by Ashe Barker
“I thought, well, won’t we just get on and do it? That’d work.” Imogen’s tone was sharp, her nervousness obvious.
“Probably. But call me a purist if you must, I’ve got this thing about consent. So, let me put this to you in not much code at all. Once we get into our little scene, you’ll want me to fuck you. Beg me to do it, probably. And I’d be delighted to oblige you, you can be assured of that. But would you still respect me in the morning? In the cold light of day, is that what you want? So, I’m asking you now, while you still have your wits about you, what you want. If, when, you beg me to fuck you, do you want me to do it? Or not? Your choice, Imogen. Whatever you say to me now, I’ll honour later.”
Imogen’s gaze was steady, just the slight frown and hitch of breath betraying her amazement at Zack’s question as the depth of its meaning, its significance, sank in. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
She frowned at him, seemed confused, as if she wasn’t sure how to react. It occurred to him that just possibly she had no frame of reference for this. Ethics, courtesy, old-fashioned gallantry. Not that he thought of himself as a knight in shining armour exactly, but he did try to treat subs with unfailing respect and consideration. It was possible that these values had not featured prominently in her relationship with Sean. From the little he’d gleaned so far, it seemed that Sean had been her Master, and she his pet. In that role, he knew that some Doms totally took the lead. It may have been that her previous Master knew what she wanted, needed, and he provided exactly that. Or thought he did. Privately, Zack had his doubts, but kept them to himself. And Imogen may have simply accepted, never questioned, never demanded or even requested. If that was what she was used to, she may feel it worked absolutely fine. It certainly seemed to be what she wanted from Zack now.
“It’s not my call, surely…”
“Yes, Imogen. It is. Absolutely your call.” Whatever she was used to, this had to be done his way now.
Exasperated suddenly, she tried to drag her hands from his. He tightened his grip. She snapped at him, clearly irritated by his persistence, “I don’t understand what you want from me. Why are you asking me about this? I’ve agreed. Already, I’ve agreed to be here, with you. I know what’s to happen, it’s what I want. All of it.”
He locked his gaze onto hers, implacable. He would have his answer. Ignoring her brief flare of anger, he dismissed it as merely evidence of her nervousness. And perhaps a reaction to being forced to acknowledge her own needs and desires.
“Imogen, when we get to that point, do you want me to fuck you? Yes or no?” His voice was calm, formidable, his tone all Dom.
“Yes. Of course, yes.” Her tone was entirely submissive.
He liked that, normally. Not now. “Why ‘of course’? Don’t you think I can satisfy your needs any other way?”
“I’m not sure. I have no idea. Can you?”
“Ah, you’d be amazed. I reckon I could, I’d rather not, though. Fucking’s good with me, as part of the menu, if you’re up for it. Are you?”
Imogen waited, her gaze captured by his, her breathing erratic as she appeared to war with herself over her answer. Eventually though, and to his eternal relief, it seemed that desire won out. “Yes. I am. Please, fuck me. If that’s what you want, obviously…”
His mouth quirked, his grin genuine. “Obviously. And, one last thing, though I’m getting the feeling you may not believe this. You can change your mind. At any time. Just use your safe word. Or say ‘no’ and mean it.”
“You’re not—not as I expected. Not like Sean.”
Knew it! He smiled at her, and opted to keep any comment to a minimum. Eventually, hopefully, she’d draw her own conclusions. “Good. No need to compare us then. This is now. You and me. And right now, you’re overdressed. Enough talking. Get naked.”
Zack made no attempt to conceal his interest as Imogen stood just a couple of feet from him and slowly peeled off her clothes. First the neat, crisp white blouse, followed by her tan Chino’s. She toed off her indoor pumps, then she lowered the cotton fabric around her thighs and stepped out of the pants. In just bra and briefs, she stopped, glanced at him, silently seeking approval. He didn’t disappoint, his eyes glinting with undisguised lust as he surveyed her small, trim body. Imogen silently rejoiced that she’d always managed to stay fit, kept in shape. Cycling was hard work, but it did wonders for her bum. So did a heavy leather belt, come to think of it. And it looked like today she was going to enjoy the benefit of both.
