by Ashe Barker
He doesn’t speak to me again, but still the tension builds, desire curling through me once more and I groan into the soft leather as my body succumbs to the inevitable. Unbelievably, he forces another hard, punishing orgasm from me before he finally relents and slowly withdraws. Even then, he’s not done. Without a word he slides his thumbs upwards to position them at either side of my tight anus. He presses, pulls, gently easing the sphincter open. I gasp again, surely he can’t be…
“No!” My denial is one of disbelief rather than refusal, but he stops, waiting for a signal from me. With some effort I will my muscles to relax, to accept. He waits, silent, his hands still on me as I lie immobile under him. I realize he’s waiting for permission, waiting to be sure.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean you to stop. It was just…please, continue…”
And he does, carefully working my anus until he can insert the tip of his thumb, generously lubricated with my own juices. Leaving his thumb in place, lightly pressing inwards, he drops his other hand to attend to my desperately throbbing clit. My third orgasm is on me in moments, the most powerful yet, delivered with a tenderness and care not previously evident. There’s no conversation between us, but he is reading my body perfectly, listening intently to every sigh and moan to know exactly what’s happening to me, exactly what effect he is having. I am boneless, totally relaxed, totally dependent on the straps pinning me in place as my own muscles give up the effort entirely.
At last I am alone, his wonderful fingers no longer on me, in me. He stands back, and I feel his eyes on my sated body. Dimly, I know that it must be now. It must be time for my initiation into his dark world of pain, and I am ready for it, longing for it. I hear his footsteps crossing the room then coming back. He’s unhurried, quite at ease, and making me wait. I crack open my eyes as I hear him passing my head and catch a glimpse of—a leather strap, I think, long, heavy, black, the glint of metal studs catching in the light. He moves back into position behind me, and despite all his earlier delightful attention I tense up again.
“Open your legs, please, Ashley.” His voice is hard now, the implacable Dom back in full force.
I obey, even though I know that he has his weapon in his hand and will hurt me. But not this way, never like this. And sure enough, as I open for him he deftly slides a small, smooth object deep into my pussy. A moment later the pulsing starts, and I groan in ecstasy as the vibrator massages me from the inside, calming and caressing.
He’s leaning over me, the fabric of his shirt and jeans against my naked back and buttocks. He lifts my hair to murmur into my ear. “Close your legs and squeeze around it, Ashley. Enjoy, it’ll help you, and you’ll earn it. Now, are you ready?”
“Yes,” I whisper. And I am. I really am.
“Your safe word, Ashley? Tell me what it is”
“I don’t, I can’t…”
“Smithy’s Forge. Is it still Smithy’s Forge?”
“Yes, yes that’s right.”
“Okay. Your safe word will stop everything, dead. Use it if you have to.” He slides his hands under me, cupping my breasts, his thumbs firmly circling my hard nipples. I groan, and he pinches them, hard.
“Pay attention, please. Are you listening to me, Ashley?”
“Yes,” I whisper my response, my body already tingling from the vibrator inside me and him caressing my sensitive breasts.
His breath tickles my ear as he continues his instructions.
“If you don’t want to stop, but just want me to slow down, give you more time to regroup, or maybe you’ll need to ask me something, need to talk, then you just say ‘amber’. Like on traffic lights, it tells me to proceed but with caution. I’ll know you need help to be able to continue, and I will help you, Ashley. We’re in no rush, we’ll take as long as we need to take, and I won’t let you go too far.”
“Me go too far…?”
“Yes, you.”
He pinches my nipples again and I yelp.
He chuckles. “Subs often do try for too much, especially inexperienced little newbies like you. Apart from using your safe word if you get desperate you’ll be in no position to control any of this, so that’s my responsibility. And you will be safe.”
“Whether I like it or not…”
My wry comment earns me a curt “Precisely” as he straightens, steps away. The cool air flutters once more on my back, momentarily, before I scream as the first blow lands on my right buttock.
“Just my hand at first, Ashley, to give you a few moments to adjust. Then maybe ten strokes with the strap. Does that sound okay to you?”
