by Ashe Barker
“Ten? That’s ambitious. I’m impressed.”
“Oh.” My heart sinks a little. I want to impress him, but if Jared thinks ten is a lot… shit.
Jared chuckles. “Baby steps, Molly. We stop at six, less if I decide you’ve had enough.” I’m still processing that when he speaks again. “I can warm you up first with a hand spanking if you like. I do advise that, though these strokes won’t count against the six.” He rubs large circles across my bottom as he speaks, his palm pressing hard, massaging me into relaxed acquiescence.
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
My body is sinking into the table as the tension I had been feeling dissipates. That state of relaxed well-being evaporates in a moment when he starts to spank me.
“Ooh! Ow! Sir, please…!”
Jared ignores my protests as he rains rapid slaps down on both my buttocks. I twist against the table, seeking to avoid the blows. He stops and steps away from me.
“When you’re being punished I expect you to keep still and remain in position. You can make as much noise as you like—this time—but no moving.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry…”
“Get back in position then.” I shift to comply. “Good. Just lift your bottom a little higher, please. You need to offer me the best angle possible for maximum impact. I want to teach you a lesson with this spanking, a memorable one. And you want to learn it, right?”
“Right. I understand.” And it’s true, I do. More or less. I need this to hurt in order to anchor it firmly in my subconscious, along with the required obedience that will be attached to the pain he is about to inflict. With that in mind, I raise my bum an extra inch or two, acutely conscious of my smarting cheeks now fully exposed and vulnerable.
“Good girl, Molly.” Jared starts spanking again, a series of rapid, sharp slaps on both cheeks, then shifting his attention down onto the backs of my thighs. I’m especially tender there, and can’t contain my squeals of pain. By the time he pauses to pick up the paddle from the table alongside me, my entire bottom is burning. “Lift up again, please. And don’t move until I tell you that you can.”
I manage a tight little nod and do as I’m told.
Jared’s arm swings, there’s a brief rush of air, then a sharp crack as the paddle connects with my bottom.
“Aagh! Christ,” I mutter. The first stroke lands in the centre of my right buttock and it hurts. It bloody well hurts a lot, more than I ever imagined. The burst of agony brings me right up onto my toes, my fingers clawing at the unyielding wood of the table top.
“One,” announces Jared, shifting his stance slightly.
He swings again, and the second stroke sears my left buttock. I yelp, my breath catching in my throat, but I remain still.
“Two. Better.” Jared pivots on his heel slightly, readying himself for the next stroke. It lands swiftly, a burst of pain exploding on my right side, just above the first.
“Jesus,” I gasp, drawing comfort from the fact that I’m halfway through my punishment now and not reduced to a quivering wreck. Yet.
“Nearly there.” Jared confirms my count as he lines up the next stroke. “Four.”
I let out a startled scream. For some reason I’d expected this one to land on my left side, in a spot to mirror the last one. Jared is ringing the changes though and drops this on the back of my right thigh, just where it meets the lower curve of my buttock. It’s absolute fucking agony and I’m starting to cry.
I’m angry with myself. I never imagined he’d actually hurt me so much I’d break down in tears. What an idiot I am. How naïve could I be?
“Molly? Remember, you have your safewords.” Sensitive to my shifting reactions, Jared has paused. “You have two more to go, but we can take a time out. There’s no rush.”
I want this to be over. I want to know I weathered my first—well, second—spanking and survived it. I want him to cuddle me and praise me and fuck me until all of this is in the past and I’m his obedient little subbie once more. So, there is a rush.
“Now. Do it now, please. Finish it… sir.”
“You sure?”
I nod, frantic that he should just deliver the final two spanks, then tell me it’s over.
Jared does not disappoint me.
“Five.” That one lands on the upper curve of my left cheek and takes my breath away. I am chewing on my lower lip, panting. My entire bottom feels to be ablaze. But I remain motionless, just as instructed. Almost finished. So close. So. Fucking. Close.
“Six.” The paddle connects with my smarting flesh one last time, this stroke blistering across my left upper thigh. I’m up on my toes again, grasping at the far edge of the table for support or I might crumple to the floor.