A shiver of anticipation rippled through her as she turned her back to him in response to his hand gesture. He stood, unfastened her bra. Imogen leant forwards slightly, tipping the lacy cups into her hands and dropping the underwear on the floor. She was about to hook her thumbs in the elastic of her briefs when he stopped her with a word.
“No. Let me do that. In a minute. First—can you touch your toes, Imogen?”
She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “I can.”
“Do it.”
His hand was resting possessively on her bum as Imogen bent at the waist. She reached down to touch, then grasp, her ankles. Zack caressed the round curve of her buttocks over the sheer fabric of her briefs. “You have a truly lovely arse, Imogen. Pretty tits too, but they’ll have to wait.”
“How long?”
“Excuse me?”
“How long will my tits have to wait?”
He chuckled, the sound low and sexy and full of promise. “Ah, getting demanding already, are we? I knew there was a seriously slutty sub lurking there somewhere. I’m so delighted to be meeting her at last.” He paused to pat her bum. “And what is it you’re so eager for me to do to your tits then? What is it that just can’t wait?” He circled her firm bottom with his palm once more, first one buttock, then the other. Then he ran his fingers down the cleft between them, though still not venturing under the fragile veneer of silk. Imogen gasped, shifted to widen her stance.
“Did I ask you to open your legs?” His tone was suddenly, unexpectedly, harsh, disapproving.
Imogen shivered. “No. Sorry.”
“Keep still, please. And answer my question.”
Imogen twisted her neck, trying to look up at him, but it was impossible from where she now stood, bent double, her hair falling about her face. She stumbled, would have fallen but for his hands at her hips, steadying her.
“I said, keep still. I won’t tell you again. Now, what is it you’d like me to do to your tits?”
“I-I’d like you to suck my nipples. If that’s what you want, obviously.”
He chuckled again. “Obviously. That’s something to look forward to then. First though, I promised you stripes. Just here, I think…” He sketched a horizontal line across her right buttock, then another to match it across the left side. Then he marked out more imaginary stripes, across her bottom and the backs of her thighs. “Just here, I think. So you’ll remember me fondly every time you sit. Or maybe you just won’t sit at all for a while. What do you think, Imogen?”
“I suspect I’ll prefer to stand, Sir.”
“Sir?”
“Sorry, I forgot. It’s just… Sorry.”
“Sir’s fine.”
“Thank you. Sir.”
“I’m going to pull your pants down now. Will you be able to stay in this position under your own steam once we start or will I need to secure you in place?”
“I-I’m not sure. Could I lean on something, please?”
He glanced around the room, spotted what he needed. Briskly striding around the table, he was quickly back alongside Imogen, and placed a tall bar stool beside her. The softly padded seat was more or less at her waist level. “Brace yourself over this. Same position as you are now. Would you like to be restrained? Tied in place?”
Imogen straightened, slid sideways to position herself across the stool, her abdomen resting across the cushioned seat. She stretched herself down, reaching for the lower part of the long straight legs with her hands. She grasped the wooden
poles tightly.
“I think I’d appreciate the restraints, if you don’t mind, Sir.”
“Of course.” Crouching beside her, Zack quickly rolled a couple of her dinner napkins across the diagonal to form long strips and used those to fasten her wrists to the legs of the bar stool. He stood, and briskly drew her briefs down to bare her bottom to him before he crouched again. This time he used two more napkins to secure her knees to the outer sides of the stool legs, opening her thighs. The restraints now held her in position, and her feet were unable to touch the floor. She was helpless, exposed. And Imogen felt utterly wonderful.
Zack checked his knots to make sure that her circulation was unimpaired before straightening.
“Jesus, Imogen, you’re looking mighty good just now. Seriously fuckable.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Her response was somewhat muffled, in view of her current position, but she heard the sound of the leather sliding through the black denim belt loops, and her bottom clenched in delighted anticipation. God, she’d missed this. So much. For years now she’d refused to remember, refused stubbornly to let herself remember how this felt. She’d resigned herself to never again knowing this delightful tingle, the sensuous sting of a Dom’s hand on her body, his whip or his cane, or the erotic bite of leather on her skin.
