by Ashe Barker
I’m staring at him, sure I’m hallucinating. He must have hit me harder than either of us thought. Or I’m out cold and dreaming. Did the wonderful, sexy, gorgeous Nicholas Hardisty, the most adorable, desirable Dom I’ve ever laid eyes on, did that Nicholas Hardisty really just invite me to scene with him in the dungeon here at the Collared and Tied club, then promise to bring me back here and fuck me till I faint? Did I really hear that? Was he actually talking to me?
Apparently so, because now he’s back, crouching alongside me again, his face inches from mine. “Well, Miss Stone, do I stay or do I go?”
I gaze at him, wonderstruck, for a few more moments before I manage to wriggle my arms free from underneath me. And I reach out to him, with my right hand. The yellow band.
Nicholas Hardisty smiles, warm, welcoming, his pleasure genuine. He takes my outstretched hand and turns it palm up, drops a kiss onto the center of my palm. “Good, I’m glad. I’m going to enjoy your company tonight, Miss Stone.”
Chapter Three
In true Dom/sub tradition I thought I’d be walking behind him as we make our way down the stairs and along the central corridor in the club. Instead, as we leave room nine Nicholas Hardisty holds out his hand to me. I take it, and find myself walking beside him. At the top of the stairs, he stops to exchange a few words with another Dom, an older man I vaguely recognize, called Richard, I think. When I would have hung back discreetly he tugs me forward, right alongside him and drapes his arm across my shoulders, sinking his fingers into my hair. Telling me I belong here, with him, at least for tonight. So I stay close, soaking it up, drinking it in.
At the door to the dungeon he stops, turns to me, tips my chin up with his finger. “You okay? Still happy to come in here with me?”
I smile and nod.
Happy? This is all my Christmases and birthdays come at once. I never could have imagined this, never could have expected to be here, and as someone’s sub. And not just anyone’s sub. Nicholas Hardisty’s. Wow! I often spend my time at the Collar down here, most of the unattached subs do. But usually, invariably, I’m just watching—the pleasure vicarious at best—a passive audience to the sensual joys and dramas of others. Other subs with regular Doms, perhaps, or the really attractive, popular, better trained subs who are always in demand, can always rely on being invited to join a scene. But I’m inexperienced, and I know I’m hard work. My lack of vocal clues and responses makes me a less rewarding prospect than most other subs. The more responsible Doms are uncertain of my consent because I can’t tell them what I want and don’t want, and the less responsible ones just scare me. So I usually sit on the edge and settle for watching from the sidelines. But not tonight. Tonight, I could get to play too. If I want to.
We enter the dungeon, Nicholas Hardisty’s arm still looped around my shoulders. I catch a ripple of movement from a group of subs just inside the door, over to my right, and I know they’ve seen, they’re speculating about how I came to land this fish. I manage not to look their way, keep my attention focused on my Dom for the evening, remembering my manners. Good manners are essential to a sub, the alternative is to be corrected, punished. And I’ve taken enough punishment for one night. So now, I’m on my best behavior.
“Would you like a drink? Water? Pepsi? Juice?” Nicholas is smiling at me, obviously pleased with my attitude so far.
I’d very much like an orange juice, but I’m starting to get flustered, wondering how to tell him what I want. He notices, and goes through the options again, but this time holding up the fingers on his left hand, and using his right index finger to point to each one as he names my choices. I smile, delighted, and tap his left index finger, the juice finger.
He nods, holds up two fingers. “Orange, or apple?”
Again he points to indicate the selections, and I tap his finger to indicate orange. Then we go through the same procedure to establish ice or no ice, before Nicholas strolls off to the bar in the corner. He comes back a minute or two later with a tall glass of iced orange juice for me and a glass of what looks to be sparkling water for himself. He hands me my glass, then laces his fingers through mine to lead me farther into the dungeon. I tighten my grip on his hand as I follow him over to an empty couch more or less in the middle of the huge room.
