by Ashe Barker
Just as I’m coming close to formulating a reply, he launches his next onslaught, “Will you say please when you beg me to fuck you?”
Now that does get a response. “I won’t beg. I don’t want you to fuck me.” Arrogant bastard!
He smiles, all calm, all knowing. Supremely confident. “No? Not at this precise moment, I’m sure. Too much else going on in that pretty head of yours. Maybe later. But I will honor your wishes as stated now, while you’re relatively calm and collected. You can take comfort in the fact that I have no intention of exploiting your vulnerability later.”
“What do you mean? I’m feeling more than a little vulnerable now, actually.”
He smiles and manages to look genuinely amused. “Yes, I daresay. Do you have any questions so far, or can I continue?”
My brain is spinning with questions, but I want to hear all of what he has to tell me first. I shake my head briefly. “Please continue.”
“One more thing while we’re on the subject of respect. I know what you said downstairs, but you will call me Sir. From now on. I do require that, and I will insist. Understood?”
He pauses again, his head tilted as he waits for my answer. I give it in the form of a reluctant nod. That must be sufficient, more or less.
“The second requirement is honesty. Total, absolute honesty. Especially regarding your feelings and responses. Be honest with yourself, and be honest with me. If I hurt you, or scare you, or do something to you that you find difficult to accept, I expect you to talk to me about it. I want to know, and I want to know it from you. I can tell a lot from your body’s responses, but I require you to share your thoughts and feelings with me openly. And I expect you to be explicit. If you want me to stroke your clit or suck your nipples, say that. If you hate it when I put my fingers in your arse, say that too, and be ready to tell me why.” He pauses again, lets all that sink in.
I confess I’m rather fixated on the prospect of him stroking my clit, and my pussy is clenching wildly. I may be scared…no, scratch that, terrified. But my body has other ideas. Shit!
What was that about fingers in my arse?
My head is still reeling as he starts talking again, “Summer, pay attention. This third requirement is very important. A submissive must be, above all else, obedient. You do as you’re told, without argument or question. Immediately, and with a positive attitude. No grumbling or obeying grudgingly—you do what you’re told, and you love doing it because your Dom has instructed and you obey. Failure to do that will earn you punishments, and those will almost always be physical. You will be hurt.”
“Not if I obey…” My voice is wavering now. I can hear it—he must be able to.
“Everyone screws up from time to time, especially in the early days, when you’re still learning. A decent Dom will take the fact that you’re a novice into account—I certainly will—but you will still be disciplined, and it will be painful because that’s how you’ll learn. The most painful lessons are the most memorable ones.”
“I don’t think… I mean…” I fall silent, not entirely certain what it is I’m trying to say.
Dan leans forward again, his dark brandy eyes intent now. “Too much for you? Do you want to leave yet? You don’t have to do any of this.”
I straighten my spine and take several deep breaths before I face him again. But I’m certain. No matter how difficult or personally challenging the next hour or so will be, I’m in. I want to experience this, if only the once. At least once.
“I want to stay. I think.”
“That’s ‘I think I want to stay’, Sir.” His voice is stern now, his expression one of steely resolve.
I feel this whole, bizarre conversation ratchet up a gear and I drop my gaze again, taking steadying breaths to regain my equilibrium. At the same time, though, as I’m softly murmuring my apology, “I’m sorry, Sir”, my bum is clenching, as I anticipate the inevitable outcome. I’m already earning punishments, and he’ll start to administer them in the coming minutes.
“Are you still quite comfortable, Summer? You appear to be wriggling around rather. I prefer you to remain still unless I give permission for you to move.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.” I remember this time to address him correctly. And I make a conscious effort not to exhibit any response to his sensual suggestions regarding what might soon be happening to my body. Time enough for that later, I don’t doubt.
“Not much longer. I just need to agree your safe words with you.”
