Her Two Doms

by Ashe Barker

  “I saw her first,” Fraze counters. “On the train.”

  “Bollocks. Ellie, you can come with me.”

  “I can’t. I don’t have a dress for a do like that.”

  Fraze is incredulous. “What? You haul a suitcase weighing half a ton all the way from London, and you don’t have even one posh gown in it?”

  I shake my head. “No posh dress. Sorry.”

  “We’ll send over a dress. It’ll be here for you when you get back from your conference.” He eyes me up and down. “Size twelve, right?”

  “Well, yes, but I couldn’t—”

  “That’s settled, then. Ah, here we are.” Fraze halts at the steps up to my hotel. He grabs me in a close hug, then sets me away from him and leans in to kiss me. “You’ll come with us? On Saturday?”

  “I don’t know…”

  Declan whirls me around to face him. “Yes, you will. You know you want to.”

  He’s right, I do. But I can’t let them start buying me clothes.

  “Send a dress, then. I’ll be busy all day tomorrow, so I won’t have time to go shopping. But I’ll pay you back for it.”

  “Whatever.” Declan traps my face between his hands and holds my head still while he brushes his lips over mine. “It’s been good seeing you again, Ellie. Until Saturday, then.”

  He covers my mouth with his, and for a few seconds I lean in and simply enjoy the kiss.

  “For fuck’s sake, put the girl down. She has a speech to do in the morning. She needs to get some sleep.”

  Fraze has already opened the door leading into the hotel foyer. Declan releases me, and I sail past both of them as though I’m floating on air. I remember the practicalities just in time.

  “Wait. I don’t even know where this wedding is. What time…?”

  “We’ll pick you up at ten,” says Fraze, “here, in the lobby.”

  Chapter Five

  Fuck-free spanking. Is that what I want? Really?

  It seemed safer, sort of sensible if that’s the correct word to apply to last night’s scenario, that I set that rule up front. Fraze and Declan agreed to it with no protest at all, though I’m certain it was not what they wanted. They put me first, gave me all that I asked for and no more.

  I should be grateful but I find that I’m not. I feel sort of downcast and deflated this morning, just when I could do with being revved up and ready to sparkle at the Symposium. My libido, not usually a force to be reckoned with if I’m honest, has discovered a new lease of life and doesn’t seem to be letting up any time soon.

  I so need to get laid. Instead, I face a day of grinding, if scintillating scientific discourse. The reputation of my college and my professional standing are on the line. I have to perform.

  I’m nervous about the conference, but that’s healthy enough, born out of a natural desire to do well. I’m more worried about the wedding the following day. What if I don’t know anyone there, which seems a pretty certain bet? Worse, what if I do know people and they remember me from school? I’ll be going to the wedding with Fraze and Declan, but I can’t expect them to babysit me the entire time. Who will I talk to? Will the other guests turn up their society noses at my Northern England accent, just like some of the snottier kids did at St Hugh’s? My speech is a bit more refined now, years of working with academics from all over the world has sort of knocked the edges off, but I still sound like a lass from Leeds.

  I give myself a mental shake. There’s nothing wrong with Leeds, and there’s nothing wrong with me. I may not have spent my weekends at the Pony Club and I definitely don’t know one end of a croquet mallet from the other, but I’m bright, successful and respected in my field. I do interesting, important work. I make people’s lives better. I should be able to hold my own in any company and I damned well will.

  But hell, I’d so love to fuck Declan about now. Or Fraze. Or better still, both. Jesus, what have I become?

  I set that question aside to be examined at another time. I have a presentation to deliver, a wedding to get my head around, and with any luck another bare-bottom trip over Fraze’s sofa before too much longer. And if I have anything to say on the matter, fuck-free spanking will be off the menu next time.

  I shouldn’t be so surprised at my calm confidence as I commence my presentation, but I am. In fairness, I did my homework beforehand, assembled the right data, and when my name is announced and I get to my feet to appreciative applause from the assembled scientists and researchers, my peers and competitors I’m ready to take on the world. I deliver my keynote speech, manage to switch slides at all the right points, pause at the more complex bits to allow my explanations to sink in, and reach my final slide unscathed. I’m feeling relaxed, confident and on top of everything as I scan the rows of faces, take a sip of water, and I invite questions.

