Darker

by Ashe Barker

  Before I had a chance to make any hasty decisions, and as it turned out spoil a seriously good day, Nathan leapt in with plans of his own. He needed to go over to Greystones, he told us, some stuff to talk through with Tom, details for the festival and such like. And would I like to come with him?

  Nando’s is nice, but the prospect of some ‘just us’ time with Nathan is much, much nicer. A no-brainer really. I smiled, said I’d love to go to the farm with him.

  “I thought we’d walk rather than take the car. That okay with you?” Nathan’s smiling at me as we wave Mrs Richardson and Rosie off.

  “Yes, lovely.” Greystones is only about half an hour’s walk away, straight across the moor. It’s much quicker on a quad bike, I gather, but that’s a skill I’ve yet to master. Walking’s good, though, especially as today is one of the few days this summer when it hasn’t rained. I nip off upstairs to find my lovely hiking boots, the ones Nathan gave me as a surprise present soon after I arrived here, and decide to take my waterproof jacket along just in case.

  Ten minutes later we’re strolling, hand in hand, along a footpath marked with bright yellow acorns, heading uphill onto the moors behind Black Combe. Barney invited himself along with us so he’s ambling behind. We pass a couple of other intrepid souls coming in the other direction, Brontë Way enthusiasts no doubt, maybe headed for the Wuthering Heights shrine at Top Withens. Everyone’s sociable out here on the moors so we nod, murmur our “good days”, and carry on. I glance back and see our new friends are taking a somewhat muddy detour from the path, giving Barney a wide berth. He’s just standing watching them, bless him, but he is definitely a formidable sight. I take pity and click my tongue for him to stop tormenting the tourists and catch us up.

  The landscape is particularly eye-catching today. The late summer wildflowers are glittering, their bright whites, golds and purples contrasting sharply with the lush greens brought about by the copious amount of water that’s descended upon us this year. I remember vividly my first encounter with the Oakworth moors—I nearly bloody drowned that night in rain of biblical proportions. I recognise some of the flowers—the purple candle-like flowers of the vervain, and the bright orange snapdragons in the marshy spots. I can also pick out clumps of touch-me-nots hiding in the shade, and the pretty white flowers of the virgin’s bower as it clambers and trails its way through the hedgerows.

  For all that he’s lived here for four years, Nathan seems to not know any of the names of the flowers, although he agrees with me that they’re very pretty. But can I please get a move on and stop poking about in the grass! I smile sweetly at him, and poke some more.

  Eventually we crest the rise overlooking Greystones, and can see the stone farm buildings below us in the distance. The house is solid, sturdy like Black Combe, though not as big. Three, maybe four bedrooms. I know that the ground floor has a large kitchen, and a spacious lounge with a huge wall-mounted television, site of many laddish football and beer fests in the past, I gather, though Nathan hasn’t spent any evenings here since I’ve been at Black Combe. There’s also a dining room, but I get the impression it’s not used a great deal as pretty much all activity is centred on the kitchen—if it involves food—or the television.

  There’s also a huge barn, set at a right angle to the house. The two buildings share a cobbled yard where chickens tend to scratch around and Tom’s two border collies try to round them up. Today, though, the dogs are nowhere to be seen, and neither is Tom’s Land Rover.

  “Looks like he’s out. Was he expecting you?” I’d assumed Nathan had arranged to meet Tom here, but apparently not.

  Nathan just shrugs. “He’ll be around somewhere. We’ll wait for him.” He catches hold of my hand and tugs me in the direction of the farm.

  Ten minutes later we’re in the cobbled farmyard being investigated by a crowd of fractious chickens and two extremely belligerent and very noisy geese. I’m much happier poking at wild flowers than cosying up to hostile poultry so I stick close to Nathan. He seems unconcerned, just marches up to the front door and tries the knob. It’s locked.

  “You’re right, he’s not here.” Well, duh, no Land Rover, big clue.

  I just nod, thinking it’s been a lovely walk anyway, in spite of all the squawking and hissing now coming from the guard-geese.

