by Ashe Barker
“Just Sir will do, girl.”
“I mean, I mean, oh…”
“Fuck, that’s good. So tight.”
“Yes, please, Sir, harder, faster…” I’m gasping my pleas, almost incoherent as my pleasure builds.
I’m desperate, needy, clenching wildly around him as he plunges his cock into me. My orgasm starts deep down in my lower abdomen, tightening, coiling, poised and ready to burst. Dan’s cock lurches, twitches hard and sharp inside me. He plunges forward one last time, planting himself deep as his own release takes over. I’m quivering and spasming around him as his semen surges out of his cock and fills me, its wet hotness swilling across my cervix and the walls of my pussy.
I would flop forwards, but Dan’s hands are around my waist, holding me in place. Slowly he retreats, withdrawing his cock, and only then does he allow me to sink into the rug. He lowers my body gently. I lie face down, dimly aware of the clink of metal as Dan unlocks the handcuffs. He rubs my wrists, his touch brisk and efficient as he restores the circulation fully to my aching muscles. He kneels alongside me as I roll onto my back.
Chapter Five
“Still insisting on keeping the plug?”
“What?”
“The plug. Let me take it out now.”
I’d forgotten it was there. How odd. I lift my knees and Dan slips his arm under them to roll my bum up off the rug. He leans around to seize the finger grip again, and this time pulls the plug smoothly from my body. He tosses it to one side, no doubt for me to see to the washing and disinfecting later. Dan sets great store by hygiene and I know my responsibilities in all this.
He moves to lie alongside me.
“You okay?”
I smile at him and nod.
“No problems with the gag?”
“Not after the first few seconds.” I look up at him, perhaps a little sheepish. “I would have made a lot of noise, Sir.”
“I know you would. Those first few minutes with the oil are a bitch. Still, worth it in the end?”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you.”
I take moment to wonder how he would know, though it’s obvious really. This isn’t the first time he’s done this with a submissive, he must have seen how others reacted before me.
He turns to drop a kiss on my lips, and it’s then I realize he’s still fully dressed. How does he manage this every time? I dismiss that question as I turn to snuggle into his chest, sinking my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.
“Tired?”
I am. Exhausted. “Yes, Sir. What time is it?”
“About half-past seven, I think. Why? Somewhere you need to be?”
“Bed. I could sleep for a week.”
“Shall I carry you up there?”
It’s a tempting prospect, but I’m happy just where I am. “Later. Could we just cuddle on the sofa for now? Is that all right, I mean, you do cuddles, don’t you?”
“Yes, sweetheart, I think you know I do cuddles.”
He does too. Sweet, beautiful, sensual cuddles. He lifts me onto the sofa then stretches out alongside me, cradling me in his arms. I’m asleep in seconds
* * * *
I awaken to silence. I roll over, stretch out my hand, but the other side of the bed is cool and empty. I’m alone.
I pry my eyes open, look across to Dan’s side of the bed to make sure. He isn’t there. I push myself up onto my elbow, shove the hair from my eyes and scan the bedside table for the clock.
Nine-twenty. And he’s left me a note. I reach for the sticky note pasted to the front of the radio beside the clock.
Had a call from the park. Marmoset in labor. Text me when you wake up.
Marmoset? What on earth is one of those? Whatever, it clearly needs Dan more than I do at this moment. I can make my own coffee if pushed. I shove off the duvet and sit on the edge of the bed. I’m naked, still aching in one or two interesting places, but I feel refreshed. I need coffee, a shower, clothes. But first I need my phone.
I grab one of Dan’s shirts from his wardrobe and pad off down the stairs in search of my bag. I switch on the kettle, then text Dan
I’m awake. Any idea when you’ll be back? What’s a marmoset?
I’m sipping my coffee, inhaling the caffeine gratefully when my phone pings.
A monkey. Did a caesarean. Still tied up though. Be a while yet. Sorry.