The spot is dark and secluded, but with a good view all around us. He taps his glass against mine, the cheery clink reinforcing his easy, relaxed, undemanding attitude. Gone now is the harsh Dom I had to contend with upstairs, the one who reduced me to tears just with his words, then went on to beat the living daylights out of me. In fairness, in retrospect, it wasn’t all bad. He also gave me tools and tricks to help me communicate, to give me choice and a way to protect myself. He took the time and trouble to listen to what I had to say, he answered my questions, helped me to understand this lifestyle choice of ours better than I ever have before. He helped me to see where I’d gone wrong, and he also managed to instil in me the confidence and courage to get me through the worst, most painful discipline I have ever faced. So yes, I have no complaints so far.
That Dom was then, now I have a friendly, warm companion, ready to show me a good time. And I intend to enjoy myself.
“So, you’ve seen me here before? In the dungeon?”
I look at him, surprised, how did he know I’d been watching him? I always stay out of sight, never draw attention to myself. Don’t I?
“In your email. You said you’d seen me here, in the dungeon. Do you spend a lot of time down here?”
I nod, take another sip of my orange juice as he pulls out his phone again. My heart sinks. Am I boring him already? But he hands it to me, the notepad app back on the screen. “So, how come you’ve seen me, but I can’t remember ever seeing you before?”
I look down at the phone in my hand, it’s designed for surfing the internet and whatever else, but I suspect he never had this particular use in mind when he bought it. It’s simple enough though, if you’re used to this sort of thing. I am. I have a similar sort of smart phone, but it’s tucked away in my bag in the cloakroom. I even have an app on mine which supposedly converts typed words into speech, but I never use it. I’d rather sign elegantly or write things down than sound like a Dalek with laryngitis and speak at a rate of three words a minute. I quickly tap out my response on the tiny on-screen keyboard.
Only couples and Doms tend to come and sit here, in the middle. I usually stand over there by the door, with the other subs. You’d never see me there. It’s too dark.
I hand the phone back to him, he reads quickly, then turns me on the settee so my back is against his side. He puts the phone back in my hands. “Now I can read over your shoulder, as you’re writing. So, you usually just watch then?”
I nod, no need to write that.
“What do you watch? What’s your favorite sort of scene? Is there anything you’d like to try?”
I hesitate, thinking, not sure. The choices are endless. The possibilities spread out before me seem limitless in this moment, and I have no idea where to settle. He chuckles, tightens his arms around my waist, his fingers spread across my stomach, warm and firm against my bare flesh. “You seem tense, Miss Stone. While you’re thinking about that, let me help you to relax.” He slides his hand up, under my crop top, cupping and caressing my breast, first the right, then the left.
“Is this okay?” He murmurs the question into my ear.
I bow my head, just slightly, just enough.
“And this?” He takes my right nipple between his thumb and finger, squeezes, at first lightly, then tightens his grip until I wince. He holds it, keeps the pressure on for a few seconds.
I’m arching against him, gasping, and he eventually releases me.
“Did I hurt you?”
I nod again, but make no attempt to move.
“Did you like it?”
Another bob of my head signals my pleasure.
“Mmm, sexy little sub. I love this top by the way, but I think it’d look much, much better
folded up on the floor. Take it off, please.”
I glance over my shoulder, catch his gaze again, but I don’t hesitate. I lean forward and pull the crimson and black top over my head, fold it carefully then place it on the floor beside the settee. And I settle back against him.
“Take the skirt off too, please. And the thong this time.”
The request was softly delivered, but I can feel as much as hear the thread of steel in there. He’s relaxed, he’s easy—we’re here to have fun. But he’s a Dom and I’m a submissive, or very nearly, and I’m expected to obey. I’ve never been naked in the dungeon before, nor in any of the public areas for that matter. It seems I will be tonight though. And again, I don’t allow myself to hesitate. My skirt and thong are quickly deposited on the floor too, and again I lay back against Nicholas Hardisty, my body exposed, available, his to do what he wants with. I just hope it’s going to be good.
