Red Skye at Night

by Ashe Barker

  “Tell me if it turns into a bad five, or a bad anything else.”

  I nod, mutter something that I suppose he correctly interprets as agreement, but I fear I’m becoming incoherent now. I stretch my arms out in front of me, intending to grip the duvet, but Harry reaches for my hands and laces his fingers through mine. He’s effectively pinning me to the bed, but the connection is grounding, comforting, assuring me that he cares. That he will care for me.

  He withdraws his cock, almost pulling right out of me, then slides it back in. Despite the copious lubrication I’m intensely aware of the friction, dragging pressure along every part of my inner walls, every taut inch sensuously massaged. I whimper, but this time it’s in response to pure sensation, the utter sweetness of his tender, leisurely strokes. He’s unhurried but firm, each smooth stroke delivered with precision, angled just right. It’s edgy, sexy, sensual and utterly divine.

  “Oh my Lord, I never— I thought…”

  “Something to say, Hope?”

  “No, Sir, not just now. Except, don’t stop.”

  “Okay, kitten, not for a while yet at least. But now we’ve got the scary part out of the way, it’s time to have some fun.”

  “I am having fun.”

  “Not enough. I promised to ramp it up a bit. Kneel up.”

  “What? How can I…?”

  As if in answer, Harry lets go of my hands, only to wrap his arms around my waist. Holding me close to maintain our connection he kneels up himself and hauls me up against his chest. He settles me on top of his thighs, his knees between mine. He spreads his own legs, easing mine farther apart. The effect is to open and display my pussy for whatever attention he might think fit.

  “Reach up, Hope and link your fingers behind my head.”

  The command is murmured, but obedience is expected. And given. I manage to do as he’s instructed, though it’s a stretch. The position arches my back, thrusting my breasts outwards.

  “Mmm, you look so sexy, so beautiful. You see?

  “I— No— How can I…?”

  “Over there. The mirror.” He cups my chin with his hand and directs my attention to the full-length glass on the wardrobe door. I’m displayed there, decadent and sexily mussed. My eyes are wide, and darkened with arousal. He’s right. I do look sexy. So does Harry, his firm chin resting on the crown of my head, his reflected eyes meeting mine. He smiles at me.

  “Score, sweetheart?”

  “I’m not sure. It should be one, because I’m fine. No, not fine, better than that. But I don’t feel calm exactly.”

  “Oh?”

  I drop my gaze, overwhelmed by the intensity, the intimacy of this shared moment. Harry cradles my chin and tips it back up. “I said, oh? Tell me how you feel now, please.”

  I have no choice, I must attempt to articulate my chaotic emotional response, and I must do it to Harry’s satisfaction. That means digging deep, exposing my vulnerabilities. Even one day ago I might not have been able to do this, would have tried to feign some less personal reaction. Today that’s impossible. Here, Harry’s cock deep in my arse, my body open and his fingertips even now tracing a delicate design on the outer swell of my right breast, it is quite impossible. I try to find words.

  “I’m surprised, because I never expected this to happen so, so—effortlessly. I knew I wouldn’t fight you, because you wouldn’t make me. You would just stop. But I expected to feel…” I hesitate, grateful that I managed to come up with anything at all, but I’m not done yet. I decide to say exactly what’s in my head. “I expected to feel violated. I expected to hate this. I would have let you do it. I’ll let you do anything, I think. You must know that. But I never expected to accept it. To want it.”

  I squeeze my inner muscles around him to emphasize my point, astonished to find a hint of playfulness somewhere. He nuzzles the back of my neck in response.

  “Are you trying to hurry matters along, little sub? I have to tell you…it won’t work. I’m going to be taking a long time over this. Over you.”

  “I’m glad, Sir. I’m in no rush.”

  “Good girl. Do you have more to say to me?”

  I do, and now that the floodgates have inched open, if only slightly, the torrent of emotion is rushing through, the flood unstoppable.

  “Yes, Sir. I feel free, uninhibited. Powerful, because I can do anything I want. And, and—beautiful. You make me feel beautiful. Sir.”

  “You are beautiful, Hope. See how beautiful you are.” He gestures toward the mirror again.

