by Ashe Barker
I decide to broach the subject with him. “May I ask what you have in mind for later, Sir? I assume we will be…”
“Oh yes. And no, I prefer to surprise you.” His tone is terse—not curt exactly, but I do detect the thread of Dom steel, which tells me there will be no discussion, no negotiating. I have two choices—safe word or accept.
“I see. Thank you, Sir.” I accept.
He smiles, drapes his arm across my shoulders as we stare at the horizon, the Orkneys now reduced to a hazy smudge. “My perfect little sub.”
His? For now, yes.
Chapter Fourteen
“Stand facing the foot of the bed and lean on it. I want your head and shoulders down, your ass up.”
We’re back in the master bedroom at the mill. I am naked, of course. Harry is fully dressed. This is how I’ve come to prefer our scenes. He leans against the door jamb, a glass of iced water in his hand. The cubes clink together. He catches my expression of mild alarm and grins.
“Not this time, my sexy little sub. You need something with a little more bite this evening. Would you agree?”
Not that my opinion will count, but actually, I would. My pussy is spasming, moistening at his casual words and relaxed perusal of my body. I turn to face the bed and bend over as instructed. Harry places his glass down and comes to stand beside me. He slips an arm under my stomach and lifts me up a little higher, his other hand on the back of my shoulder to push my upper body farther down. I bend my arms, my weight on my elbows as my arse is lifted as high as I can get it. The position is not comfortable, though I guess that won’t matter.
“Spread your legs a little, feet apart, please.”
Oh, I see.
I do as I’m asked. Harry is standing beside me, to my right. He turns so he is facing my arse and wraps his right arm around my waist to hold me still while he wipes the flat of his left hand right across my pussy from front to back. I’m wet already, embarrassingly so, but his attentions create more moisture, more decadent dampening. He smears my juices across my cunt and anus, caressing my folds as he rubs me. I groan, leaning farther forward to better present myself to him.
“Liking this, little slut?”
“Yes, Sir.” My answer is muffled as I try not to bite a hole in the duvet cover.
“Come if you want to.” He continues his sensual assault, sinking three fingers into my pussy on each alternate swipe. I try to grip him, squeezing my inner muscles around his digits, but each time he gives my G-spot a quick rub then pulls out. I attempt to wriggle but his arm around my waist holds me still. I gyrate my hips in a further attempt to increase the sensation, earning myself a sharp slap across my bottom.
“I’m sorry, Sir.” I surrender to the inevitable. This is Harry’s show and he will control it. Utterly.
The torment continues. Harry teases me, using his hand to stimulate, to penetrate. To massage until I’m gasping, groaning, pleading for the release he can provide. He told me I could come, but in reality, I can only orgasm if he decides I will. I widen my stance, silently begging to be finger-fucked—or to have him rub my clit. He steadfastly refuses my invitation, simply opting to drive me wild. My knees would give out but for Harry’s support. He is literally holding me up by the time he does, oh so delicately, lay the pad of his middle finger across my clit and drag it from side to side.
The impact is explosive. I quite simply detonate. The orgasm that has been building, gathering form and force deep in my cunt bursts, like a cork popping from a champagne bottle. The liquid heat of my climax floods everywhere, fizzing, effervescing, pouring into every corner of me. I stagger forward, would collapse onto the bed but for Harry’s arm wedged around my middle. He holds me in place and continues to caress my pussy, inside and out, dragging out the sheer carnal pleasure to the maximum degree.
Only when my body stops shaking, as the shudders subside, does he loosen his hold, but still he steadies me.
“Don’t get up. Take deep breaths, regain your balance. Now we’ve taken the edge off your appetite, we can have some real fun.”
I’m listening to him through my post-orgasmic haze, the semi-trance-like state he sometimes calls subspace. It’s as though a switch in my head has been flicked, and I’m now in a state where anything is fine, anything is good, as long as Harry is here and he’s doing it. I trust him. I won’t say no to him, to anything. I’m totally his. I lean into the bed, rub my cheek on the duvet as I turn to look at him through half-closed lids.