  There is discussion, naturally, but nothing I can’t handle. My findings are pretty clear, not much room for dissent, though there’s always someone ready to have a go. They don’t get far, the data speaks for itself, and we scientists are suckers for hard evidence. An hour after I got to my feet I am shaking the hand of the conference chairwoman and bowing to the applause from the audience.

  I nailed it!

  The rest of the day is interesting, and having got my contribution to the proceedings out of the way first thing, I can relax and enjoy the workshops and presentations which follow. I’m no social butterfly, but a spot of professional networking doesn’t go amiss, and there are plenty of delegates keen to congratulate me on my work. It does my professional pride no harm at all, and by the time I find myself in the rear seat of a taxi on the way back to The Scotsman, I’m feeling pretty damn pleased with myself. I believe I might even enjoy myself tomorrow.

  As I make my way up the front steps into the hotel lobby, I consider calling Fraze or Declan to find out if they’re free this evening but decide against it. I’m horny as hell but exhausted, too. My libido will just have to wait.

  “A parcel was delivered for you.” The sleek receptionist bends to retrieve the large, bulky package from under the desk and places it on the counter in front of me. “I’ll call a porter to help you carry it up to your room.”

  It’s the dress Fraze and Declan insisted on sending over. I tip the porter, and as soon as my hotel room door closes behind him, I’m tearing the plain brown wrapping off to discover a large, square cardboard box from Harvey Nichols. Inside is a stunning concoction made of ice-grey, shimmering silk. It falls to just below the knee, and as I hold it in front of me and do a twirl, I can just see it will drape beautifully. It’s exactly right, just what I would have chosen myself, though I might have gulped at the prospect of browsing round Harvey Nicks. I’m generally more of a Next chick myself, but a spot of indulgence doesn’t go amiss occasionally, and I’m paid quite well. Not in Fraze’s and Declan’s leagues, obviously, but I can afford to treat myself when I want to. I rummage in the box for a price ticket or receipt but all I find is a pair of toning suede sandals with a dainty little heel, and a white silk clutch bag.

  The dress is gorgeous. Thank you. How much do I owe you?

  I send the text to Fraze and Declan simultaneously. Fraze responds.

  Another spanking?

  I’m equally quick to reply. Seriously. It must have cost a fortune. I said I’d pay you back.

  Do you like it? This from Declan. We thought the colour matches your eyes.

  When did Declan Stone become such a romantic?

  I love it. Thank you. I can always go on their website and find out how much it cost. I mean it, I pay my own way.

  Consider it a gift. For old times’ sake.

  But we agreed.

  Please. Fraze ends his text with a small x.

  I crumble.

  Very well. This time. I hit Send, then follow up with another message. Did you mean it, about a spanking?

  Yes, but could we start with dinner? What time can we pick you up?

  I was going to have a bath, maybe watch a film.<
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  Declan takes over. What time, Ellie?

  Half past seven. I hit Send and wonder if I might get laid this evening after all.

  The meal is delicious. Fraze has booked a table at a small trattoria just off the Royal Mile in Edinburgh’s old town. They are keen to hear all about my presentation and share my elation that it went so well. Declan calls for a bottle of champagne to celebrate. For the next two hours we linger over aromatic tagliatelle, and once the champagne is gone we enjoy a crisp chianti, followed by cappuccinos and those little amoretti biscuits. It’s after ten by the time we’re finished.

  “Would you like to come back to the apartment for a while?”

  My hotel is closer, but I know what lies behind Declan’s invitation and I’m most definitely up for extending our evening together.

  “Yes, I would, actually.”

  We all stand, and Fraze helps me back into my jacket. Once we’re out in the main road which runs through the old town, he lifts his hand to hail a passing taxi, but I grip his arm.

  “No, let’s walk.”