  “Desirable perhaps, to you, right now.”

  “To me, always. But especially now. Your trust, your submission, those are so precious. You take my breath away, Hope.”

  I stare at him, at his reflection in the mirror. So large in comparison to me, powerful yet supremely gentle. He could hurt me, he will hurt me, but never unintentionally. Always measured, always in control. Always safe.

  I love you.

  I bite back the words. He doesn’t want this. He wants my submission. He has it. He wants my emotional response as well as my physical surrender. He has that too. And my absolute trust. More would complicate things, create expectations he can’t meet, and that I don’t want him to meet. I have my life. After this, I will still have my life, my ambitions. My plans for the future. But here, now, I want more of that immediate gratification he mentioned.

  “Please, Sir… I want you to fuck me. Hard.”

  “So brave suddenly. Where’s this come from, Hope?”

  “I trust you, Sir. I want this, now. I do want this.”

  “You shall have it, my demanding little slut. When I’m ready. First, I have some exploring to do. And I don’t want you to speak again until I give permission. Understood?”

  I nod, allow my eyelids to drop in total acceptance as I lean my weight back against his chest. The slight movement alters the angle of his cock inside me, reminding me of his presence there, filling me completely. I bite my bottom lip to prevent a moan escaping.

  “Use your fingers to part the lips of your pussy for me, please.”

  Ah, I am not to be entirely passive then. I unlace my fingers, still locked behind his head, and slip both hands between my legs. I open my eyes to watch my progress in the mirror, no longer even remotely inhibited. This is Harry, me and Harry, and sheer bliss.

  I part my folds then look up to meet his eyes again, the question there in my expression. He grins at me and holds my gaze as he slides his hand between both of mine to caress my wide open pussy.

  “So wet, so hot. Shall I touch you here, slut?” He flicks the tip of my clit, hard enough to hurt. I keep my lips clamped shut.

  “Here then?” He plunges three fingers right inside me, thrusting upwards. The combined effect, with his thick shaft filling my rear passage, is enough to elicit a yelp, though whether of pleasure or pain I can’t be sure. Neither do I care. Sensation is all, I no longer want to differentiate. I want to feel, and Harry is making me do that.

  I chew on my lower lip as he finger-fucks my pussy, at the same time gyrating his hips to make his presence felt in my arse too. I squeeze with all the muscles I have, let out a low groan. My orgasm is not far away. Just a couple more thrusts, another sharp nudge with his cock…

  “I’ll tell you when to come. Until then, control yourself.” His low growl is all Dom. Gone for now is the tender, playful lover. Now I have my dominant Master, and he’s playing my body like a violin, to his own tune. Yet even now I don’t feel used or devalued. I feel utterly cherished.

  I relax in his arms, continuing to hold my pussy lips apart for him to play as he will. He continues to drive his fingers into me, angling his hand to make sure the heel of it rubs against my swollen, throbbing clit with each stroke. His fingers curl inside me—my G-spot is receiving a thorough massage too. Despite his instructions, I don’t expect to be able to stave off my climax for long. I open my mouth to beg, but remember in time his instruction not to speak.

  Obedience seems to be my paramo
unt priority, more pressing even than the orgasm hovering at the edge of my consciousness, waiting to pounce the instant I let down my guard. I grit my teeth, concentrate on dragging in a few uneven, ragged breaths. My faith in the calming effects of oxygen is probably misplaced, but it’s all I have.

  Harry’s free hand is cupping my breast, shaping the soft fullness. His fingers scrape across my engorged nipple, pebbling it further. He takes it between his finger and thumb, rolls it, then squeezes. I flinch, though it isn’t painful. Yet. I know he intends more.

  Sure enough, he slides his hand across my body to caress my other breast, this time taking the hard bud and giving it a firm pinch. The jolt of pain is sharp, no hint of pleasure in it. Yet it feels wonderful, the severity of my discomfort emphasizing the extent to which I am truly his. His to do with as he likes.