Now this bit I do understand. Freya has mentioned the issue of safe words on a number of occasions. I gather from the email correspondence she showed me that it has been a problem for her as she struggles to make herself understood by non-signers. That won’t be an issue here though.
“The house safe words are the usual traffic lights system—red for stop, amber for slow down, be careful, need to talk perhaps. And green means everything’s fine. We can use those, or if you have other words you’d like to use, please tell me them now.”
He leans back, allowing me the space to consider what I wish to do, to say. I risk raising my eyes again. Maybe I should have my own personal safe word—I don’t doubt I’ll think of a brilliant one later. But at this precise moment, my head is not coming up with anything remotely suitable. I decide to go with what’s on offer.
“No, the usual ones are fine. Sir.”
“Very well. Are you wet?”
I jolt, alarmed at the sudden change in tack. I shouldn’t be. I really shouldn’t, but the way he casually drops such an intimate question into the conversation completely disarms me.
“I-I’m not sure.”
“I beg your pardon?” His chin is tilted now, his eyes glittering and harsh.
I cringe inwardly. What have I done? Or not done? Am I allowed to be wet? Could I help it either way? I frown in confusion, shaking my head.
“You already earned a spanking for your rudeness downstairs in the bar. I’m thinking ten swats on your behind should just about cover that—this first time. And every time you forget to obey a clear instruction, such as the need to call me Sir, I intend to add on a further five. So, you’re at fifteen now. Do you really want to increase that?”
Shit! I did forget. He only told me a couple of minutes ago, and already it went right out of my head. I’m beginning to see what he means about screwing up without even intending to cause offense. This is not going to be easy.
“I apologize, Sir.”
“Thank you for that. Now, please answer my question.”
“Yes, Sir, I believe I am wet.” But do please feel free to check.
“Slide your fingers down there. Stroke your pussy then show me.”
I gaze at him, unaccountably startled. Again. I expected him to touch me, to handle me, and that I’d allow it, without protest. I was ready for that, pretty much. But this…this is me taking an active part. Offering myself, my wetness, to him. For his approval—or otherwise. This is real. I’m acutely conscious that it starts here. Now. If I obey—when I obey—I will be submitting. Just as Freya seems to so love doing. Is this for me? I can’t quite think it is. Perhaps…
“What are you waiting for? I asked you to stroke your pussy then show me the wetness on your hand.”
“I-I’m not sure. It’s hard. I think that perhaps I’m not a submissive after all. Sir.”
He leans back, regarding me with that mocking half-smile I’m coming to recognize. “No? Back to that are we? Well there must be some other explanation then. Please do share it with me.”
“Explanation? Sir?”
“Yes. Explanation. Some other explanation to account for why you’re here, in a BDSM club, kneeling naked at my feet, your arse clenching and your pussy wet, waiting for me to spank you.”
Well, when he puts it like that…
The fluttering in my stomach increases as my pussy tightens, the moisture gathering. Any remaining doubt as to my wetness is dispelled. He knows it too, leaning forward to cup my chin in his h
and.
“Show me, Summer.” His voice is gentler now, sexy and seductive.
My eyes never leave his as I slide my hand from my thigh and slip it between the hot, slick folds of my pussy. I swipe it across my wet cunt a couple of times before pulling it out and holding it for him to see, palm up. He glances at it then uses his free hand to raise mine farther, to his nose. He delicately sniffs at the moisture smeared across my fingers, before taking the tip of my middle finger in his mouth and sucking it.
My pussy goes into clenching overdrive. Nothing he could have done, nothing he’s said to me so far, comes close to this on a scale of seductiveness. The act is so sweet, so sensual, so thoroughly sexy that in this moment, I discover for myself exactly what it is that Freya has found in the fine art of submission. His dominance laced with tenderness, my surrender freely offered and accepted. Holy fucking shit!
“Open your legs. Spread your knees as wide as you can then use your fingers to part the lips surrounding your clit. I want you to show it to me.”
I’m still reeling from the impact of this heady cocktail of sensations and impressions as Dan issues this command. He is truly a master of timing.
