by Ashe Barker
When I finish I glance up at Abbie, looking for her reaction. She’s watching me silently, assessing, a slight frown now on her face. Her hand has dropped to cover her slightly round abdomen and she’s circling protectively, and I recall I used to do that too, before David was born. Died. Is it an instinctive maternal reaction, I wonder, when faced with something dangerous, a threat? Saddened, sickened at myself, I start to gather my things ready to leave.
“Ashley, wait.” Abbie reaches for me again, catches my elbow. “Please, sit down. Don’t go.”
I sit back down but find it hard to meet her eyes. Eventually, though, it’s Abbie who breaks the silence. “That’s quite some tale. You must have both been shell-shocked that day.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Shit, what a bloody coincidence…”
Yeah, shit just about sums it up, I’d say.
She goes on. “You know, for what it’s worth, and whatever the rights and wrongs back then, and I have to say it does sound pretty awful, the mugging, Tom being beaten up and all that, somehow, it sounds as though Tom’s forgiven you.” She grins wryly. “Maybe the spanking got it out of his system. You did say strip chess, didn’t you? Ice lollies? Nipple clamps? And mind-blowing sex?”
I nod dumbly, and she continues, “Well, Tom was out of line that day. You’ve every right to be upset, worried. If you do agree to bottom for him you’ll need to know you’ll have more control in future. Is that it? Yes?”
I’m nodding, that is it, exactly.
She goes on. “Well, if Tom can forgive what you did in Bristol, maybe you could forgive him for that first day in your cottage? Or at least talk to him about it, explain how what he did to you that day makes you feel now, how it’s affected you, how it’s still affecting you. He shouldn’t have done it, you know that and I know that. And I know he knows it too. But in the heat of the moment? Maybe…?”
I chew my lip, thinking it through. Yes, it was a heated moment. And yes, we were both shocked, acting out of character. And at several points in our encounter I’d fully expected a far more violent outcome. And…
“I had an orgasm.”
“What?”
“An orgasm. He made me come. Right after he spanked me.”
“Ah…”
“And then he put me to bed. Just carried me upstairs and left me there. He could have, could have…” I falter, contemplating what else Tom could have definitely done to me that afternoon if he’d been so inclined.
Abbie reaches for my hand again, this time gripping it firmly, tugging on it until I meet her gaze again. “That doesn’t sound like a man being angry and a woman being scared. That sounds like something else entirely to me. I can tell it’s complicated, though, confusing. You need to talk to him, Ashley. You need to sort it out in your head first, then talk. Tell him how you need it to be between you in the future. With us, we submissives, it’s about handing over control. We do it willingly, because we want to. And because we know we can always get it back. That’s what was missing that other time, you hadn’t given over control willingly and you had no safe word, no way of getting it back. That’s why it was so frightening, and that’s what you need to talk to Tom about. Will you do that?”
“Yes. Yes, I will.” My response was whispered, but it’s enough. I know now what I need to do, what I need to say and hear. What I can do to move on. I thank Abbie, sincerely thank her for her honesty and concern—and for her sound good sense. And I explain I need to leave. I have shopping to do.
Chapter Six
U ok?
Tom’s text is succinct, the concern underlying the inquiry obvious. I read it and dash off my reply, equally succinct.
Yeah.
I’m on the train, headed back from York, my head full of new thinking, unfamiliar perspectives. Abbie didn’t advise me what I should do, beyond talking. She offered no view on what I should say, what I needed to ask. She didn’t have to, I can work that out for myself. I realize now that trust works both ways, and if Tom can manage to trust me again after what I did to him, then I owe him the same chance at redemption. If I’m allowed to screw up, then move on, he is too. If either of us screws up again, we’ll need to re-think. Definitely. But for now… My phone whistles again, telling me another text is in.
U comin back here tonite?
No, goin home. Thinking. Tomoz?
