel. Harry has a rough sketch map of the resort on his lap, and directs me to our accommodation for the night.
Our lodge is lovely. I’ve enjoyed the hotels, but the privacy afforded by the self-catering chalet is comforting, especially as I have some idea what Harry has in mind to amuse ourselves during the evening.
He carries our luggage in, placing the carrier bag from the boutique in Perth alongside my battered holdall.
“You go take a shower—or a bath if you prefer. I intend to fuck you before we go out, and I won’t be gentle. You’re going to know I was there, and every time you move, you’ll remember my cock filling you. Then, when we get back and you’ve been properly fed, I mean to fuck you again. And then, baby…then the fun really begins.”
He winks at me before setting one of the dog bowls on the floor. He fills it with some sort of dried food, before filling the other bowl with water from the tap.
“There you are, Daisy. How do you like your supper?”