There’s a clatter as the paddle lands on the table, then Jared’s palm between my shoulder blades both grounds and reassures me. He moves to stand behind me, and I wince as the fabric of his jeans brushes the burning skin on my buttocks and thighs. He leans over, his hands planted on the table on either side of my shoulders, his lips close to my ear.
“Breathe in, Molly, then out. Slowly.”
I manage to do as he says, though my breaths are ragged and uneven. Tears stream down my cheeks, but at Jared’s insistence I concentrate on dragging in gulps of fresh air, then exhaling.
“In. Out. In. Out.” Jared controls and regulates until I am steady once more. Then he straightens. “I promised to fuck you over this table. I am a man of my word, Molly. Spread your legs. Wide.”
Yes! Despite my lingering tears my lips curve in a satisfied smile. I was punished, and I suppose I did deserve it though it was horrible while it was going on. But now I’ve earned this. I widen my stance.
Not enough it would seem, as Jared nudges my ankles a little further apart. I start to push myself up from the table.
“No. Stay there.” The command is quiet, but delivered in a tone that brooks no debate. I remain in place, but twist my neck to watch him over my shoulder.
Jared toes off his trainers then pulls his T shirt over his head and drops it onto the tiles beneath our feet. His jeans soon follow. He is wearing nothing underneath. He bends to produce a condom from the back pocket of his discarded denims, then meets my gaze. His eyes are dark, the grey deepened to almost black, the shade matching his short-cropped hair. Even as a convicted prisoner Jared North carried an aura of power, a certain presence that drew me to him. Here, in his own environment, his dominant persona in full sway, he is larger than life and utterly compelling. I blink, momentarily overwhelmed.
“Molly? Are you okay?” He frowns and pauses in the act of snapping the foil surrounding the condom.
“Yes, sir, I just… You can be very intimidating, do you realise that?”
He inclines his head. “It goes with the territory. But you can say no to me, I’ve told you that already.”
In theory, yes. In practice, I find that prospect hard to visualise. And nothing could be further from my mind.
“I don’t want to say no.”
“I’m relieved.” He smiles at me. “What do you want right now, Molly?”
“I’m not sure. I feel a bit shaky, that’s all. It’ll pass.” Unbelievably, out of nowhere, I start to cry. Great heaving sobs, I cover my face, hope that he won’t press on with fucking me until I’ve had a moment to collect myself.
Jared mutters a curse, then scoops me up from the table and strides across the room. He carries me from the kitchen and up the stairs, back into the huge bedroom. In moments I am lying on the bed, my nose pressed against the muscled plane of his shoulder, my breasts flattened against his wide chest as Jared wraps his arms around me and holds me against him. I’m shaking, sore, and I feel utterly worthless, a grown woman allowing herself to be spanked like a little girl. I cling to Jared, trusting him to make this all okay again, to resurrect my fragile self-respect.
Jared grabs the duvet and wraps it around the pair of us. He’s warm, solid, so sure of himself, and
of me. His quiet strength and utter confidence somehow seep into me, bolstering my shattered self-esteem as he continues to hold me until my sobs subside. He is murmuring soft, soothing words, words of approval, praise, reassurance, his palm tracing large, slow circles between my shoulder blades. When my gulping breaths finally reduce to an occasional sniffle, he sits up and rummages in the bedside drawer for a moment, and manages to produce a small bar of chocolate.
“Open your mouth, Molly,” he commands, then he pops a lump of the sweet stuff on my tongue. It tastes divine, the sugar rush calming me quickly as the chocolate softens in my mouth.
“Can I have some more?” I peer up at him, hopeful.
“As much as you like.” He grins at me. “Is there anything else you’d like? A drink?”
“Not unless you can rustle up a one-shot latte.”
“I have coffee.”
I shake my head. Coffee needs making, and the apparatus is downstairs. What I need most right now is for Jared to remain where he is, holding me. And more chocolate, naturally. I part my lips to accept another piece.