  We settle into a gentle stroll through the streets, me linking arms with both of them as I did yesterday evening. It’s a cool evening but not unpleasantly so, and we exchange more anecdotes about St Hugh’s as we make our way back to Fraze’s apartment. Declan manages a fair imitation of old Mr Hennessy, the headmaster, then an even more hilarious rendition of Sister McHugh, the school nurse. By the time we arrive at the converted Georgian townhouse we’re all in high spirits. Our mood sobers as we ascend the staircase to the first floor.

  “Your choice, you do know that.” Fraze takes my jacket and gestures me into the lounge again. “If you just fancy a nightcap…”

  “I’d be back at The Scotsman raiding the minibar if that was all I fancied.” I tilt my chin at the pair of them. “I… I brought condoms.”

  On my way back from the university, I’d detoured into the small pharmacy two doors up from my hotel. I am nothing if not prepared and ready to take responsibility for myself.

  Declan grins at me. Fraze narrows his eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly. I wonder if perhaps he prefers to take the lead, though both my men seem decidedly on the dominant side. I wait for one of them to say something. Anything.

  “Shall we take this into one of the bedrooms, then?” It’s Declan who breaks the silence, glancing over at Fraze. “Yours is the biggest.”

  Fraze turns and marches from the room, stopping out in the hallway to beckon me with one aristocratic finger. “Come along, then, Ms Scott. And bring your condoms with you.”

  I follow Fraze along the corridor, Declan at my heels. Fraze leads us into the room at the end, and I pause just inside to take in the expensive luxury of the place. My own flat is nice enough but not in this class. The furnishings are dark wood, mahogany I’d say, and include a four-poster bed, two huge wardrobes, a dressing table, and a large writing desk. A gorgeous Queen Anne chair is set at an angle in front of the desk, as though he only just left it.

  “Is that genuine?” I breathe, moving over to trail my fingers along the carved wood back.

  “Of course. Eighteenth century. Its twin is in Dec’s room.”

  “Ah, yes,” I observe. “It would be part of a pair.”

  “You know about antiques?” Fraze lounges on the bed. “I’ll give you a tour later, if you like.”

  “I’m no expert, but I do like old things. Especially beautiful things which are still in use.”

  “We like beautiful things, too. Come here, Ellie.”

  Fraze’s tone has lowered an octave or three. Declan says nothing, but he is leaning on the pole at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed. Both men allow their gazes to travel over every inch of me and make no secret of their appraisal. I start to feel like a precious artefact myself.

  “Come here,” Fraze repeats. “Stand at the foot of the bed and keep still. I’ll watch while Dec undresses you.”

  I swallow but obey. This is no time to be coy. I haven’t yet fathomed how this will all work, exactly, but I know it’s what I want. There are three of us in this relationship.

  Declan steps forward, cups my chin in his hand, and kisses me. I part my lips and gasp as he plunges his tongue into my mouth, and lift my hands to grip his arms when he tilts my head back to deepen the kiss. My knees are ready to give way by the time he lifts his mouth from mine.

  “So responsive. We’re going to have lots of fun with you, little Ellie Scott.” His voice is rich and dark, like chocolate. His words wash over me, through me, and my panties dampen.

  Oh. My. God.

  Slowly, deliberately, Declan circles me. He stops behind me and undoes the buttons at the back of my top. Then he tugs it from the waistband of my knee-length pencil skirt. He grasps the hem and raises it. Without being asked, I lift my arms to let him slide the garment off. He ignores my crimson bra for the time being, preferring to undo the button at my left hip and then slowly slide the zipper down to loosen my skirt. He peels the fabric down over my hips and my legs to let it fall in a heap around my ankles. I bless the impulse which took me into Ann Summers’ a few weeks ago, where I purchased a gorgeous matching set of bra and panties in a siren shade of red, and the sleek pearl-coloured stockings. Now, standing before these two beautiful men wearing just those items of lingerie, I feel every bit as beautiful as Fraze suggested.

  Declan is still positioned behind me. He kisses the nape of my neck, then unclasps my bra. The cups fall forward, free, and I briefly catch them in my arms before allowing the bra to drop to the floor, too. Fraze’s lip quirks as he peruses my naked breasts, and I wait for him to say something.