I read the message, and smile. I don’t mind amusing myself for a while, and it’s nice that he apologizes to me. I hadn’t expected that.
No problem. I might go for a walk. Not asking permission. Not quite.
Lake’s nice. If it rains, try Pencil Museum
He means Derwentwater, the lake on the edge of the town center. I’ve been there before, once or twice. I might stroll down there later then, could even hop on one of those cruise boats and do a spot of sightseeing. The Pencil Museum doesn’t appeal much. I went there on a school trip as a child and got told off for touching things in the gift shop. I continue to mull over the possibilities as I shower and towel my hair dry.
Of course, the one place I desperately want to go is the Childrens’ Services offices in Carlisle, but that will have to wait. At least Dan’s absence means I don’t have to concentrate on maintaining the pretense that everything’s fine. I made a crap enough job of that yesterday—I know he saw straight through me but decided not to call me on it. He wouldn’t let me off a second time, I’m sure of that. But he’s busy with his marmosets or whatever, so I don’t need to pretend that there’s nothing on my mind, no nagging worry about what’s happening to my sisters, what may have already happened while I was away. No agonizing over what my mother might have been up to and what might happen to her.
I dress in jeans and a warm sweater, and borrow an outdoor jacket of Dan’s, which I find hanging beside the door. He’s well equipped for Lake District weather. I should be, but somehow I never got into fell-walking. I like to look at the scenery, not hike through it in the rain.
I text Dan again as I set off.
Going to the lake. Might take a boat trip.
His reply is in just a few seconds. Sounds good. Don’t fall in
* * * *
The scenery around Derwentwater is truly stunning, a moody landscape immortalized by Beatrix Potter. I loved her stories as a child, and I can still remember her tales of chirpy little woodland creatures, their lives carved out of this changing yet timeless place. Wordsworth too took his inspiration from here, though I was always less fond of his works. Derwentwater is not one of the largest lakes but in my view, it’s one of the prettiest. The water can be ferocious in bad weather but the gentle ripples are calm and totally peaceful today, mirroring the hills of Borrowdale beyond.
The normal holiday season ended a few weeks ago, so it’s just the hardened walkers and a few foreign tourists today, but otherwise I have the place pretty much to myself. I walk down into Keswick town center, then through the pretty little park to the lakeside. I’m just in time to hop on one of the cruise launches, so I buy a ticket and join the half dozen or so others enjoying the late autumn sunshine on the top deck.
I sit on my own, near the front, idly watching the browns and golds of the season drift past me. The voice over the loudspeaker system tells of stately homes on the north shore, places frequented by a young Beatrix Potter. It tells of islands, one of which still has the ruins of an ancient long-dead house peeping from the undergrowth. I glance across, half listening as we pass Derwent Isle, St Herbert’s island, Ransholme island. I wonder how long before Dan can get away, his marmoset babies safely delivered. Despite my relief at not having to concentrate on looking happy and untroubled I do miss his company, not to mention his heavy palm prints on my bottom. Hopefully he’ll be back in time…
I pull out my phone and text him again.
I’m on a boat. Lovely day. Missing you.
The answer is not long in coming. Leaving soon. Back in about 2 hours.
I’ll still be on the boat. Wait for me.
Se
e you on the jetty
I hug myself, excited. The rest of the trip passes in a happy blur of anticipation.
Dan’s easy to pick out as the motor cruiser makes its way back across the lurching ripples toward the mooring at Keswick. A lone figure, tall, in dark leathers, he’s leaning against his motorbike. I wave as soon as he comes into view, and he lifts his hand in a return salute. I’m grinning like a fool by the time the boat lands. I fly down the gangplank and launch myself at him. He lifts me and swings me around, before planting me back on my feet and kissing me thoroughly. We’re both oblivious to the handful of tourists trooping across the mooring toward the car park, eager to be reunited in every possible way.
“Nice trip.” Dan mutters the words into my ear, his urgency graphically illustrated by the hard bulge under his leather biker’s trousers.