Ten? I draw a deep breath. “Yes. Ten sounds fine.”
“Right. Don’t try to switch off. Accept the pain, feel it radiate around you. Through you.”
“Easy for you to say, you bastard… Aah!” I scream again as the second blow lands, this time on the left.
“I’ll let that remark pass, this time. Let the vibrator distract you between the blows, squeeze hard on it, that will help you.”
He lands the third blow and I scream again, my body jerking under the force of his hand. But he’s right about the sweet little pulsing vibrator deep inside me, gently comforting me, reminding me that I deserve to feel good. And it occurs to me he placed it there, just for me, just for that reason.
His hand slides between my legs, touching me briefly, coolly. At first I think he’s going to take away my pulsating ‘comfort blanket’ and I’m ready to protest, to plead even, but then I realize he’s actually testing my pulse rate. Good grief! Then his fingers are gone and I feel the fourth hard slap. This time I jerk but manage not to cry out. Incredibly, I’m actually getting used to it, the slaps are not such a shock, I know what to expect now. And I can handle it. I really can. I squeeze my pussy even tighter around the vibrator, loving that sensation inside me even while the external pain is killing me.
Tom’s words confirm my progress toward submission. “You’re doing fine, Ashley, really well. Try to breathe evenly, concentrate on breathing in and out, slowly.”
I moan, twisting my hands to grip the padded edges of the bench grimly, and just hang in there, reaching for the soothing pulses rolling sweetly along the walls of my vagina as the next four or five slaps are delivered. My bottom feels to be on fire, and I begin to think the vibrator’s losing the battle. Tears on my face but I don’t think I’m crying. Not yet. Soon, probably. Then a brief respite as he checks my pulse rate again before firmly massaging my abused, burning buttocks.
“Do you want a drink?”
I shake my head, I really don’t want to have to look at him or let him see my face at this moment. I’m not entirely sure why, but I want to stay hidden in my hair, maintain my privacy. Until it’s over.
“Are you okay to go on?”
“Yes.” My voice in remarkably strong, even, given the circumstances. And I stiffen for whatever’s coming now.
“Are you forgetting your manners. Ashley?”
I shake my head, confused. What does he mean? Considerate, at least on this occasion, he helps me out.
“Yes, what?”
“Sir. Yes, Sir.” I manage, I hope, to suppress any hint of resentment in my tone, but in truth that term of respect does not come easily at this moment. If he did detect my less than enthusiastic sentiment, he’s letting it go for now.
“Good girl”
Or maybe he simply has other ways of exacting retribution. The bastard makes me wait again. He paces slowly around me, checking my restraints, testing various pulse points, ensuring my circulation isn’t restricted at all. Then he returns to his position behind me. Long moments pass as I lie there, tense, stiff, so utterly terrified I can hear my own heartbeat. The vibrator’s still there, valiantly doing its thing, but fear is winning hands down now.
I hear the faint swish as the strap whizzes through the air a moment before it lands, hard and cruel across both my buttocks. My scream is one of absolute agony, fading into a strangled whimper as the shock subsides. I am r
igid, shaking, would fall to the floor but for the straps holding me in place. Tom waits a few moments, enough time for me to safe word if I’m going to, then I hear the swish again as the strap once more connects with my quivering buttocks.
I scream again, and now I am crying, really sobbing, uncontrollably. Still I don’t use my safe word, although every self-preservation instinct I possess is screaming at me to make this stop. Tom gently lifts my hair from my face, telling me to open my eyes. Dom or no Dom, I will not obey him this time. I shake my head defiantly, screwing my eyes tight shut. I’m expecting firmness, insistence, but my Master is full of surprises, it seems. This time he doesn’t command, he doesn’t instruct me in that hard, cold Dom voice. Instead he strokes my face gently, uses his thumb to wipe away my tears before placing his lips soft on mine.
“Amber?” His question is soft, gentle, generous.
I nod, my gratitude almost overwhelming.
“Look at me, Ashley. Please.”
