Unsure (Sure Mastery)

by Ashe Barker

  With a smile he gets up, goes over to the oak dresser and comes back with two soft black silk scarves. Prepared as ever, I can’t help thinking. Ex-Boy Scout probably. He obviously planned this, hoping I’d agree. And I have. He lifts me up and I’m sitting on the edge of the table, my bare legs dangling. I’m still wearing his shirt and nothing else. Without breaking eye contact he slowly unbuttons the shirt and slides it from my shoulders. He stands back to admire my naked form. His slight smile is appreciative, and I feel beautiful. And cared for as he gently pulls my hands behind me, then leans around me to tie them securely with one of the scarves, looping it around my wrists so I have no movement, but without causing discomfort. It feels strange, alien, but not unpleasant.

  “Is that okay? Not too tight?”

  “It’s fine,” I whisper. He takes my face between both his palms and drops a kiss on my lips. I realize I’m already wet, my clitoris swelling and throbbing, and he hasn’t even touched me. Ah, the power of the mind, the irresistible tug of anticipation…

  “Your safe word, Ashley. You can choose. Is there a word or phrase that means safety to you?”

  “Smithy’s Forge,” I answer, without hesitation. It sprang instantly to my mind.

  His eyebrows lift in surprise, but he nods. “That’ll be fine. If at any time you’ve had enough and you want me to stop, untie you, take off the blindfold, you just say your safe word and we’re done. You can stop what’s happening at any time. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, but can’t I just say ‘stop’? Wouldn’t that be simpler? I might forget the safe word.”

  He stands in front of me, takes my face in his hands again to look at me. His eyes are gentle, but serious too. His tone low as he explains. “When things get heavy or intense, people often say things like ‘stop’, ‘no’, ‘I can’t’, but they don’t mean it. They usually mean just the opposite, in fact. With a safe word there’s no mistake, no misunderstanding. I won’t ignore you and carry on, thinking you don’t mean what you say. Your safe word breaks into whatever’s happening, whatever I’m doing to you, and stops everything, instantly, no questions. And I’ll keep reminding you of it so you won’t forget.” He pauses for a moment, before adding, “You will be safe with me, Ashley.”

  I believe him, but don’t answer. I’m lost for words. Instead, I give voice to another small fear of mine. It’s not a big thing, but… “When you blindfold me, don’t go away and leave me, will you? I don’t like the dark much. Don’t leave me on my own.”

  “I’ll be here the whole time, Ashley. And because you’re new to this, and nervous, this first time I’ll tell you what’s happening, what I’m doing. If you want me to. Or not. It’s up to you.”

  I nod, close my eyes, and wait for the blindfold.

  Tom carefully covers my eyes and ties the soft scarf at the back of my head before dropping a quick kiss on my mouth. “Lie back, sweetheart. On the cushions.” With his hands on my shoulders he gently presses me backwards until I am lying on my back, comfortable and warm on the pile of cushions. I feel disorientated for a moment, vulnerable, but a light stroke of his hand across my breasts and a tender caress of my swollen nipples is enough to reassure me I am safe. And, I suspect, about to have a seriously good time.

  He lifts my bottom up to slide more cushions under me before lifting each of my feet in turn to place them on the edge of the table. I hear the scrape of a chair and know he’s taken a seat close to my feet. Between my legs. Sure enough, a moment later his hands are on my knees, gently but firmly spreading them, putting me on display. At his eye level.

  With some considerable conscious effort I don’t resist. Instead I lie still, conscious of his eyes on me, my pussy moist and swollen, and throbbing for him to touch me again. I allow him to look, to inspect me to his satisfaction, to know every delicate fold and sensitive lip.

  “Now who’s staring?” I remind him of his comment to me earlier, when he removed his shirt.

  “Not staring, love. Admiring. Wonderstruck. You’re so beautiful, so perfect.” The now-familiar clenching in my lower abdomen starts up again at his softly murmured words, the wetness gathering, flowing before his eyes. He notices. “You’re so wet, pink and glistening. For me. Do you want me to touch you, Ashley? To taste you?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, please.”