  Harry returns to my other breast, and this time he pinches my nipple without mercy. I let out a whimper, but make no move to wriggle, to even attempt to loosen his grip. The intensity of sensation is acute, assaulting me everywhere. My cunt, my arse, my tits, he is in all these places. My nervous system is alight, vibrations crackling through me, arcing contacts between all my erogenous zones. Harry increases the pressure on my tortured nipple. I squeal in earnest now. He pumps his fingers in and out of my cunt, the rhythm hard, demanding, cruel almost. Despite his admonition, I can’t hold out much longer, every nerve ending is screaming for release. I’m at the very edge of my endurance.

  My body starts to tingle, the inevitable rushing at me. Harry knows, and his hand stills inside me, though he never lets up on my abused nipple.

  “Breathe, girl. You have a count of ten, then I start again.”

  I sag against him in relief, savoring this respite, however brief. I want to ask how long he intends to continue this, but I know better. If…when…he wants me to know, he’ll tell me.

  All too soon he resumes his relentless finger-fucking. The position of my own fingers on my pussy lips is slipping, my wetness causing me to lose my grip. I shift, try to adjust.

  “You can let go now. I have this.”

  He’s not wrong there. I lay my hands on my thighs, wholly passive now, ready to succumb to the inexorable approach of my orgasm. He’ll punish me, but I no longer have any energy, or will, to fight this.

  “Come now.”

  What? Truly?

  “Now, girl.” His instruction is a low growl, dropped directly into my ear. He twists my nipple sharply. I cry out. And shatter. My orgasm hits me with the momentum of a speeding truck, powerful, body-rocking, splintering my senses. I’m shaking, shuddering violently with the sheer force of my release. Harry’s fingers are like pistons, each driving stroke hitting my G-spot dead on. He continues to work my body expertly, drawing every pulse, every last wave of ecstasy from me.

  It seems to go on forever, my body still twitching, shivering, long after the climax has subsided. The aftershocks last for what seem to me to be several minutes, ongoing tremors of ebbing delight, drawing out the moment. Harry slowly releases the pressure on my nipple, allowing the blood to flow freely again. It hurts as my throbbing nub returns to something that will have to pass for normal, but by now I’m way past caring.

  My body is limp, my limbs boneless. Only Harry’s solid chest at my back keeps me upright, and soon that is withdrawn. He presses me forward until I’m lying face down and he is on top of me, his arm across my stomach to ensure that his cock remains deep in my arse as we move. I’m beyond resistance, totally accepting of whatever comes next.

  “You asked me to fuck your ass. Is that still what you want?”

  I nod, not sure if the embargo on speaking is lifted or not.

  “You should be careful what you wish for, girl. I’m done with gentle now.”

  Again I nod, my acquiescence beyond question.

  He withdraws his cock, then drives it back in, hard. I yelp, my fingers clutching for the duvet. I grab a fistful, and hang on.

  He wasn’t kidding when he said he wouldn’t be gentle, but I don’t want that anymore, don’t need it. I guess Harry knew. Whatever I want, or say I want, he always knows what I need and delivers just that. He reaches for my right leg, lifting it to bend it at the knee, then does the same with my left. I’m positioned perfectly on all fours now and Harry has risen to kneel behind me. He plants his hands on either side of my shoulders, taking his weight on his arms and his knees as he sets up a punishing rhythm. He angles his cock to increase the pressure on my front wall, and it’s as though he’s there in my pussy too. His cock is solid, the shaft spreading and stretching me, the head forging its path into my body, into that place that until today was solely mine.

  Incredibly, in mere seconds, my pussy tightens, the muscles clenching madly. I know I’m about to come again. Am I allowed to? Should I ask permission?

  “Just go with it now, girl. But still no talking.”

  I need no further urging, my body is spasming in unrestrained delight as the waves of orgasm wash over me again. And again. I lift my bum up, presenting my body to him, only vaguely conscious that I’m doing this. Harry’s hand under my stomach holds me up, helping me to maintain the position as he pumps his cock into my arse, hard, fast, deep. My third orgasm is sliding away and I have regained some feeble hold on reality as Harry’s climax hits. He buries his cock one final time, holding still, his huge erection twitching madly inside me as he mutters something incredibly obscene, even for him. I squeeze, mumble my response, which is something along the lines of loving this. Then I sigh in divine, sated contentment as the heat of his semen pumps out to fill the condom.