He’s taking off his belt.
A week ago, I would have whimpered. I might have pleaded. I sure as hell wouldn’t have remained still, perfectly trusting, waiting. Now I do. I watch, interested but not alarmed as he folds the belt in two, wrapping his hand around the buckle and the end, the loop hanging beside his knee. I’m not scared, but I am curious.
“May I ask why, Sir?”
“Why, slut? Why what?”
“What have I done to deserve your belt, Sir? I didn’t know I’d earned a punishment.”
“This isn’t discipline. This is just for fun.”
“But I thought…”
“Don’t you believe me? Have I taught you nothing?” Despite his words, his tone is warm, teasing almost. I’m no further forward as far as understanding the situation is concerned, but it’s clear his intention is not to hurt or upset me. And therefore, he won’t be doing either of those things.
“I do believe you, Sir. I apologize.”
“I’ll accept your apology, but your thrashing comes first.” He moves to stand behind me, the belt dangling from his right hand. The buckle trails on the floor now he is holding the leather end. He can’t mean to hit me with the buckle—surely?
I know better than to question him now. My eyelids close.
I flinch, the reaction quite involuntary as the leather connects with my bottom. It’s not a blow, though. He’s stroking me with it. I open my eyes and glance back to see that Harry is holding the belt taut between his hands and is drawing the leather across my buttocks. The caress is sensual, the strokes long and slow. The strokes shorten, and become more rapid, my bottom quivering under the gathering force. Then, suddenly, he brings his hands together and flings them apart, the belt looping and straightening sharply between his fists and slapping down across both my buttocks.
“Ooh, ooh, Sir…” I’m shivering—it was so unexpected, the sharp pain mingled with the heady ecstasy of his earlier teasing.
“Again?”
“Christ, yes. Please. Sir.”
Harry chuckles and starts to draw the length of his belt across my bottom again. Both my cheeks are trembling as he prepares me for the next blow, my anticipation building as he once again starts slow, then narrows and speeds up as he prepares me. The snap of his belt connecting with my butt cheeks is fabulous. I gasp, burying my face in the bedding as I lift my bottom higher.
“Don’t stop. More, please.”
“Open your legs as wide as you can. This one lands on your pussy.”
I obey, almost orgasming again on the spot as he draws the rough side of the leather back and forth across my swollen clit. He takes his time, deliberately building and stoking my response until I’m thrusting back hard against the belt. The crack of leather hitting flesh and the sudden pain shooting through my pussy sends me into a brief but intense climax, the waves of delight reverberating through me.
Tears prick my closed eyelids, threatening to spill. I don’t care. I’m not crying from pain, or unhappiness. This is joy—sheer, unadulterated joy at the pleasure he gives me and keeps on providing. He hurts me when he chooses to, or when he decides I’ve deserved it. He has my absolute obedience at a word, but he also knows my body better than I do myself.
He’s already started to drag the leather across my buttocks again, even as the final aftershocks of my orgasm continue to tingle and ripple through me. I re-gather my shattered senses and concentrate, focus on the sensation again. He’s changed the angle, now drawing the belt diagonally across m
y bum from upper left to lower right. The strokes shorten then they speed up. There’s a brief pause before the leather whips across my sensitized skin.
“Oh Lord. Harry…”
He chuckles, doesn’t correct my form of address. I’m grateful for his leniency even as I sink into the sensual bliss again. This time the angle is from lower left to upper right. I start to imagine the pattern he’s creating across my tingling buttocks, and wonder if he’ll allow me to look. He usually does. I let out a scream as the leather connects again.
“Sir! Oh…”
“Getting sore now?”
“Mmm, a little, Sir.” I clench my buttocks, acutely conscious of the moisture that I’m sure must be glistening across my pussy.