“I’m sorry, that was my fault.” He kisses my hair as he shifts us both into a sitting position. “I know now, though, that you’re a snuggler after you’ve been punished. Feeling steadier now?”
“Yes, thank you. I don’t know what happened; one moment I was fine, then the next I was suddenly so miserable and I felt like a fool.”
“Sub-drop. It’s common enough, a reaction to the rush of endorphins. I moved on too fast. Next time I’ll take better care of you.”
“Next time?” I don’t even want to think about being spanked again, ever.
“Yes, next time. You’re sure to slip up and I’m a stern dom, so it’s inevitable that your bottom will bear the consequences. But you got through it just now, and you will again. And you’ll learn each time. Just as important, so will I, and I’ll provide the aftercare you need—cuddles, chocolate, a one-shot latte, time to cry if you need to, or to talk. You can trust me on that.”
“I know.” I brush my lips across his. “I don’t want to talk right now though, if that’s all right.”
“Okay. So…?”
“I’d really like it if you’d fuck me now. Does that still count as aftercare?”
He flips me onto my back and props himself up on one elbow to grin down at me as I wince in pain. My bottom is decidedly tender and shows no sign of easing any time soon. “Whatever gets the job done, sweetheart. I reckon you’ll prefer to be on all fours though, right?”
“Right, sir.”
He kneels up and gestures for me to roll over. I need no further encouragement and quickly shift into position.
I’m delighted that Jared had the presence of mind to keep the condom in his hand as he carried me up here. He snaps the foil and sheathes himself, then moves behind me.
“Such lovely marks, Molly. Your arse is bright red, with pale circles where the holes on the paddle were.”
“Is that why it had holes in it then? To make patterns on my bum?” I wriggle the piece of my anatomy under discussion, in the hope he’ll take the hint.
“It reduces wind resistance, means I can hit harder with it. Not that I made use of that design feature this time. I went really easy on you, Molly girl, this being your first paddling.”
“It didn’t feel like it. Do you mean it can hurt more than that?”
“Oh, yes. I’ll give you a demonstration now if you don’t stop squirming about.”
I go still as he slides his fingers through my dripping folds. I shift my knees further apart, opening as wide as I can for him.
Jared rams three fingers inside me, the sudden penetration causing me to cry out in surprise.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No, sir.”
“Thought not. Feel free to squeal as much as you like.” He withdraws his fingers, then spears them deep inside my pussy again. He twists his wrist so as to make contact with my G-spot, which he rubs mercilessly as I pant my joy.
“I’m going to come.”
“Not yet.” His tone is implacable.
“I can’t help it. Please.”
“Not unless you want another six strokes with the paddle. Remember that design feature, Molly.”
I squeeze my inner muscles around his fingers in an attempt to quell my burgeoning response. It works, briefly, but he soon overrides my flimsy resistance and I’m hurtling toward climax again.
“Sir,” I wail, despairing, my bottom clenching in anticipation of the paddling I know I can’t avoid.
He takes pity on me and withdraws his fingers, only to replace them with the length of his cock. He drives it balls-deep inside me, my sensitive inner walls convulsing as the blessed friction sends waves of pure, exquisite sensation coursing through my nervous system. I let out a scream.
“Liking that, Molly?”
“Yes, sir.” My pussy is spasming, contracting around his wide cock. He’s slides out, slowly this time, then thrusts back in. He’s huge, stretching me more than I imagined possible, but it feels like bliss. I know I can’t suppress my response, however many strokes of that bloody paddle it might earn me. “I’m going to come. I’m sorry—”
“Feel free.” He delivers another long, slow stroke, and my resistance shatters.
My orgasm seizes me, whirls me around and spits me out. I’m floating, weightless, my senses humming as my muscles spasm and contract. I lower my forehead onto the mattress as Jared continues to drive his erection in and out of my pussy, savouring the aftershocks as my body relaxes again. Jared takes that as a signal to reach around under me to caress my swollen clit. In moments I am coming again, gasping as he teases not one but two more climaxes from me.