  “Come on, let’s have a look round.” Again, Nathan grabs my hand and tows me off, this time in the direction of the barn. I follow willingly, anything to put a bit of distance between me and those geese. The massive barn door opens off the courtyard. Originally it would have been designed to accommodate a cart, presumably laden with hay or whatever farmers of yesteryear needed to shift about the place, and is now well big enough for a tractor. Nathan lets go of my hand and shrugs off his waterproof jacket before heaving it open. He leaves his jacket dangling from the oversized handle on the outside of the door and steps inside. I follow him. Barney seems not inclined to join us inside, preferring to plop himself down close to the outer wall, in a patch of shade. The geese, mercifully, seem satisfied that they’ve successfully defended their territory and driven us out of the courtyard. Barney clearly doesn’t count. They quieten down and make no attempt at pursuit.

  The barn is huge and dappled with light streaming in through windows high up in the roof. Nathan has moved to the middle of the building and is standing looking up into the loft above his head. I stay where I am by the door, a little awed at the size of this space. Despite its use for animals, and farm storage, the place is remarkably clean. The floor has obviously been recently swept, and the structure is watertight and sound. I suppose Tom Shore would insist on that—he seems the type to want things in good order.

  There are no animals in residence just now, unless you count the semi-wild cats slinking around in the loft. I point a couple out to Nathan.

  “Yeah, Tom likes to keep cats around. Controls vermin.”

  I shudder. “Vermin? You mean rats? Are there rats in here?” I’m looking around me wildly now, and I rush to get close to Nathan again. He can fight off any rats. And the geese if it comes to it.

  “Can’t see any. I expect the cat strategy works pretty well.”

  I certainly hope so, but I’m not sure I’m totally convinced. Nervous, I try to steer Nathan back towards the door. “Well, there’s no one here. Shall we go? We can always come back later, when he’s in. Maybe phone him to make sure…?”

  He’s not going anywhere, apparently. Instead, he turns to me, a familiar gleam in his gorgeous dark eyes. “You’re right again, Miss Byrne. He’s definitely not here.”

  Miss Byrne?

  He continues, “But we are. Just the two of us. I think we could put this barn to good use. Fancy a little ball game?”

  “I… What?” Ball games sound sort of interesting, but the thought of those rats lurking in the corners, hiding, watching me. Waiting…

  His tone is slightly mocking as he continues. “You heard. And stop looking so worried—there are no rats here. Or is it me you’re scared of?”

  I look up at him sharply, surprised he’d even want to ask that. “You? No, of course not! But are you sure? About the rats, I mean?”

  “Yes. Certain. Now, about those balls…”

  I regard him carefully for a few moments, and cast one last look around the barn. No harm in checking. Then, “What if someone comes in? While I’m doing whatever you have in mind, with your balls?”

  “No one’s coming in. And I’m not talking about my balls, though you’re very welcome to play with them too, if you’ve a mind to. Later. No, I’m talking about your balls.” He grins wickedly, clearly finding my baffled expression amusing. “These balls, to be exact.”

  He slips his hand into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a small cloth sack, the sort you might get from a jeweller’s. It’s made of red velvety fabric, and closed by a drawstring around the top. He dangles it from his forefinger, swinging it hypnotically in front of me.

  “What’s that?” I ask suspi
ciously. “Nipple clamps?”

  “I said a ball game, Miss Byrne. You need to concentrate. Though if you want nipple clamps too I could certainly improvise something for you. Would you like that?”

  “No. No, thank you. Though it’s kind of you to offer.” I’m beginning to enter into the spirit of this now, and can feel myself starting to moisten. And I’m desperate to know what’s in that little bag. I reach for it, but he whips it behind his back.

  “Say please, like a good little sub.”

  “Please. Sir.” I add the last for good measure, though my sarcastic tone is somewhat less than submissive.

  He just smiles, shakes his head sadly. “You’ll have to do much better than that, Miss Byrne. Say please nicely. And mean it.”