Ok. Don’t think 2 hard. C u tomoz. Key under log by door
Lookin frwd 2 it. Nite
* * * *
And now, it’s tomorrow. I’m on my way back to Greystones, planning on scrounging breakfast from Tom if I’m in time. I’m not sure I’ll be able to catch him before he disappears off for the day, but I want to have that talk, and soon. I’m relieved when I roar into the yard on my quad to see the Land Rover still here. I park and scurry round to the kitchen door. I let myself in and find Tom inside, straddling a seat next to the table, on the phone to some supplier or other as he chews on a piece of toast. He gestures toward the coffee pot by the sink so I help myself. Still involved in his conversation he then waves me to take a seat, and when I do he shoves the plate with the rest of his toast toward me. I continue to help myself to his breakfast while he finishes his conversation. Never one to turn down food at Greystones, I tuck in and wait.
A couple of minutes later he slips the phone back in his pocket. He eyes the now-empty plate and leans forward to remove the one remaining half eaten slice of toast from between my fingers. He shoves it into his own mouth, chews quickly then swallows. Then he stands and comes around the table to me. He takes my face, frames it between his hands and bends to kiss me. The kiss is deep, sensual, possessive, his tongue sweeping in, plunging, tasting and testing. I open my mouth in response, in acceptance, and I rake my fingers through his ruffled hair as I cling to him. Eventually he raises his head, smiles his sexy morning smile at me.
“Good morning, Miss McAllister. It’s good to see you. Are you staying or just passing through?”
“Passing through. For now. But I’ll be back, at teatime, if that’s okay. I’d like to talk to you. With my clothes on.”
He smiles, drops a quick kiss on my mouth again. “Excellent. My favorite sort of conversation. Well, second favorite. Should I be dusting off my whip collection?”
I hesitate, not sure how far to take it just now. I have questions to ask, reassurances to seek. Then, he catches my gaze again, holds it, the uncertainty in his green eyes unmistakable, now seeking reassurance for himself.
I shrug and smile back at him. “Could be.”
* * * *
I stroll back into Tom’s kitchen at around four o’clock, having spent the morning taking pictures of the tarn close to Black Combe, and the afternoon at Smithy’s Forge. I took the afternoon off to pamper myself, indulge in some uncharacteristic personal grooming. Well—a girl ought to make some sort of an effort, in my view. From time to time. So, I took a long shower, cosseted myself with body lotion, a manicure, even painted my toe nails. Never one for makeup especially, I even called in the local chemist shop and invested in some waterproof mascara—don’t want to end up looking like a panda if things get a little heavy later on. And yesterday I raided my dwindling funds to buy some pretty underwear, hitting La Senza in York before I caught my train back.
The place is empty when I let myself in the kitchen door, using the key from under the log. I help myself to coffee, peer into Tom’s fridge for the makings of a cheese sandwich. With any luck Tom might conjure up something more appetizing later. I’m just finishing my snack when he appears in the yard. I stand, take my cup and plate to drop them in the sink as he comes in the door.
He smiles a welcome at me, but says nothing. He strolls across the room, traps me by the sink, his hands on the worktop on either side of me. He kisses my mouth, then trails his lips along my jaw, my neck. He runs his hands up my arms to my shoulders, lifts my hair to lean in and nuzzle the back of my neck. I shiver, the sensations delicious, my spine already tingling.
“I was hoping you’d b
e here. And hey, you are. Looking good, Ashley. Smelling good too.” He buries his nose in my hair, breathes in deeply.
I slide my hands around his waist, slip them into the back pockets of his jeans, enjoying the solid feel of his tight bum under the denim. The familiar curl of lust starts to clench in my groin, then shoots straight to my breast when he slides his right hand down to gently cup and stroke. He rubs my nipple with his thumb, and the sensitive little bud is already pebbling inside my artfully crafted La Senza bra.
“Ah, babe, if we’re gonna have that conversation with our clothes on, yours especially, we need to sit down and I really, really need to work at keeping my hands off you.”
“Maybe we can talk later…” My voice is breathy, catching as his clever fingers work their inexorable magic.
He raises his head, lifting his hand back up to cup my chin. “Honey, I prefer it if we talk now. I have big plans for later. Is that okay with you?”