“Yes, Sir. But it’s good to be back. By the way, I like you in leather.” I check over my shoulder that the trickle of tourists have dispersed before I reach down to stroke the promising looking erection, encouraged as it swells further under my hand.
“You may not like me as much out of it. I seem to recall that your skin responds well to leather too. The tawse, I think…” He pats my bottom.
I snuggle close against the buttery softness of his jacket, inhaling the pungent scent of the hide. “When you used your belt, that time in Leeds, it was a punishment. Are you angry with me now?”
“No, Summer. I’m pleased to see you. I thought you’d spotted that already.”
“I did.” I caress his cock through his trousers, gratified as it leaps under my palm. “So, why the tawse?” I’m not scared, not of Dan, but still, the leather strap looked a bit severe.
“It’s not the instrument, it’s how it’s used. I can punish you with the tawse if you deserve that, teach you a lesson you’ll never forget. Or I can arouse you so much you forget your own name. I intend to demonstrate that to you. Later.”
“Later? Why not now?”
“Because I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since seven o’clock this morning. Come on.”
Leaving the bike balanced on its stand, he tugs me across the car park toward the National Trust tea room. He orders a pot of tea for two, a pile of sandwiches, and a couple of scones with a tub of cream. We tuck in—well, Dan does mainly. I grabbed a cup of soup earlier at one of the motor launch stopping off points. I do help him out with the cream scones though, always a weakness of mine.
We chat. He tells me about his marmosets, and the wallaby that the keepers thought was under the weather. Dan gave it an antibiotic injection and he’ll look in on it again tomorrow. I’m seeing the Dan I first met, really getting to know him. I’m very familiar with the Dom, now I’m coming to better understand the conscientious vet—the vet who comes out to a deserted car park to treat an injured badger just because some member of the public has turned up after hours. He loves his work, really cares for the animals, does his best for them. I recall the quirt. He told me he confiscated it from an over-zealous young jockey, to protect defenseless horses. Would he care for me as well? I believe he would. I’m glowing inside as we make our way back to our vehicles.
“See you at home. I’ll have the tawse ready and warmed up by the time you arrive.” Dan kisses me before he pulls his crash helmet on and starts the bike with a powerful kick.
I follow him out of the car park, but he’s gone by the time I reach the next corner, just a distant roar of his engine echoing in the still air.
* * * *
I lock the Discovery outside Dan’s house, then skirt his bike as I make my way to the door. It’s ajar, so I push it and walk in.
I’m grabbed from behind, whirled around and slammed against the back of the door. Dan’s mouth is slanting across mine before I have a chance to utter so much as a squeak of surprise. His tongue is in my mouth, swirling, tasting. I catch it in my teeth and suck it. His hand is at my waist. He slips it under my jacket and upwards to cup my breast. His fingers are still cool from the bike ride. I gasp and release his tongue.
Relentless, he pushes the cup of my bra down to free my breast, covers it with his chilled palm. My nipple swells and hardens instantly. Dan breaks the kiss, but only to bury his face in my neck.
“You smell so good, little sub. And you’re mine, all mine.”
“Yours, Sir.” The only proper response, I think. Despite his cold hands.
“I want you naked.” He steps back from me. “Now.”
“Of course, Sir.”
Moments later my clothes are in a pile at our feet in the hallway. Dan’s hands may have been cold, perhaps still are, but his eyes are all heat and lust as he watches me undress, then stand before him, waiting for his next command. His expression, so full of intent, frightens me, maybe a little, and excites me—a lot. I love that I can have this effect on him. His effect on me is devastating.
“Follow me.” He turns and walks away from me down the hall. He doesn’t look back, he knows I’ll be behind him. He leads the way into the dining room, an annex to the lounge. The tawse is on the table. Dan turns to me.
“No gag this time and no restraints. You can lean over the table, or a chair—your choice. But you’ll hold still and be quiet. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“If you move before I give permission or make too much noise, you’ll get no orgasm tonight. And you’re not to come until I tell you to. Any questions?”