I wait a few moments then force my eyes to open, to meet his searching, emerald gaze. His face, just inches from mine, is kind, concerned, and utterly, utterly beautiful to me at that moment. How have I ever managed to attract the attention of a man like this? By allowing him to strap me to a bench and beat the shit out of me, apparently. At that irreverent thought I manage a faint smile from somewhere and he returns it before kissing me again.
“Are you okay to carry on? Do you want more time? Or would you like to stop now?”
“No, I want to finish, if I can. How many more…? I mean, how much…?”
He smiles, his expression warm, amused even. “I agreed ten strokes with the strap this first time, but now I’m thinking five.”
“No, ten. Really, please.” I feel a sense of failure, of disappointment but I’m not sure with who or why. I just know I need to finish what I started.
“Right, seven. That’s my top offer…” He raises a stern finger to silence my objections. “My call, Ashley, not yours. I dish it out, as much as I think you can take. And that’ll be seven strokes today. No more. So, are we ready? Can we get back to it?”
He slants one last amused glance at me, pushes the water bottle between my lips and insists I take a few sips before standing again. He trails his fingers lightly along my arms and down my back, feathering them over my buttocks as he repositions himself. Even that light caress on my bottom causes me to wince, but I plant my feet firmly on the floor, strengthening my stance to meet the coming assault.
And Tom does not disappoint. The next five strokes are administered with brutal precision, first from one side then the other, never landing in exactly the same spot twice. I suppose that’s to avoid damage to my skin, but it also serves to spread the torment evenly across my entire bottom. The vibrator long since forgotten, I make no attempt to suppress my screams as the strap lands. With each stroke I jerk and cry out, but then I return to stillness ready for the next blow. And the next.
Suddenly, it’s all over. I hear the soft thud as the strap lands on the floor beside me and realize Tom has tossed it where I can see it clearly for the first time. I shudder and feel thankful that he never let me get a clear view before he laid it across my body. I would never have found the courage to go through with it if I’d had a good look at that menacing, black monster, liberally decorated with gleaming, evil, studs. I glare at it now with something close to loathing.
“Why the studs? Don’t you have a plain one?”
“I have a wide selection, some plain, most with studs. I like that one. Next time, I’ll let you choose.” I hear his voice behind me but I can’t summon up the strength to twist my neck and shoulders to look at him.
Next time? Will there be a next time? Yes, perhaps. Possibly.
Definitely.
He goes on. “I wasn’t being deliberately cruel to you. The studs leave marks on your skin so I can see exactly where I’m placing the strap each time. It helps.”
Marks on my skin? My bottom feels lacerated. “Am I bleeding?” The question burst out before I had the chance to think about the absurdity of it.
“No, Ashley, you are not bleeding. You’ll never be bleeding from anything I do to you. I promise you that. No blood, no lasting damage. No scars.”
I yelp as something cool lands on my tender, abused bottom. What now?
“Hold still, wimp.” He’s chuckling now as he works the cream into my skin.
I wriggle, protesting, but the stuff soon does its work and the sting is subsiding quickly. Who’d have thought I could be in such intense pain, such agony, and minutes later it’s gone? He hadn’t been boasting when he’d said he was good at this stuff. And that I’d benefit from his years of practice.
His ministrations to my bottom completed, Tom deftly slides his fingers between my legs to remove the vibrator, still pulsing inside me. I moan softly, already regretting the loss of my friend. He then quickly goes around the bench undoing the restraints. He leaves the strap around my waist until last, knowing, I daresay, that if he’d loosened that too soon I’d have simply rolled to the floor. As it is, I have chance to flex my arms, lift my body slowly, experimentally, taking my own weight before I am finally free.
I wait, sprawled across the bench, expecting Tom to help me to my feet. Instead, he leaves me there, picks up the studded strap from the floor then strolls away toward the bed where he tosses the black leather onto the duvet before unhurriedly unbuttoning his shirt. He removes the shirt, drops it casually onto the floor alongside my own clothes, my sexy Next dress discarded at the beginning of this little escapade of ours. As I watch him, grimly hanging onto the spanking bench as my only anchor in a distinctly turbulent world, Tom unfastens his jeans, though he doesn’t pull down the zip. Well, not yet. His impressive erection is very, very evident. He grabs a couple of pillows from the bed and piles them against the headboard. He drops onto them, making himself comfortable. He’s barefoot, and I suppose he must have been throughout although I never noticed it previously.