“Are you comfortable?”
“Reasonably, thank you, Sir. I’m just a bit concerned though that this stool might over-balance if I move. Or if you hit me a bit too hard.”
“You won’t be moving until I untie you, so that’s not a problem. And I will be hitting you hard, so you’ll just have to hope I can direct the impact so you absorb it. Do you think that would work, Imogen?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Okay. Here’s how it’s gonna work. You’re going to let me know when you’ve had enough. You’ll count the strokes. I’ll wait until I hear you say each number before I deliver the next one. When you stop counting, I’ll stop, too. I’ll start fairly softly, nothing too harsh at first because you’re out of practice. I’ll build the intensity, and when I reach the limit you can bear, you tell me ‘amber’, and I’ll keep it there. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Yes, I think so, Sir. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. So, you tell me when you’re ready to start.”
She closed her eyes, every nerve ending standing at attention as she drew in first one deep, steadying breath, then another. Then, “I’m ready, Sir.”
Chapter Two
“Aah!”
Imogen couldn’t contain the cry of pleasure-drenched pain as the first stroke landed across her right buttock. Christ, she’d missed this! She exhaled slowly, by force of habit, allowing the delicate tendrils of pain to spread and radiate through her body. She drew in a long, deep breath and waited for the next stripe to land.
And waited. Nothing. Still waited. Then she remembered. “One, Sir.”
The next stroke landed, perfectly positioned across her left buttock. Imogen cried out again, shivering as the waves of delight shot through her body and limbs. “Two, Sir.”
Zack continued, each blow just very slightly heavier than the one before, building and carrying Imogen higher as she trembled under the onslaught.
“Three, Sir.”
“Four.”
Each stripe was perfectly laid, his positioning accurate to the inch. This new young Dom who’d so fortuitously wandered into her guest house had clearly had plenty of practice. She wondered how long he’d been doing this. It couldn’t be more than a year or two, surely. He must be a fast learner. Or maybe just a natural. Whatever, she could feel the sharp, biting caress of his belt spreading its warmth across her skin. It was glorious, utterly awesome. Imogen was aware of her pussy moistening as her arousal built with each stroke. She knew he could see her, must be able to see the juices now coating her labia and clit. She ached for him to touch her, craved the pressure, the friction. She yearned for him to open her, to plunge his fingers deep inside. Or better still, his cock. Helplessly she tried to shift on the stool, hoping to be able to rub her throbbing, sensitised clit against the padded top, but was quite unable to gain any purchase. Suspended, open, desperate, she could only accept and absorb.
The blows continued, the pain escalating. The bite was cruel now, and Imogen’s cries were tinged with real discomfort. “Nine. And, it’s amber now. Please, Sir…”
“Got that.” The next stroke was marginally less intense. Still excruciating, but gloriously so. Imogen’s body clenched in delighted gratitude as she relaxed into this exquisite torture.
“Ten. Eleven. Twelve.”
He adjusted his angle slightly, the strokes now landing on the backs of her thighs. Imogen knew she would not be sitting comfortably for quite some time. How exquisite. And Christ, she needed him to…”
“Please. Please, Sir…”
“Please what? What is it you’d like, Imogen?”
“I want you to touch me. Please, Sir”
“Of course.” He obligingly trailed the backs of his fingers up the length of her spine. “Like this?”
Imogen shivered under his touch. “Yes. No. I mean, I want…”
“If you tell me what you want, I’ll do it. You can have whatever you ask for, Imogen. But you have to ask. What number are we on now, by the way?”
“Twelve, Sir.”
Imogen hissed her delight as the next stroke landed.
“That was thirteen, Sir. I’d like you to touch my pussy, please. Please…”
“My pleasure. Like this?”
Imogen couldn’t contain her moan of sheer relief as he smoothed the pads of all four fingers of his right hand the length of her quivering, throbbing pussy, from clit to anus. And stopped. “Is that enough, Imogen? Or would you like more?”