His voice is curt, his words clipped. No honeyed tones here, no romancing. I wouldn’t know what to do with such pleasantries if he offered them. He means business. He’s going to test my boundaries tonight, shove them back a bit, maybe a lot. I want that. I want this. I want him.
“No, Sir.” I meet his gaze squarely, my confidence a near tangible presence. Where did this self-assurance come from? And where will it lead me?
He steps to one side, gestures to the table and chairs.
“I think the table, Sir.”
Dan merely nods. He waits, arms folded, his hip perched on the corner of the table as I step forward and lean across it. The tawse is lying across his thighs, ready.
“Tell me when you’re ready. I intend to finger-fuck you first, to get you warmed up a little.”
“Your hands are cold, Sir.”
“Are you complaining, girl?”
“No, Sir. Just saying…” Despite his words, I smile quietly to myself as he rubs his hands together before standing to take his position behind me.
“Thank you for your consideration, Sir. I’m ready now.”
“You certainly look to be. Open your legs.”
I spread my thighs wide, arching my back daintily as he’s taught me. I’m a diligent student. I take pride in my performance, much as I now understand Dan does. Each of us plays our part, plays it to the hilt for the other’s pleasure.
Dan slides his fingers down the furrow between my buttocks, pausing briefly at my anus to circle the tight entrance. “Not here, not this time. Sweet though.” He continues, plunging his fingers deep into my pussy. Just two at first, angled to caress my G-spot. It feels divine. I rotate my hips in appreciation.
Dan’s palm connects with my backside, the slap sharp, reverberating around the room. “I’ll tell you when to move.”
“My apologies, Sir. It just feels so good.”
“Does it? And this?” He withdraws, only to sink his fingers deep again, three this time. He thrusts several times, hard and sharp, and each stroke accurately trained on my G-spot.
“Yes, yes, Sir.” I groan into the polished wood of the tabletop, clutching the far edge with my fingers.
“When you know you’re close to coming, you’re to tell me. I want you right at the brink before I stop.”
“Why stop, Sir? I mean… Ow!”
Another sharp slap lands on my bum.
“Enough. Next time you speak to me, it will be to ask me to stop because you’re about to come. Do not leave it too late.”
I know when to shut up. I lie still, lo
ving the feel of his fingers inside me, caressing my inner walls, deliberately rubbing my G-spot, his thumb poised at the entrance to my anus. He presses lightly, eases just the tip of his thumb inside. I start—I thought he said…
“Your arse is too tempting. Concentrate, Summer. Tell me when.”
Seconds later I’m there. Or almost there. “Stop now, Sir.” I sob the words, torn between the need to obey, to submit my will to his, and the temptation to let him continue just that fraction longer, just enough to tip me over the edge. My submissive instincts, now so finely honed, win out.
Dan pulls his fingers from my cunt, smearing my moisture across the cheeks of my bum.
“So wet. And hot. Would you like me to fuck you, little slut?”
“Of course, Sir, always.” I’m gasping from the effort of suppressing my response, wishing he’d touch me again, just a little, anything would do. He could blow on me and I’d detonate.
But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. I’m to wait, he said so. I turn my head to face him. Dan straightens, reaches for the tawse.
“Ten strokes, five on each side. Then I’ll stop and check how you’re doing. If you’re still good, we’ll go again, another ten. I’ll check again, then ten more. You can stop me at any time with your safe word. Yes?”
“Yes, Sir. Thirty in total, is that right?”
“Maximum of thirty. Less if you safe word—or if I think you’ve had enough.” He pauses, then continues, his tone softer, “Don’t look so scared, little sub. I’m not out to hurt you. Relax into it, let your body take over. You’ll love this.”
I believe him. I smile, more or less, and close my eyes, try to relax
The first stroke is not at all what I’d been expecting. It’s almost a caress, a light brush of the leather against my skin.