Jared slows, the pressure on my clit lessening as I writhe under him, my breathing ragged. He releases the quivering bundle of nerve endings to place both his palms on my smarting buttocks then presses his fingers into my punished flesh. I whimper; it hurts. Perversely though, rather than seeking relief I push my bottom back to increase the sensation. I’m fast realising that pain is the flip side of pleasure, and I’m finding it harder and harder to separate the two.
Jared eases my buttocks apart and slides his fingers into the groove between them. He circles my arsehole with his fingertip, pressing the ring of muscle.
“Let me in, Molly.”
His command is delivered in a soft tone. I know he won’t force me, or press the point if I’m unwilling. In this moment though, there is nothing I wouldn’t allow Jared North to do.
I nod, and will my body to relax as Jared pushes his finger through the tight rosette. He’s gentle but firm, and my body capitulates readily. The first knuckle, then the second. Soon his finger is fully inside my arse. He withdraws then buries it again as he slides his cock from my cunt. As he thrusts his cock back in he pulls his finger out, alternating the strokes with artful skill.
Somehow, I have no idea how he does it, he slides his free hand under me again to reconnect with my clit. He flicks, rubs, and I orgasm again.
This is the most powerful release yet, and seems to go on forever as Jared plays my body like a finely tuned instrument, teasing the tune he desires from me. I tremble, shiver, clench, and convulse as wave after wave of sensation pulses through me, until I drop limp onto the mattress.
Jared follows me down, his cock still pumping in and out of my pussy until with a grunt of pleasure he drives it deep and stops. His erection jerks hard inside me as he comes, then he slumps onto the bed beside me. If his weight against my buttocks causes me any pain, I’m way beyond caring. His cock is still inside me as I reach to trail my fingers down his cheek.
“Thank you, sir,” I murmur. “I think I could manage that coffee now.”
Chapter Eight
I come awake slowly, my mood a curious blend of elation and sadness. Why? What’s happened? What’s different?
Molly. Molly is the difference. She’s here, hence my high, b
ut she leaves today, which accounts for my dampened mood. Still, she’ll be back. Never one to brood, I reach for her.
And come up with nothing. The bed beside me is empty, not quite cold but getting that way. She’s been gone for a while.
I leap out of bed and check the en suite. Nothing. I go out onto the landing and call her name, but I don’t need the answering emptiness to tell me that I’m alone in the house.
Shit! What the fuck went wrong?
I rack my brain but come up with nothing. We were fine. Better than fine. There’s no reason for her to run out on me without a word.
I give myself a calming lecture as I throw on jeans, a sweater, and a pair of decent trainers. She probably fancied a breath of fresh air. I’ll find her outside, admiring the views or some such thing. Molly’s a city dweller and they do tend to wax a bit lyrical over the rugged moorland landscape.
Downstairs I find Molly’s weekend bag where she left it in the hallway. Her coat’s gone though, and so is her phone, which she plugged into my charger last night. I check my patio and cobbled forecourt, but she isn’t there. I scan the further horizons and my heart sinks. A dark grey mist is rolling in from the northwest. Although the southern views remain bathed in bright early morning sunshine, that happy state of affairs won’t last long. The weather can change in minutes out here, and it looks as though it’s about to.
I try calling her but without much optimism. Vodafone does their best, but it’ll be a while if ever before we get a half-decent signal out here. Sure enough, the call goes to voicemail.
Seriously worried now, I rummage around in my kitchen drawer and find a small pair of binoculars. I charge back upstairs and up the second flight of steps into my studio, silently offering up thanks for the three hundred and sixty degree views from up there. If she’s taken a walk there’s a possibility I might be able to spot her, provided she hasn’t got too far and isn’t already enveloped in mist.
My luck’s in, and hers too. I spot her. She’s due north of the house, I’d guess about a mile and a half away and heading home. She’s obviously spotted the mist approaching and has had the sense to realise she needs to get back here before it reaches her. She’s trying to outpace the gathering clouds, but she’s not going to make it. Once the fog surrounds her, she’ll be hopelessly disoriented, unable to pick out any landmarks or find her way back.