“More. For Heaven’s sake…”
“More what? More of this?” Again, that long, slow, open-handed sweep of her most sensitive core. This time though, he left his hand in place, his palm resting idly against her smarting buttocks, the tip of his middle finger maddeningly nudging the small, tight opening of her anus. “Is that enough? Can we continue now?”
“No. Yes. No.”
“You’re confusing me, Imogen.” He pressed his palm cruelly against her burning skin, causing Imogen to wince. His fingertip continued to hover at the entrance to her arse. “What do you want me to do?”
“Put your fingers inside me. Now. Please, Sir?”
“Ah, right. Here? Or here?” He shifted his stance slightly and she was dimly aware that he’d laid the belt down as he brought his other hand into play, too. Without further warning two fingers plunge deep into her pussy. At the same time, he sank that maddening, hovering fingertip through the sphincter to penetrate her anus. Only just, but it was enough.
“Christ. Oh, Christ…” Imogen was moaning, half sobbing her relief as her body wrapped itself around those welcome, questing fingers. The two were quickly joined by a third, and she clenched in appreciation, grasping, grabbing, seeking the friction she desperately needed now.
“Oh, yes, that’s good. So good. Thank you, I-I…”
Zack finger-fucked her hard and fast, his fingers digging deep, curling and angling as he sought that particular place inside her sleek, wet channel. And found it. There! Imogen bucked furiously under his hands and screamed her pleasure as he centred his thrusts on that perfect spot.
He gently withdrew his finger from her anus, to quickly replace it with his right thumb as he continued to work his fingers inside her pussy. His left hand now free, he reached under her to take her clit between his thumb and index finger. He rolled it, and tugged gently. Imogen screamed in earnest, her entire body convulsing as her orgasm took over. She was spinning, flying, her head and senses scrambled as he deftly played her. He knew exactly where to stroke, how to press, when to twist to hit that precise place exactly right. Her orgasm spiralled onwards and outwards, the waves of pleasure rippling from her core right out through her fingers and toes. She was beyond consci
ous thought, her mind entirely centred on what was happening inside her. Zack continued to stretch and thrust and probe, drawing every last tremor and writhing shiver from her. It went on and on. And on. At last, she thought maybe several hours later—or was it just seconds?—Imogen lay still. She was spent, sated. Still his hands were on her. In her.
“Are we done?” His low tone was gentle, knowing. Imogen was suddenly acutely aware of her undignified position, and that she’d just totally unravelled for him. Christ, how had he managed that? Unable to come up with a coherent response quite yet, Imogen lay still. She was satisfied, at least for now, but her body still appreciated the feel of his fingers as he idly slid them through her wet folds, gently parting her lips, exploring her leisurely.
“That feels nice.”
“Mmm, I think so. But you stopped counting, Imogen. Did I distract you? Or are we done with the belt, too? For now at least?”
“I think… I think I’d like a little more, Sir. With the belt. If that’s all right.”
“Happy to oblige. Are we at fourteen now?”
“Yes, Sir. Fourteen. Aagh.”
Imogen had to concentrate on drawing in precious oxygen, her body now reacting strongly to the resumed assault, fighting it, resisting it. “Fifteen, Sir.” Her voice was shaking now.
“Are you sure?”
A pause, then, “Yes, Sir. Fifteen.”
He delivered another perfectly positioned stripe across her buttocks, and Imogen screamed. Loud.
“Sixteen.” Her throat was closing up, it was difficult to force the words out now. But she remained resolute.
“Imogen?”
“Sixteen, Sir.”
The next stroke was blinding, took her breath away. And Imogen knew when to call it a day. After her final scream died away, she remained silent. Long seconds passed, then she heard the sound of the belt being tossed onto her gleaming mahogany table. Her eyes were tightly closed, but she felt Zack’s gentle fingers quickly releasing her legs, untying the restraints that held her thighs apart. Gratefully now, she relaxed as he gently lowered her feet to the floor. When he was sure she was steady, he leaned around to untie her wrists then scooped her up from the stool. Cradling her in his arms, he turned to place Imogen on the table, her shoulder blades flat against the gleaming wood. In deference to her tender skin he tucked her knees up under her chin, curving her spine to raise her bottom from the hard surface.