  His voice has hardened, become firm, unrelenting, and I know this is serious now. This is Nathan in Dom mode, and with some surprises on offer. This means I’m in for a hard time, possibly, but I know it’ll be worth it. It always has been. And Nathan the Dom can always bring out Eva the submissive—effortlessly it seems.

  “Please, sir, show me what’s in the bag.” This time my tone is soft, respectful. Suitably subdued. It works, and with a smile he drops the bag into my outstretched palm. I carefully untie the string loop around the top and open it to peer inside.

  There are two small, egg-like balls in the bottom of the bag. They look to be held together with a piece of cord. I pour them out onto my hand, and they roll jerkily across my palm before I close it around them. At first I thought they were made of metal because the bag seemed heavy, but now I see they’re made of some sort of silicone. The linking cord is silicone too, and has a longer length at one end. As I hold them in my hand I can feel that they’re weighted inside to cause the uneven rolling motion. They remind me of some magic beans I once had as a small child—I played with those for hours, marching them down the stairs. I somehow doubt that’s what Nathan has in mind now.

  But what does he have in mind? I glance up at him questioningly. “What are these? Sir?”

  He smiles at my belated politeness. “Very good. But you do need to practise. I want that to roll off your tongue rather better. And talking of rolling, and tongues, though that comes later, these are Ben Wa balls. Or something very similar.” At my puzzled expression he continues, clarifying for me. “They go inside you. And the weights in them make them roll and move around when you do. Wonderful sensation. Or so I understand. Would you like to try them, Miss Byrne?”

  I tighten my hand around them, rocking it from side to side to feel the shifting weights inside the little egg-shaped balls bumping and rolling against my fingers. It does indeed feel…sensual. And I can only start to imagine how that will feel inside my vagina. But still, here? In a barn? Where Tom or one of his farm workers might walk in on our little floorshow at any time? Where there might even be rats lurking in corners, no matter how efficient the feral cats?

  I get no time to ponder further on the wisdom of all this. “If you wouldn’t mind, Miss Byrne, I’d like you to undress, please. I want you naked for this.”

  “Naked? Here?”

  “Yes, Miss Byrne. Naked. Here. Now.” His tone is stern and unrelenting, and he expects no further debate. I know when to back down, so I take a deep breath, and start to undress.

  “I’ll take your jacket, if you don’t mind. And the balls.” He holds out his hand, and I pass him my Rohan jacket. He takes the balls in his other hand, before slipping them into his pocket. As I crouch down to untie the laces on my tough walking shoes and roll off my socks, he strolls over to where several large bales of hay are stacked against the far wall of the barn, directly under one of the roof lights so bathed in summer sunshine. He spreads my jacket across the top of a bale, about three and a half feet high. I guess that’s where we’re going to be playing, then.

  He turns back to me, leans back to prop one hip against the edge of the bale, and watches me while I continue to undress. I’m no longer shy around Nathan, but I am terribly conscious that we could be disturbed at any moment. I don’t doubt Tom will have no objection to our being here. He probably won’t even mind what we’re doing in his barn as there are no animals in here for us to scare. But even so…

  I swallow my doubts—no point at all in voicing them when Nathan’s in this mood. Best to go with it and enjoy the fun. It only takes me a couple of minutes to lose the rest of my clothing, which I fold and place neatly beside me on the floor of the barn. When I’m finished, I stand back up straight and wait for his instructions. I’ve learnt it’s generally best not to anticipate. Sure enough, he waits for a few moments, clearly enjoying the sight of me naked, surrounded by farm machinery and bales of hay, and ready for whatever he chooses to do next. At last, he beckons me to come over to him. I walk carefully across the floor, conscious that I’m barefoot. I’m still far from happy about the possibility of something fast and furry shooting out from under the hay. And I definitely don’t want to step in anything they might leave behind…