  His appreciative silence speaks far louder to me than words might have. His eyes darken, the green deepening to near black. My nipples swell and stiffen under his scrutiny, and I know Fraze will not have missed any of the detail of my response. I might have lifted my hands to cover myself, quite overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze, but Declan’s hand in the middle of my shoulder blades and his murmured command to lean forward breaks the spell.

  I bend at the waist and place my hands on the mattress, on either side of Fraze’s feet. I look up and meet his steady gaze as Declan peels my panties away. I step out of them when he taps my ankle.

  “I like the stockings. They can stay,” announces Declan, straightening.

  When I would have stood upright again also, he places his hand on my back. “No. You stay there. Here’s how this will work. You’ll look at Fraze while I spank you. Don’t look away, and don’t move. You maintain eye contact with Fraze all through your spanking. Then, after, when I put my fingers inside you, you’ll keep on looking at him. You’ll probably come around about then, but still you maintain eye contact. Fraze will watch, he’ll be there, inside your head while you lose control. He and I will be talking, but you’ll say nothing unless one of us asks you a direct question. When I fuck you, you’ll still be looking at Fraze. He’ll be in your head while I’m in your pussy.” He pauses, “Any questions?”

  Yes! I have a million questions. But I shake my head. “No. I understand.”

  “One last thing. If you need us to stop, you can say so. I’m not going to hurt you—well, not really—but it will be intense and intimate. If it’s too much, just say ‘red’ and we stop. Is all that clear as well?”

  “Yes,” I murmur. “Quite clear.”

  “In that case…”

  I jerk forward when Declan lands the first swat on my upturned buttock.

  “Look at me,” demands Fraze, and I realise that I already allowed my eyelids to droop.

  I lock my gaze with his and try to concentrate.

  Declan is using his hand to spank me, and it hurts every bit as much as the crop he used yesterday. The sound of the slaps reverberates around the room, louder than I imagined. I count the spanks, and by the time he reaches ten my bottom feels to be on fire. I’m chewing on my lower lip, and fighting back tears when we reach a dozen, and let out my first yelp of pain at fourteen.


  Fraze nods, the movement barely perceptible, but Declan must have seen it because he stops spanking and instead lays his hand on my smarting bottom and massages my buttocks in large, slow circles. I sigh—the relief is awesome.

  “Better?” Fraze asks me the question after perhaps a minute of the soothing caress, his eyebrow raised as he awaits a reply. When I don’t speak, he continues. “That was a direct question, Ellie.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Better.”

  “She’s ready. You can carry on.” Fraze never breaks eye contact with me when he speaks to Declan.

  The spanking starts again, and I’m certain that Declan has ramped it up. It hurts. Really, really hurts. Each swat causes me to cry out and come up on my toes. Neither man seems to mind my squeals and yelps, so I assume they don’t count as talking. It never occurs to me to say ‘red’. Instead, I clench my buttocks and try to absorb the pain whilst Declan continues his relentless onslaught on my poor bottom. The fire snakes over my tender skin with every resounding slap and wonder why I ever thought I wanted this.

  Fraze’s handsome but stern features waver and sway before me as I view them through the tears I am helpless to stem. They stream across my cheeks to drip from my chin.

  “Are you wet, Ellie?”

  Fraze’s question catches me off guard. I am still managing to look at him but I can’t find words to answer. I try to think, but no coherent response emerges.

  “I’ll check.” Declan places one heavy palm on my throbbing bottom and draws the other slowly between my thighs, through my swollen folds. He swipes back and forth, rubbing my pussy lips and scraping my clit with is fingertips. “Hell, yes, she is. She’s drooling down here.”

  “A pain slut, then?”

  “Yeah, seems like it. Is that right, Ellie? Do you get off on being hurt?”

  “I… I don’t know. I…”

  “Truth, Elllie.” Declan continues to stroke my pussy lips and slides two long fingers right inside me. “This dripping pussy tells us what we want to know, but we’d like to hear it from you, too.”