“Tell me what you’ve done so far, on your voyages of discovery? I’m pretty sure no one’s used your arse much before now, which does seem a waste. Am I right so far?”
Again, I signal my agreement with a slight dip of my chin. No need for the phone.
“What else? What other fairground attractions have you been on up to now?”
He’s idly stroking my breasts again, gentle, soothing, arousing me. The electric current starts to zip around my body, that arcing triangle between both my nipples and my clit. Still, his words sting a bit and I tell him so.
Please don’t make fun of me. I know that email was stupid.
He nuzzles my neck, and despite my little show of prickliness I tingle.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just asking, and I do want to know. Tell me please.”
I shrug, tilt my head to give him better access and decide to let it go.
Not much. Mostly it’s just been spanking. And a ruler once, in the schoolroom upstairs. On my bum and then my hands. I hated that—my hands I mean. I use them a lot, but I could hardly move them for days. That Dom invited me to scene again, but I refused. Too scared. And then, a few weeks after that, I emailed you.
“I see. And how do you like to be fucked?”
I don’t understand, what do you mean?
“From behind? Do you like to be on top? Underneath? Against a wall? Kneeling? Standing? I don’t usually take requests, but I might with you. Just this once.”
I don’t know really. Limited experience, I suppose. From behind seems nice.
“Seems?”
His hand stills. Is this it? Is this the moment he decides I really am just too much bother? I start to panic, grab the phone again.
You promised. You promised me. You can’t go back on it now.
He takes my chin in his hand and turns my head to make me meet his gaze. He looks puzzled. “Go back on what?”
I start to type again and he releases my chin to let me see the screen.
I’m twenty-three years old, and I know what I want. I want you. You promised we could go back up to our room and
He chuckles again before I can complete my sentence. “Well, aren’t you eager? How nice. Okay, don’t panic, a promise is a promise. And your inexperience is no use to you here. A liability in fact, someone could be clumsy, not realize and get carried away, really hurt you. Since you’ve asked so nicely, I will fuck you, and I’ll do it very slowly, very gently, very thoroughly and very well. I’ll stop short of fucking you till you faint—we really should work up to that more gradually—but you will see stars. And if you say please very prettily, I’ll probably even agree to do it all over again, just to make sure you got the message. That suit you?”
I turn my head of my own volition this time, gape at him over my shoulder. Christ, what an offer! Then, a little belatedly perhaps, I try for some shred of decorum as I turn my attention back to the phone.
Yes, thank you, Sir. I think that should do very nicely.
“Well I’m glad we’ve got that sorted. Sounds like a plan. Now, before I start working on widening your experience in the fucking department, what would you like to do here? Any requests, anything you particularly fancy trying, or will you let me choose?”
I turn in his arms and point to his chest.
“Me then. Okay, something—intense—I think. A bit of edge but not too painful. Needs to be memorable though. And maybe a bit of a mind-fuck as a prelude to the body-fuck later. I know just the thing for you. Come on.”
A mind-fuck? Not sure I like the sound of that. But still, when he stands, turns to me, his hand outstretched, I take it. Modesty abandoned, I get to my feet, naked, and follow him across the room. He leads me over to the dungeon-master, my usual protector. Frank is stationed behind a small desk at one end of the room. His strategic position means he can see everything that’s happening, everywhere in his domain. Nothing goes on here that Frank doesn’t know about and allow. He’s huge and imposing—ex-Army I’m sure, and he rules the dungeon with a rod of iron. But I like him. Frank’s always quite nice to us subs, especially the unattached ones like me. His job here, mainly, is to look out for us, to make sure no one takes anything too far, and that no one gets hurt. I appreciate Frank, his presence, his rules. But I don’t usually parade around in front of him naked. He doesn’t turn a hair though—not that he has much—just nods politely at us.