  When I reach him, Nathan drops a quick kiss on my mouth before placing his hands on my waist and lifting me effortlessly onto the bale of hay behind him. He seats me on top of my jacket, my legs dangling. He places his hands on the inside of my knees and parts my thighs enough that he can stand between them. He rakes my body with his eyes, which if anything seem even darker than usual, then he slips his hands behind me to pull me towards him. He kisses me again, this time a long, deep kiss. His tongue is inside my mouth, and he tastes wonderful. I tangle my hands in his hair, loving the smooth softness of it as it slips between my fingers. Then my tongue is in his mouth, chasing his tongue, tangling with it as he sucks and nibbles. Then he gently scrapes his teeth across my lower lip before drawing that into his mouth. He moves his hands lower, cupping my bottom as he continues to play with my mouth, seemingly in no hurry to move this along. Me neither, as I manage to completely forget all my earlier concerns about unwanted company, of either the two-legged or long-tailed variety.

  At last, he lifts his head, smiles warmly at me. “Christ, you’re lovely. You turn me on so much I can’t think straight. Now, where were we?”

  “You were talking balls, sir.” I like to be helpful.

  He narrows his eyes at me, and nods slightly. “Ah, yes. Balls.” He reaches into his pocket to retrieve the silicone eggs, glances at them rolling innocently across his palm. “So, Miss Byrne, I’d like you to lie back, please, and open your legs wide for me.”

  Now this is a position I definitely like. I shuffle back onto the bale a little farther, enough to be able to bring my heels up and place them on the edge, and I spread my thighs wide. Nathan maintains eye contact with me as he trails the backs of his fingers along my cleft, from my tight little anus, across my labia and finally circling my clit. He does this slowly, deliberately, several times, a slight smile playing across his lips as he watches me writhe under his hands, feels the moisture gather At last, he slowly inserts just the tip of his finger into my slick, wet channel. I gasp, thrusting upwards for more, but he places his other hand, the one still holding the little balls, across my stomach to keep me in place.

  “Keep still, Miss Byrne. I’ll tell you when it’s time to move.” He waits until I’m settled, perfectly still again, before he slides his finger deep inside me. I can’t prevent the moan of pleasure that escapes me. My eyes roll shut, but he insists I open them again, refusing to move or touch me again until I do.

  “Keep your eyes open, and looking at me, Miss Byrne. I want to watch you unravel. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” My voice is just a whisper, but it’s enough. He withdraws his finger, only to slide it back again, this time accompanied by two more. I catch my breath again, my eyes widening as he plunges deep.

  “Is that good, Eva?”

  “Yes.” Again I’m whispering.

  “You’re so hot and wet. And tight. I think you’re loving this, aren’t you?” He continues to finger-fuck me, curling his longest middle finger to make sure he hits t
hat exact spot on my inner wall to make me convulse and clench around him as the ecstasy builds. “Tell me, Eva, are you loving this as much as I am?”

  “Yes. Oh yes.” I’m still managing the eye contact, but only with a supreme effort of will, and despite his hand on my stomach, my hips are gyrating wildly. He seems not to mind my movements now, and when he shifts his hand slightly to position his thumb on my clit, rubs firmly, once, twice, that does it. Whatever his instructions I close my eyes as my orgasm bubbles and explodes, and I’m flying. His fingers are still inside me as I clench and squeeze, my inner muscles no longer under my control as the climax takes over. He continues to stroke my clit, drawing every last shudder and tremor from me before at last I’m still again, quiet. He leans forward to kiss my navel before finally sliding his wonderful, clever fingers out of my vagina.

  “Well, you’re nice and wet now. I don’t think we’ll need this. At least, not yet.” He pulls a tube of lubricant from his other jeans pocket then drops it onto the bale beside me. Talk about coming prepared, quite the Boy Scout. I can’t stop the slight smile at the thought, and he catches it.

  “Something amusing you, Miss Byrne? Let’s see if we can really bring a smile to your face…” And I gasp as he uses the fingers of his left hand to gently part my labia and swiftly slides first one little egg, then its twin, deep into my pussy. He uses his fingers to push them up deep inside me, snugly held within my slick channel. And he’s right about the lubricant—my body is utterly unresisting.