I smile, shrug then nod. “Any chance of a beer?”
“Save that for later too, I promise. A fridge full. For now, though, it’s better to keep a clear head. Especially you.” He steps away to help himself to a coffee, all the while regarding me closely.
I push myself away from the worktop, take a seat at the table. I shift, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. And realize he was dead right about needing to be dressed for this, and I’m glad I took the time to prepare, to put on sexy underwear and a decidedly slinky dress, courtesy of Next this time, also from York. I feel less—vulnerable—for being nicely dressed, looking my best. And it’s important, or so I’ve always thought, to enter into any negotiations from a position of strength. Or at least not weakness. Not that I’ve much experience of successful negotiating, but you have to start somewhere.
And the “somewhere” I need to start is back in Smithy’s Forge, that first time I met Tom. The first time here, that is. And it’s awkward, I’m about to offer to submit to him, and that doesn’t usually start, I’m guessing, with the sub laying down the law. Or does it? Isn’t that just another way of setting boundaries?
I’m still pondering this point, wondering how to broach the subject, when it’s taken from my hands.
“We need to talk about what happened the day I came to your cottage. The day I spanked you.”
I gape at him. “Er, right. I was thinking perhaps, I mean, I was wondering if…”
“It’s in the way. It always will be, until we talk about it, manage to get past it. So, let me say my piece.” He stops, rakes his fingers through his hair before his direct gaze catches mine again. “It was wrong. I was wrong. It’s true I was angry, at least at first. But that’s no excuse. And I was a lot cooler by the time I put you over my knee. That wasn’t done in anger, it was done in lust. So I have no excuse. It was unforgiveable. But I’m asking you to forgive me anyway.”
I hadn’t expected this. Lust? I’m gaping at him again. Still. “But—you didn’t like me. You didn’t fancy me at all, not then. You said I was scrawny, not attractive…”
“I was lying—to you—even more I was lying to me. Maybe. I thought you were absolutely beautiful from the moment I first saw you, even back on that riverside in Bristol, I guess. There was always something…alluring about you. I couldn’t keep my hands off you, and I used your so-called crime against me as an excuse to do the one thing that was on my mind. So I spanked you, and then I made you come. For no better reason than because I wanted to. Bad ethics, just like Nathan said. I owe you an apology, and you have it. Here, now. And you have my absolute promise that if you can manage to trust me, give me another chance, I will never, never do anything like that to you again.” He reaches for my hand, takes it, turns it palm up and drops a kiss onto my fingers.
Catching, holding, my astonished gaze once more, he continues, “It was wrong on so many levels, but mainly because you didn’t fully consent. You were under duress, and you had no safe word to protect yourself. I took advantage of your vulnerable situation, your fear of me. I terrorized you and I bitterly regret it. Can you forgive me and let me try again. Let me try to do it right this time?”
I stare at him, my hand still loosely held in his. I feel his fingers softly stroking mine. With my other hand I reach out, lay my palm on his cheek. “You forgave me, for what happened in Bristol. Didn’t you?”
“Of course, weeks ago. It’s done with, we’ve moved on. You know that.”
“I do. And, now we need to move on from this too. I just, I just needed to know it wasn’t going to be the way of it. That how it was then wasn’t how things would always be between us. I was scared that day, really scared. And you hurt me. I don’t want to always be scared of you. I don’t have to be, do I?
He looks at me, a long, considering look, as if wondering how to answer. At last, honesty wins out. “No. And yes. A Dom is not easy to live with. We’re harsh, hard, strict, demanding. I’ll expect you to obey me and I’ll punish you if you don’t. That means I will hurt you. Again. But I’m a Dom, I’m not a bully. I’m not cruel, and I’ll never force you to do anything. Never again. You’ll always have a way out, if you need it. No arguments, no repercussions. You’ll be safe. You’ll be able to talk to me, I can explain, clarify, reassure. I will take very, very good care of you. Always. If you’ll give me your trust, even though I don’t really deserve it. Will you do it, Ashley? Will you trust me?”