  His hands are on my inner thighs, sliding down to my core. His fingers resting in the slight hollow at the top of my legs, his thumbs—I think it must be his thumbs—gently caress the entrance to my pussy. He opens the delicate, swollen lips, softly stretching them. I jerk, gasp with pleasure.

  “What? What are you doing?”

  “I’m opening you, love. Am I hurting you?”

  “No. It feels wonderful.”

  “Good. And this?”

  I can’t contain the squeal of pure pleasure as he slides his tongue, rough and rasping, across the outer lips of my pussy before plunging deep between the lips he has spread with his thumbs. Incredibly, it is better that my hands are restrained and my eyes covered. All my senses are focused on this. On what he’s doing to me and the wonderful, intense ripples of pleasure shooting through me. I give myself over to him, to this, completely. Relaxing against the cushions I moan softly, my head thrashing from side to side as he tongue-fucks me. I accept it, take it, love it.

  “Come for me, Ashley. Come. Now.”

  The softly spoken command is enough, and my orgasm streaks through me, setting my whole body alight with that wonderful sensual electricity I am coming to know so well. I clench, his tongue still inside me as his thumbs move forward to rub my clitoris. How glorious! How bloody fucking fabulous! I’m shaking with the tension, as though my body is imploding as the dam bursts. I sink back to earth gently, conscious that he continues to stroke me, caressing me possessively from my clit to my anus with the backs of his fingers, as he trails kisses along my inner thighs.

  “Good so far?”

  The soft inquiry seems unnecessary to me, but I murmur my response, “Wonderful. Perfect.”

  “Thought so. What’s your safe word, Ashley?”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just checking. What is it, love?”

  “Smithy’s Forge,” I whisper.

  “Excellent.” And I hear the scrape of his chair, then his soft footsteps as he pads barefoot across the room.

  “Where are you going? What are you doing?” I feel suddenly exposed, left alone here on the table, my legs spread, my state of arousal dripping in readiness. In a moment, though, he’s back, again caressing my inner thighs with his gentle hands, and I feel his soft breath as he blows on my clit.

  “Did you miss me, love? Just getting your pudding. And can I say, you look very, very fuckable just now, Ashley, from where I’m sitting.”

  He eases a gentle finger inside me to demonstrate, and I squeeze down on it. Hard.

  He chuckles. “I’ll take that as your way of letting me know how you feel. Now, I’ve got something else for you.”

  His finger slides out, and he stands. I hear his chair scrape slightly, then the snap of a foil wrapper tearing. The condom? A few moments later his thumbs are again gently parting the lips of my vagina and I wait, relaxed, ready, longing for his cock to fill me.

  And I let out a traumatized scream as he penetrates me, fast and deep, with something long and hard and freezing cold. The icy length fills me totally, my inner walls spasming around the cruel intrusion. Instinctively I start to struggle, try to snap my legs shut, desperate to escape. But his body is there between my thighs, preventing me from moving. And his arm slung over my stomach keeps me pinned on the table. I’m still gasping, sobbing from the shock, and dismayed at his betrayal as he leans over me, places his lips on mine in a deep, treacherous kiss. His hands and his body weight hold me still while my body adjusts to the assault. I’m still shaking as he leans in to murmur in my ear.

  “Be still, love. You can relax again. It was a shock, not what you expected. But it doesn’t hurt. Does i
t?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure. It feels—odd. Uncomfortable. I don’t like it. Please, take it out. Please.” Then, “You promised me you wouldn’t, wouldn’t…” I’m scared now, and I can hear the betraying catch in my voice. So can he.

  Tom’s tone is low, firm. “What’s your safe word, Ashley? Do you remember it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you need to use it?”

  I hesitate for a moment, then, “No.”

  He lets out a sigh and I realize he’s been holding his breath. “Thank God.”

  “What is it?” I whisper, still shaking. “What did you put inside me?”

  “An ice pop. Strawberry. My favorite. And now, sweet Ashley, I’m going to lick it out of you.”

  “Oh. Oh God.”