Harry turns to face away from me again, taking up his earlier position and looping his arm around my waist again. I note it’s the arm holding the belt, which now dangles harmlessly below me. He takes my weight and applies his free hand to my cunt and arse, spreading my moisture from my pussy across my butt cheeks now. The pressure of his hand is abrasive, rubbing my tender flesh. He scratches the most sore places with his fingernails, causing me to groan and writhe but he doesn’t let up.
“If you want me to finger-fuck you, you have only to ask.”
“Would you? Please, I’d like that, Sir.”
“Mmm, I know you would. Cunt or ass?”
I hesitate for just a moment. “Arse, please.”
“Good choice. When we get back to civilization, I’m going to buy you a selection of butt plugs. I might make you wear them all day.” As he casually remarks on a future I can’t imagine we could even have together, he’s working his middle finger into my unresisting arse.
I groan, my arousal building as the tight muscle slackens and he sinks his finger the full length inside me. He thrusts hard, working another in alongside to stretch my opening. I’m conscious that in this position he has a perfect view, but this makes the whole experience even more delightful, more intimate.
I squeal in pure joy as he reaches his other hand a little farther to part my pussy lips. He maneuvers the belt buckle to lay it against my clit then presses and rotates it gently. The cool metal is hard against my sensitive swollen bud, the conflicting sensations heightening the intensity of all that is happening to me.
I last mere moments before I shatter again, my orgasm pulsing through my nervous system in rapid bursts of pleasure. I scream now, unable to contain my emotional as well as physical response to the sensory overload. Harry never lets up, his fingers working my body, his arm supporting my now dead weight as a series of mini-orgasms rack my body.
At last it’s over and the final shivers dissipate. Harry lowers me face first to lie in a collapsed, sated heap on the bed. I hear the splash of water, the rustle of fabric against skin. I know Harry is rinsing his hands, then undressing. This means he intends to fuck me. I am utterly content.
“Scuttle up the bed, please, hands above your head.” The Dom tone is back, the command slicing through my orgasmic happy-haze. Despite my aching limbs and tender bottom, I know I have to obey him. Now.
Seconds later I am lying on my back, my head propped on a pillow, reaching for the oak bar connecting the two bedposts. I smile as Harry crawls alongside me, the belt still clutched in his hand. He uses it this time to loop around my wrists and secure my hands to the bar.
“A versatile belt,” I murmur my comment.
“Very. So it should be—it cost over a hundred dollars.”
“Fine quality leather. Very flexible. You have an eye for a bargain, Sir.”
“Perhaps that’s why I was prepared to pay so much for you?”
His remark stings, though I have no reason to suppose it was intentional. Even so… “Sir, I offered to give you your money back.”
“You did, and I refused it. Like I said, I am one hundred percent happy with the deal I struck. Your driving skills are worth every penny. This, though…” He rakes my body with his eyes. “This is priceless.” He dips his head to lay his mouth across mine, his lips dry, brushing, teasing.
I open my mouth, and his tongue slides inside, stroking my inner lips, my teeth, tangling with my tongue. I strain against my restraints, desperate to hold him, to run my fingers through his hair, to feel him between my hands.
It isn’t to be. The belt is secure and I’m going nowhere. Harry shifts and positions himself between my thighs, my body now cradling his. His erection is poised at my entrance, the thick, bulbous head of his cock nudging between my pussy lips. I’m ready, so completely ready, prepared, wet, slick, open and waiting. Harry breaks the kiss, raises his head to catch and hold my gaze.
“You are mine. This, all this, mine alone. Yes?” His voice is low, more a growl than speech.
I stare back at him, his eyes boring into mine. “Yes.” My voice is little above a whisper, and so charged with emotion I don’t dare try for more than the single word.
“Tell me. You. Are. Mine. Tell me.” His eyes are hard, implacable. He will have the words, will insist on hearing them.
“I’m yours, Sir. All yours. Only yours.”
Harry nods, and plunges the full length of his cock into me. I let out a scream of not quite pain but something close. He is rough, thrusting hard, each driving stroke pitching me up the bed and against the bar. He grabs a couple of pillows to stuff behind me to protect my skull, but that’s his only passing nod at consideration for my comfort. He’s fucking me hard, his energy relentless. The belt may not have been wielded in punishment, but this pounding is getting on that way.