“Mr Hardisty, Freya, I trust you’re both enjoying your evening.”
Nicholas Hardisty smiles amiably, relaxed and casual, his arm loosely slung across my shoulders. “Yes, so far. And it promises to get even better. Could I trouble you for a blindfold please?”
“Of course. Anything else?”
“Yes, there will be later. Would you mind coming over to us in a few minutes please? For now just the blindfold though.”
“Certainly.” He turns to me then. “And may I ask, Freya, what arrangements have you agreed regarding safe words?”
I stand, waiting for Nicholas to answer for me. He offers nothing so I glance up at him. He just shrugs and gestures toward Frank with his head, indicating that I should speak for myself. I hold up my hands to show the huge guardian of public safety my new wristbands.
He nods once, this time directing the gesture at Mr Hardisty. “Very good. I assume red means ‘stop’ and the yellow means ‘caution’?”
I nod, and smile confidently at him. I can do this. I can actually join in now and do this. Maybe I could have managed something along these lines before—it’s hardly rocket science, just a couple of colored wristbands—but it’s so incredibly difficult to explain even the simplest things, let alone negotiate, when the people around me don’t understand signing. And even though I always have my phone or my iPad with me, it’s in my bag, back in the cloakroom. No one here ever handed me their phone or a set of wristbands before.
Apparently satisfied that matters are under reasonable control, the huge man slips through a door behind him into a store room where lots of miscellaneous paraphernalia is kept. He returns a moment later with a thick felt blindfold, the sort that ties at the back. Nicholas turns to me immediately, places it over my eyes and ties it tightly around my head.
“Can you see anything?”
I shake my head, reaching out with my hands to feel where he is. He steps in front of me and I clutch the front of his shirt.
“As I said before, your eyes are very expressive, you tell me a lot with your eyes, about how you’re feeling, how you’re responding, and I’m taking a risk covering them. And what I have in mind for you tonight might feel strange, might surprise you, might frighten you a bit. It’s meant to. But I won’t hurt you. Do you trust me, Freya?”
I nod, but in reality, despite my wristbands, I’m pretty nervous. I feel totally cut off. He can’t understand my signing, and without my sight I can’t write, I can’t communicate anything except with my wristbands. But now his hands are on my shoulders, stroking and soothing, his voice easing into my head, steadying and grounding me.
“Trust me, I won’t let anything happen to you
. And you can stop me at any time, you know that. Okay?”
I nod again. He takes my hand, and starts to lead me across the room. My footsteps falter as I follow him, terrified I’m going to trip or bump into something. I don’t though, he smoothly negotiates me around the dungeon until I have absolutely no idea where I am or what equipment he has led me to. I’m disorientated and totally lost.
“Shuffle backwards, slowly.” His soft instruction is murmured into my ear. I obey and feel something behind me, against my bare legs and back, some sort of apparatus, a solid structure.
“Raise your arms over your head.”
Trusting still, I do as I’m told. And immediately wish I hadn’t. He quickly secures my left wrist with a strap, then my right. It feels like leather and my arms are held above my head, my hands stretched wide apart. My last means of signaling suddenly withdrawn I start to tug, to struggle in earnest. He’s there again, close, his breath against my ear.
“Be still, Freya, trust me.”
But it’s no good, I’m shaking my head wildly, scared, starting to lose it. He takes my face between his palms, holds my head still and places his mouth on mine.
The effect is instantaneous. His kiss, so unexpected, quiets and calms me, especially as my mouth instinctively opens under his and his tongue slides inside, exploring, tasting, claiming. One hand remaining on my face to hold me in position, he deepens the kiss, at the same time as his other hand slides down my body, across my breasts then farther, to tease the softly curling, neatly trimmed hair between my legs. He trails his hand through that, and between the slick folds. I arch, open my legs to let him in, and he accepts my invitation, plunging one finger deep inside me. Then, and only then, does he lift his head, breaking the kiss but remaining close—I can feel his breath on my face.