This time I don’t hesitate. Drawing my finger from his mouth, I shuffle on the mat until my knees are as wide apart as I can comfortably get them, before using the fingers of both my hands to gently part the folds of sensitive flesh which are no longer fully concealing my clitoris. I lean back slightly, thrusting my hips forward to better display the pink, swollen bud to him. His eyes drop from my face to my clit, and I watch his slight smile as he surveys the effect of his words so far.
“Not a submissive? Sweetheart, you are a submissive, right down to your bones. All I’ve done is explain a few rules to you and ask you to stroke yourself, and your clit is glistening, so sweet and hot and swollen. You’re a submissive little slut, Summer. Aren’t you?”
His tone is infinitely soft now, gentle, little more than a whisper. But the compulsion to respond is not diminished even slightly. I should be stung by his choice of words, but I’m not. In this moment I feel like a slut. His slut. I’d do anything he asked. And I’m ready to beg him for everything I need.
“Please… Please, Sir…”
“Please what, Summer?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure. Would you…?”
“Would I what? Remember, be explicit. Say exactly what it is you want me to do.”
Any remaining shreds of modesty evaporate in the face of my towering need. I say it. “Stroke my clit. Please.”
His smile is gentle. “Soon. I’ll lick it too. Would you like that, do you think?”
I nod wordlessly. Please.
“But first, you stroke it. You stroke it while I watch you. Show me what you like. See if you can make yourself come for me.”
I can’t do that. I have a hard enough time making myself come in the privacy of my bathroom or under my sheets. Surely I can’t do it here, in the glare of overhead strip lighting, with a man I only met an hour ago watching my every move. Except, it seems I can. Or at least, I might be able to. No more able to disobey than I could sprout wings and fly, I slowly caress my clit, circling and stroking the sensitive nub, then rubbing from side to side. I switch, now caressing from front to back. I take it between my fingers and squeeze, applying just enough pressure to cause discomfort before I relax my grip.
“Do that again, but this time, make it hurt.”
His softly issued command directs my fingers. I probe, sliding between my slick folds to once more grip and squeeze. This time I tug as well, my teeth grinding together as the tender bud throbs painfully under my touch.
“Harder. Don’t stop.”
He urges me on and I obey, my eyes now closed as I concentrate on the riot of sensation in my pussy. Clenching, twisting, spasming, all my nerve endings seem to coalesce at that point between my fingertips.
At last, when I feel I can bear it no longer, he whispers in my ear, “Let me take over.”
I release my grip and find myself lifted from the floor. He must have moved from the couch while my eyes were closed and has been crouching alongside me. He slips one arm under my knees and the other across my back to steady me as he lifts me onto the sofa. He’s now kneeling in front of me and without further words, he parts my thighs. I open willingly and whimper in grateful relief as he leans in to draw the tip of his tongue along my engorged and greedy clit.
I thrust my hips forward sharply. He uses his thumbs to part the folds as I used my fingers just a few moments ago, but there the similarity ends. He leans in again and takes my clit into his mouth. He sucks, flicking the end with his tongue. I cry out, the sensation is so overwhelming. He lightly grazes his teeth over the tip, and I shiver in delicious vulnerability. He could do anything to me, but I know he won’t hurt me. This is all pleasure and all mine. Pure, unadulterated and so incredibly intense I might just faint.
My orgasm is just moments in the making, rippling up and surging through me. As I start to come, Dan plunges two, possibly three, fingers deep into my pussy. This time I scream as he thrusts sharply, finger-fucking me as he continues to suck my clit.
My body arches, my bottom jerking upwards as I seek to increase the friction, to draw out every last tingle of sensation. Dan responds, knowing what I need and supplying it. He angles his hand to find my G-spot, rubbing there as I tighten and squeeze down hard around his fingers. He increases the pressure on my clit, sucking harder as my orgasm crests then starts to subside. I moan softly as I drift slowly back to earth. My voice is quiet as I murmur incoherently, trying to find words to thank this incredible Dom for guiding me to the most exquisite climax I have ever experienced.