  “No, Ashley. God has nothing at all to do with this. This is just you and me and an ice lolly. Enjoy.”

  I do. I do so enjoy. The soft heat of Tom’s tongue in contrast with the freezing burn of the ice pushed deep inside me is incredible, indescribably erotic. His gentle lapping is intimate, cleansing. My own heat melts the ice as quickly as he can lick it away and I can feel the cool rush of liquid inside me, trickling away. Tom’s thumb is gently brushing my clitoris throughout, bringing me again and again to the brink of orgasm. And each time, he stops, allows me to drift back, tantalizing and promising. He plays me, controls me, makes me wait.

  I see now why he made me come first, I could never have endured this intensity of stimulation if I hadn’t just climaxed, and the ebb and flow of near orgasm, this hovering on the brink is so much a part of what he’s teaching me, making me feel. The blindfold and my bound hands are part of it too, creating the sense of helplessness, of dependency on him. I need his skillful, gentle fingers, his hot tongue. I can’t do anything for myself, I need him. I find myself begging, pleading for release, desperate for him to let me come. At last, he does, his thumb mercifully caressing my clit for just that fraction longer, just that tiny bit more needed to tip me over the edge and into the whirlwind of the most powerful orgasm I’ve had yet. I moan—scream perhaps—past conscious thought now. I’m swirling on the wind, tossed around like a twig before dropping back to earth.

  I’m dimly aware of Tom’s long fingers reaching inside me again, circling and exploring me intimately to make sure no slivers of ice are left behind, before he stands. He places a hand on each of my knees and pushes me backwards, upwards, pressing my knees farther apart to fully open me. Holding me in position he plunges his thick cock into me, hard, fast, deep.

  Boneless, mindless, unresisting, I don’t cry out. I’m past that now, can only sigh to show the depth of my delight as he pulls back to thrust into me again and again. He’s waited his turn and now this is for him as much as for me. But I don’t feel used, as I so often did with Kenny. This is just well-earned and fair. Spent and totally sated already, my response is slow in building and I don’t expect to come again. But Tom is patient, he waits for me. He slows, gentles the thrusts and changes the angle of his entry to insure maximum impact for me. Using his fingers and thumbs he circles my nipples before squeezing them sharply, the new sensation re-kindling my arousal. And incredibly, I simmer, bubble gently to a soft, sweet and deeply satisfying climax moments before Tom’s own orgasm grips and twists him. I hear his curse as he stiffens above me, then I feel the last sharp, hard thrust as he forces himself deep within me, the impact with my cervix rocking me to my core.

  For me, this is an intensely emotional moment, a moment of giving and taking and sharing, of being cared for and of caring back. For the first time since he tied the scarf behind my back I wish my hands were free. I want to hold him, hug him to me. Keep him close.

  A few minutes later I’m perched again on the edge of the table, still nude. My hands are free now and my eyes uncovered. Tom is kissing me, telling me how beautiful I am, how tight and hot and responsive. And he’s right. I am. I’m all those things, here, now with him. I can’t get a word out. Or in edgeways. Eventually I just lift my hand and place my fingers over his lips. And say the only words I want to say to him at this moment.

  “Thank you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Stay the night.”

  Tom’s invitation is tempting. Especially as the alternative is to get dressed and start the hike back down to Smithy’s Forge. Four bottles of Bud means no way am I riding the quad again tonight. But I’m sore. It’s true that I’m also deliciously tingling, content and deeply satisfied. Very, very well fucked indeed. But still, I’m sore. I shift in Tom’s arms, the pair of us cuddled up on the sofa watching his huge flat-screen television, his usual sports channel dumped in favor of Sky Movies. Is there no limit to the sacrifices Tom’s prepared to make for me? The closing credits of Love Actually are drifting across the screen as he idly caresses my breast under his shirt, left casually unbuttoned. The last shreds of my inhibitions seem to have totally deserted me.

  He chuckles, as though sensing the reason for my hesitation. “I mean stay the night to sleep. We’re both knackered after all our exertions earlier. You’ve worn me out, you demanding, sexy little woman. And I think maybe you’re feeling a little tender. Yes?”