  Chapter Ten

  “We need to talk.”

  Harry’s tone is serious. I stiffen. Rarely, in my experience, does a conversation starting with those words bode well. I shift in his arms, butterflies taking flight in my stomach. Despite the incredible experience he just gave me, the intimacy we shared, are still sharing, he can turn me inside out with just a few words. Four, in fact, this time.

  We’re in bed, or rather on it. Both still naked. I’m draped across Harry’s chest, my arm flung over his abdomen. I’d just been admiring his six-pack when he dropped his bombshell. Now I try to turn away, convinced that whatever he has to say to me will be more palatable if addressed to the back of my head.

  “Stop squirming about.” It seems he’s having none of that. I make a conscious effort to lie still as I wait for whatever comes next. Is he about to pack me off back to Leeds? Have I outlived my usefulness? Is Daisy sufficient company for him? Surely not—he needs my car at least.

  “Have you done?” He tightens his arm across my shoulders, pulling me into him.

  I take heart—this is not a gesture I’d normally associate with being dumped. “What is it you want to know, Sir?”

  “I want to know what the deal is with your leg.”

  I feel sick. This I did not expect. I thought he’d accepted my disfigurement, that he could ignore it.

  “I-I don’t know what you mean, Sir.”

  “Don’t be difficult, Hope, unless you intend me to spank this out of you. I want to know why you tense up every time I say you’re beautiful. Why don’t you accept it from me? I have a hunch it’s to do with your accident, the scars on your leg, but I could be wrong. Am I wrong, Hope?”

  He isn’t wrong. He knows it. I know it. But can I talk about this? Even to Harry?

  “Hope, am I wrong?” His tone is hardening, the Dom in him requiring answers. The submissive in me quivers into life again. It seems we will be discussing this, whether I want to or not.

  “No, Sir.” My voice is small, wavering. My self-image is fragile at best, always buoyed up in the past by my athletic prowess, my achievements on the running track. This defined me—once. Now, I’m not sure what I am, but beautiful is certainly not it.

  “I saw the marks the first time you undressed for me. You let me touch them. I could tell that was hard for you, but you let me and I appreciated it.”

  “You didn�
��t say anything. You didn’t seem to mind.”

  “Of course I didn’t mind. Why would I mind?”

  “Because it’s ugly. I’m ugly. Disfigured. And I limp.”

  His sigh is heavy, but his arm tightens around me when I would have pulled away. “You do have scars, faint ones, but yes, I could see them. When I looked. You’re not ugly, though, and definitely not disfigured. Far from it. Why would you even think that?”

  “Because it’s true. Everyone thinks that, when they see my legs. Or they would. I keep them covered.”

  “I noticed. I guessed that was why. Tell me, Hope, when I made you look at your reflection in the mirror, what did you see then? Tell me, honestly, what was your strongest impression, the first thing that came into your head?”

  At last, an easy question to answer. I don’t hesitate. “That I looked sexy. Aroused.”

  “You did. You were. Did you see scars? Was anything, anything at all about that image ugly to you?”

  “No, of course not. It was wonderful. I couldn’t see anything, think of anything except…”

  “Except my cock in your arse and my fingers in your cunt?”

  Well, pretty much… “Yes, Sir.”

  “Were the scars not there, then?”

  “Yes, of course they were, but I didn’t notice them.”

  “Why not?

  I shrug, not certain exactly why. “I wasn’t looking. I was distracted.” A lame explanation but the best I can come up with.

  “Honey, no one else is looking either. Or if they are, they’re not seeing scars on your leg.”

  Maybe my reasoning isn’t so lame after all, no pun intended. Harry continues, “At least, they won’t look that closely. Unless they do, or you point the scars out, no one will notice. Your surgeons were good. They did a real neat job. The scarring is minimal, barely visible at all. If anyone does look hard enough to spot it, I’m probably going to land one on his jaw anyway, so you really have nothing to worry about.”

  I turn now to look up at him, searching his expression for some hint of pity. I detect none, but that doesn’t prove anything. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better. You’re being kind.”