“All part of the service, my little slut.”
Ah, not entirely incoherent then.
“So, now that we’ve unleashed your inner submissive, let’s see how she responds to a decent spanking.”
Chapter Six
“Go over to the spanking bench and bend over it, please.”
I glance across the room in the direction indicated by Dan’s outstretched hand. The bench looks not unlike the vaulting horses we used to use in gym lessons at school, though not as high. It’s made of smooth wood—the top is padded with soft, buttery suede. It looks warm, comfortable. I spotted this piece of equipment the moment I entered the room. It terrified me then. Now, it seems rather less daunting, a perfect example of how my perceptions are shifting, realigning as the unthinkable takes form in my head.
This could happen. I could do this. I will do this.
My default mode of thinking re-asserts itself, just for a moment. Why? How? Where does this fit in my carefully arranged world? Where’s the order in this?
Nowhere. Everywhere. What does it matter? I’m doing it anyway.
I quash the internal chirruping, or perhaps that’s my inner submissive, confident, reckless, now unleashed and asserting herself. Whatever, I simply get to my feet and walk to the bench. The time for questions and soul-searching is later. Now, I have other matters to consider.
“I’ll want you to remain still for the entire fifteen strokes. You can make as much noise as you like, but you’ll stay on that bench until I tell you to get up. If you move, I’ll add on an extra five strikes for each time you disobey me. Is that clear?”
I turn to look at him, uncertain. Surely no one could just lie there and keep quite still while they were spanked—especially not by an expert in the art of pain. I’ve been treated to a demonstration of Dan Riche’s sensual skills. I have no doubt at all he can deliver a very effective spanking too. I chew my lower lip, wondering if I should protest. Plead even. What to say?
“You look worried. If you think you might struggle to obey me, you can always ask for the restraints. I can fasten your wrists and ankles to prevent you moving. Would that help?”
“You’d tie me to the bench?” I’m not sure what sounds worse, being spanked or being helpless while it’s happening.
“Only if you
ask me to. It’s one certain way you can ensure you get through this quickly without it escalating.”
“But I’d be… I mean, I wouldn’t be able to get away. What if it’s too much and I…” I break off as my somewhat fragile hold on courage falters.
Dan Riche just smiles. “You can get away any time you want. That’s what your safe words are for. You say red at any point, and I’ll stop immediately—no questions, no argument. I’ll release you and we’re done. Amber, and I’ll take a time out, check how you’re doing. I’d do those things anyway if I felt you were struggling. But the safe words mean you can keep control.”
He pauses as I consider this new twist, as I ponder the power of the safe word. He doesn’t rush me, and I appreciate that. At last I turn to him again.
“I’d like the restraints, please. Sir.”
“Good call.” He gestures toward the bench again, and I move to stand beside it.
“Do I just…?”
“Lean over it. I’ll adjust the height to suit you. Your feet should be on the floor on this side, and your hands stretching as far down as you can reach on the other side. The top tilts sideways to help shove your bottom up.”
He flicks a lever and one side of the bench seat lifts up, the padded surface now raised at the side closest to me, the lowest edge facing away from me.
I can see how my bum will be perfectly positioned for his hand. If he does intend to use his hand, that is. I haven’t missed the dizzying selection of paddles, whips, and canes displayed on shelves around the room. He could choose anything from there, I suppose. Maybe I should ask.
I remember the pep talk he gave me earlier. He hasn’t yet told me to only speak when I’m asked a question, but I really don’t want to take any risks—not now that the consequences are so imminent.
“May I ask a question, Sir?”
He raises one eyebrow, and I think perhaps he looks impressed that I remembered my manners. That gives me a warm glow in the pit of my stomach. Pleasing him pleases me. Another first for this evening. Another new experience to file away and ponder over later.