He watches me silently as I openly admire him. He had his opportunity to study my body to his heart’s content earlier, and the rest, so now it must be my turn. And he really is a pleasure to look at, his bare chest finely sculpted, his biceps flexing as he reaches to clasp his hands behind his head. Once more I am struck by his sheer male beauty and by my own amazement that he’d even look twice at me. The combination of Tom’s sexy presence and the memory of those earth-moving orgasms earlier makes my mouth water, and he knows it. He bloody well knows what he’s doing, lying there, watching me, waiting.
Sure enough, he smiles slowly and beckons me with his fingers. “Come here, Ashley.”
The command was clear, obedience expected. And I really have no objection. I gingerly push myself to a standing position, taking care to find my balance before turning to shuffle toward him. He waits, never offering to help me but not hurrying me either. I need to find my own way to him, in my own time. And, after what seems like a marathon trek, I’m there, standing beside the bed, gazing down at him. Wordlessly, he slides along a couple of feet to make room for me and pats the duvet next to him to indicate I’m to climb onto the bed. I do so, stiffly. My body is sore, although the cream has done a fine job of taking the sting from my tender bottom. But I ache everywhere, probably from tensing and clenching my muscles as I clung to the bench. I kneel alongside him, never breaking his gaze though that superb erection is well within my peripheral vision and I feel justified in hoping for great things from it before much longer.
Moments pass, and inevitably I give in first, sliding my eyes away to look at my hands clasped in front of me. I notice idly that they are twisting nervously. Although the worst is over, it must be, I find this mood of his terrifying and intimidating, his Dom side clearly on full display for me now. And that menacing leather strap is still there, beside him on the bed.
He reaches up to cup my cheek, his thumb grazing my lips until I look up again. His head is cocked to one side as he watches me carefully, looking for�
�what? Eventually, “How are you, Ashley?”
“I, I’m fine. Sir. A little stiff, but…”
“Not your body, love. I know exactly how that’s feeling, and I’m thinking you’d like me to give it some serious attention very, very soon. Yes?” His lips quirk in a cheeky, lustful grin.
It’s not quite so funny from where I’m sitting, or rather, kneeling. I frown, just wishing he’d get on with it. Please.
“All in good time, my sweet Ashley. I won’t disappoint you.”
A mutinous thought concerning arrogant pigs flashes across my mind but I stifle the urge to say anything unwise. I just want him to shove something between my legs. Fingers, mouth, cock, I’m not at all fussy at this stage, just as long as he does it now!
Instead, “Kiss me, Ashley.”
“What? Why, but…?”
“Please, kiss me, Ashley.” His eyes are serious, soft. He waits.
I’m not averse to this—I absolutely love kissing Tom Shore. I reach up, take his face between my palms and lean in. I kiss his mouth, hesitant at first then with more confidence as his lips move under mine. I run my tongue along the seam of his lips and he parts them. I slip my tongue inside, pulling myself in closer as I do so, as I deepen the kiss. My arms are around his neck, my breasts pressed against his chest. It occurs to me I could simply straddle him, satisfy my increasingly desperate urges by rubbing my throbbing clit on his erection, which is still encased in his jeans but threatening to find freedom at any moment.
Realizing my intent, he breaks the kiss, quickly rolling me onto my back and leaning over me. “Uh uh, baby. This is still my show. You get to be fucked when I decide, not before.”
I gaze up at him uncertain how to respond, and not at all sure I’m liking Tom the Master all that much. Perceptive, he sees. He understands me.
“You’re not meant to like me, love. You’re supposed to obey and just want me anyway. And you’re supposed to trust me. Your kiss tells me you do trust me, and your eyes say you want me. Is that right, little Ashley?”