I could protest. I could ask him to slow down, to be more gentle. I could tell him he’s hurting me, frightening me, that I’m sore. I do none of those things. Instead I lift my legs, hook my ankles together behind his waist, lock my gaze on his and squeeze.
“Christ, girl, so tight. So fucking tight. Hot. Shit!”
Harry doesn’t break eye contact. His hips are like pistons, his cock filling me with every powerful stroke. He slips his hand between us to grip my clit, pinching it hard between his thumb and index finger. I scream, moments before I come again.
Harry slows the pace, settling instead for shorter, rapid strokes. His thumb is now caressing my clitoris, the action soothing, seductive. I arch my back, my head tilted backwards. Harry at last breaks eye contact as he lowers his head to suck my nipple, first one, then the other.
“Oh God, Sir, that’s wonderful. Harder, can you suck harder? Bite me. Please…” I shouldn’t direct, he’ll have his retribution later, I know it. But right now I’m beyond caring.
Harry obliges, scraping his teeth across the sensitive tips before tightening his jaw around the pebbled nubs. He uses his teeth to hold each nipple in place as he flicks his tongue across it. I’m writhing under him, wild now as he piles on the sensation. My pussy is quivering, my tits connected by crackles of electricity to whatever magic he’s wreaking with my clit. It’s enough, too much. My senses disintegrate in a flash of pure white light as my orgasm erupts again. My pussy is convulsing, my limbs shaking. I forget to breathe, to think even, as my body throbs and hums with the sensations he is evoking. There’s a scream, it must be me. I open my mouth again but can only manage a strangled sigh as the pleasure peaks and pulses, turning my insides to jelly.
At last I lie still, allow my legs to drop back to the mattress. Harry disengages his mouth from my breast and buries his face in my neck instead.
“Christ, girl, you’re lively.” His voice is a low rumble, almost a growl, though I detect the hint of amusement in there too. As if I needed the reassurance that he’s loving this as much as I am. He is still fucking me, though his strokes have become more gentle, more measured. What his thrusts lack in power is amply compensated for by the finesse I have come to know from Harry. He angles his cock, connecting with my G-spot on each in-stroke. He circles my clit with his thumb, slowly now, luring the last dregs of sensation from me, the final tremors of response.
“I’m done, Sir. I can’t…”
“Can’t? I wonder…” Is he never satisfied, never defeated? My words are a challenge, he seems determined to prove that I can. That he can make me.
He does. My final climax is muted, slow and sensual, soft where the others were forceful, seductive where before my response was demanding and insistent. And none the less beautiful for being understated. My shivers are delicate, the trembling of my body exquisite, the brush of Harry’s lips across the lobe of my ear quite bewitching.
“Sir, I love you.” The words are out, slipping past my unguarded lips in a moment’s lack of concentration. I’d bite them back if I could, but it’s too late.
Harry pauses. “I love you too, sweet sub of mine.” He kisses my ear, then stiffens, holding his body rigid as he drives his cock deep once more. His semen pumps into me, hot and wet, his breath harsh now against my neck as his own climax puts a stop to any further conversation.
Chapter Fifteen
There’s an awkwardness between us, a new guardedness that was not there before, not even in the first day or so when I was still clinging to the ridiculous belief that I had no wish to sleep with Harry.
I could almost regret my careless remark. Almost. I might, if it weren’t true. If the knowledge weren’t eating me alive. I know he won’t stay in the UK. I know he’ll be leaving soon, flying back to Winnipeg to a life full of work, of family, of belonging to a place, to people I’ll never meet. He’ll take Daisy with him, so I won’t have her either. He might return, his business might bring him back. Or he might return from time to time especially to see me, though he seems much too hands on to want to develop a long-distance relationship. Separation would doom us. Distance would destroy our fledgling connection.