  I smile, and murmur my answer. “Yes. I am. A little. It had been a long time for me. Since I, well, you know…”

  I turn, snuggle into him, bury my face in his bare chest. I shift, lay my cheek against him, and I can hear his heartbeat. I’m struck again at the incredible intimacy—just a few fabulous hours in the company of Tom Shore and I feel closer to him than I ever have to anyone else. Except possibly my mother, though that was different.

  He tips my chin up with his thumb, nudges my nose with his. “Well, it won’t be long until you’re having to endure it all again. But not tonight. Not unless you really want to, in which case I’ll just have to force myself to make an effort. I dare say I could find something left in reserve. And there’s always your sexy little vibrator to fall back on if I’m not quite up to it.”

  His easy, self-deprecating humor is just another indication of his confidence—he knows he’s got nothing to prove. How wonderful it must be to feel like that. Maybe it’ll rub off on me eventually. But for now, though, “I couldn’t. I’m done. But, if you like, I could, I could…”

  “Sounds intriguing. What could you do for me, sweetheart?”

  “I could suck your cock.”

  His smile is brilliant, a flash of white teeth and that mossy green glint, now glimmering mischievously at me. “Wow, what an offer! And Ashley, I’m gonna hold you to that before much longer. I want to see you kneeling at my feet, my cock in your mouth. I want to come in your mouth, if you’ll let me. Christ, I’m hard just thinking about it. But not tonight. Tonight we sleep. Together? Please stay.”

  By way of an answer, smiling into his soft emerald eyes, I kneel up and take his face in my palms, the rough stubble there just grazing my fingers. I kiss him, sweeping my tongue deep into his mouth as he slides his hands down my back to cup my bottom, but no more. The intimacy of the gesture is not lost on me, the gentle consideration because he knows I’m tired, sore, and that now I just want to sleep. He could arouse me again easily if he decided to press the issue, we both know that. Instead he stands with me in his arms and heads for the hallway. A few minutes later I’m sitting, naked, in his huge wooden bed upstairs, the shirt dumped on the floor. I watch as Tom slides out of his jeans and into bed beside me. He lies on his side, propped on one elbow, looking up at me.

  “You okay, Ashley?”

  “Yes, more than okay. I’m wonderful.”

  “Agreed. But…?” His slight frown tells me he knows there’s something.

  “I need to be off early tomorrow. I have to work. If the weather’s okay, good light, you know? And if not, then I’ve loads of pictures I need to edit, stuff to prepare ready for print,” I blurt out, realizing I should have told him this before coming to bed with him. He’ll no doubt have plans of his own for me tomorrow.

  Appar
ently not. “No problem. What time do you need to be off? I’ve got stock to see to so you’d need to be up very early indeed to be out of here before me.”

  Right, I forgot. Farmers keep stupid hours.

  “I’ll need to go home, pick up my camera and other stuff. So maybe leave here about half past nine?”

  “I’ll have your breakfast ready at half eight then. Any requests?”

  God, where do men like this come from? No sulking, no trying to get me to fall in with what he wants. Delighted, relieved and charmed in equal measure, I lie down next to him, snuggle in, my breasts squashing against his chest. “No, you choose.”

  His hands are in my hair, combing through it, right down to my hips. Long minutes drift past, I’m totally relaxed, until his next question catches me unawares like another of his ice pops.

  “Have you arranged to meet Abbie yet?”

  Shit! Where did that come from?

  “How did you know?” My head shoots up, almost catching him under the chin. I stare at him, worried, fearful even. What will he make of this? Will he think I’m checking up on him?

  Again, apparently not. “Nathan told me he’d given you her details. I’m glad you’ve decided to talk to her. She’s good. And she’s nice. You’ll like her and she might be able to help you, answer your questions in a way I can’t. She can give you a woman’s perspective, a submissive’s perspective. Ask her whatever questions you want.”

  Amazed, I lie still for a few moments, considering. Then, “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.” He caresses my shoulder blades and I rest my cheek on his chest.