I draw a deep breath, take a few seconds to let his words sink in. My response is slow in coming, but certain. “I will.”
Tom Shore regards me calmly across the table. “So, you’ll try it?”
I nod, still hesitant, still unsure of my parameters but ready to give it a go.
He smiles, still holding my hand, and my gaze. “I’m pleased. Relieved. And so, my lovely Ashley, what is it you want to get out of our arrangement? Why are you agreeing to bottom for me?”
I didn’t expect that to be his opening question and I have no ready answer. I just gape at him. So much for negotiating skills.
“It’s not a trick question, and you don’t have to answer right now.” His expression is gentle and amused. He reaches across the table for my other hand. “I’m not going to put any pressure on you, try to get you to do anything you’re not happy about. It would help me though to be able to understand what you’re looking for out of our arrangement. Then I can try to make sure it works for you too.”
“It will. I’m sure it will.” My vehement response causes his eyebrows to rise.
“Why are you so sure?” The question is soft, not pushy. And he waits patiently for an answer.
Eventually I oblige him, exposing my total vulnerability. So much for negotiating from a position of strength. Especially when this all started with what amounts to nothing less than a groveling apology from him. “Because it means I’ll have you. I want you.”
“You already have me.”
“But I won’t be able to keep you, you won’t stay with me. You’ll get bored, or go off to some club or wherever it is you go, looking for a sub who’ll give you what you want,” I blurt out my fears, as surprised as he is perhaps at my insecurities. Laid bare for him to sneer at. Kenny would have.
But I’m not dealing with Kenny. This is Tom Shore. And Tom Shore just smiles at me wryly. “Who knows what either of us might do in the future. For now, Ashley, you have me. I’m going nowhere, looking for no one else. Sex with you is sensational already…”
“But it’s vanilla. You don’t like vanilla. You want more.”
“Nipple clamps and ice lollies are a whole lot more than vanilla, love. That’s a healthy dose of kink in there, and I’m betting we’ve hardly started to unleash your adventurous spirit. You’ll do fine for me already, not that I don’t appreciate the opportunity to take things further. But, what’s the ‘more’ you’re looking for?”
More indeed. What is it? I breathe deeply, thinking back to my conversation with Abbie, my light bulb moment.
I capture it again and I try to put into words what I’m seeki
ng. “I want to feel the burn.”
Looking up I have to credit him with some cool. His expression doesn’t change at my odd statement. He’s listening, waiting.
I take another deep breath and continue. “I want the challenge, the thrill of trying to do more, achieve more, be better, stronger. I’ve always been the same, sort of a competitive spirit but only against myself. I want to see how far I can go.” I hesitate for a moment, then, much more quietly, “How far you can make me go.”
“I’m not going to make you do anything, Ashley. I won’t make you go anywhere. But if you’re up for it I’ll take you, as far as I can, as far as you can manage to go. Which will be further than you think. I’ll push you, stretch you. And I’ll scare you sometimes. Often. And I’ll hurt you. Often. Most of the time I’ll be hurting you. You’ll struggle, I’ll make sure of it. There’s no edge otherwise, no bite. But you’ll survive, you’ll be fine, and I’ll take care of you.” His voice is soft, sure, as he responds to my perhaps unexpected demands. He stops, watches me calmly as I take in his quiet words, accept his meaning, the implications of what I’m agreeing to. Long seconds pass before he continues. “Will that do? Will that give you the ‘more’ that you’re looking for?”
I take a moment. Only a moment, to be sure. “Yes, that’ll do. Thank you.” My voice is firm as I reply, my decision made.
“Okay, so here’s what I’ve got in mind.” Tom sits back, business-like now.
I wait, oddly calm.
“I like sex toys. You’ve seen some of my stuff so you know the sort of thing. You’ve played with some already. During our time together I intend to use anything and everything you’ve seen already. Is that okay with you? Nothing you’d like to leave out?”
I shake my head. He smiles briefly.
“Good, so that’s nipple clamping, vibrators, dildos, butt plugs.” He glances up sharply to see my reaction.
I nod my agreement.
