by Ashe Barker
Moments later, that’s put to the test. The hot, salty semen spurts out, filling my mouth and throat, the stream seemingly endless. His grip has tightened in my hair, and I’m not sure I could disengage even if I wanted to, but he pulls back slightly to give me room, breathing space. I swallow frantically, clear my throat only to have it filled again as he continues to ejaculate. I stiffen, stunned a little at the sheer quantity of it, but I’m not giving in. This is mine. I did this. I caused this. I’m having all of it.
At last, the flow diminishes, then stops, and his fingers loosen in my hair. I raise my eyes again and meet his. The slate gray is almost gone, his pupils dilated in passion, and with an inner glow of smug satisfaction I know I caused that too. I gave Nicholas Hardisty a blow-job, for Christ’s sake. Me, little Freya Stone. And he liked it, obviously.
“Well, Miss Stone, aren’t you full of surprises? That was unexpected. Very welcome though.” He pulls back, withdrawing from my mouth, stopping for a moment to gaze down at me, still kneeling at his feet. He crouches, cups my chin. “And you did yourself a favor too, your little antics have taken the edge off for me so now I can give you a lot more attention. A whole lot more. Would you like that, Freya?”
I nod, and he smiles at me before standing up again. He turns to stroll gloriously naked and unembarrassed across the room. There’s a small en suite shower and loo in the corner of the room and he slips inside, to re-emerge a moment later with a box of tissues. Pulling one out, he crouches in front of me once more to wipe my face, my mouth. Then he kisses me, just briefly, before leaning back to lick his lips. I know he tastes himself on me, and if his sexy smile is any indication, he’s rather pleased with the flavor of my lips just now.
“You’re over-dressed, Miss Stone. Lose the shirt.” His casual tone is in contrast to the intensity of his gaze, now raking me.
He looks…hungry, and I lose no time in slipping the buttons of the shirt he lent to me and sliding it off my shoulders. He smiles again, then, moving suddenly, he scoops me up off the floor and dumps me on the bed, following me down in a tangle of limbs and lust. His erection has hardly diminished at all following my ministrations—he’s clearly ready to go again immediately. I suspect I am too, but can’t quite manage to quell a little flutter of nerves. I find myself underneath Nicholas Hardisty’s long, lean, strong body, with his right knee between my legs. He’s supporting his weight on his elbows so not crushing me, not quite, but I’m effectively pinned in place. He dips his head to nuzzle my neck as he encircles my wrists with his hands. His voice is low, murmuring in my ear.
“I usually like to tie my subs up at this point, but I think perhaps not with you, not this time. Nice, hands-free fucking, Miss Stone. You up for that?”
He lifts his head to catch my gaze, and I know if I want to back out, now’s probably the only chance I’ll get. From here on in he’s in control and unless I say the word—or more accurately wave the wristband—I’m accepting, consenting, to whatever happens next. My hands stay still, and I smile, my eyes clear as I hold his gaze, steady and sure. With a curt nod, he rolls to my side, propping himself up on one elbow to trail his gaze along my body, appraising, admiring maybe…
“Looking good, Miss Stone. God, you really are one sexy little sub aren’t you? How come I never spotted you before, even if you did hide in the corner…? How come no one spotted you? You should have been very well fucked indeed, lots of times, well before now.”
Admiring then, definitely. Thank goodness. He glances back into my face, his expression one of wry humor. “Still, better late than never, don’t you think?”
Before I can think of anything at all, he’s trailing his fingers down my body, lightly teasing my left nipple with the back of his hand. I wince, ever so slightly.
“Still tender?”
I nod, shrug, and he smiles at me. “Don’t worry, little Freya, no more rough stuff now. This is going to feel good, really good. If I hurt you, even a little, you let me know. Yes?”
I nod once more, beginning to feel a lot like one of those little dogs you sometimes see on the rear parcel shelf of an old Ford Cortina. Then I gasp as Nicholas’ mouth follows the trail blazed by his fingers. He gently takes my abused nipple in his mouth, lightly flicks it with the tip of his tongue while I arch under him, offering him more. All previous ill-treatment forgotten, this feels just wonderful, fabulous, absolutely heavenly.
He moves his attention to my right nipple, and I wriggle under him, my fists clutching at the pillow on either side of my head as he continues to suckle, so light, so delicate, all his previous intense forcefulness carefully and completely leashed now as he nibbles softly. He’s in no hurry—takes his time before nudging lower, dropping feather light kisses across my stomach before he curls his tongue into my belly button. I buck, it tickles, and he drops an arm across me to hold me still as he continues to play. At last he heads south still farther, combing his fingertips through my soft pubic hair before glancing back up at me.
“Open, please.” His words are low, his voice now a mere seductive whisper.
I obey immediately, eagerly. He slides his fingers between my legs, parting the sleek, sensitive folds there, his eyes still holding mine as he gauges my reaction. And my reaction is, I suspect, quite unambiguous. And totally uninhibited. I buck and thrust under his hand, desperately seeking the friction, the pressure, the penetration I desire more than air. He cruelly avoids my clit—despite my frantic efforts to thrust that greedy, swollen little nub at him—preferring to part my labia and circle my entrance slowly. I’m tensing, all my attention focused on those three or four square inches of sensitive, aroused flesh under his skilled fingers. In this moment that’s all there is to me, an intense core of burning need, waiting, pleading silently for him to, to…
Yes! I almost come off the bed as he at last slides two fingers inside me, thrusting hard, adjusting the angle to cause maximum devastation to my already shattered senses. My orgasm starts to bubble immediately, the familiar tightening low down in my stomach as my body prepares for another climax. Momentarily I recall the awful pressure of earlier in the evening when he forbade me to come, and even though he told me that it’s okay now, that I can and should come as often as I like, I still look to him for confirmation. And get it in the form of his knowing smile and sexy wink. It’s enough, and my orgasm bursts from me like a volcanic eruption, some unstoppable force of nature unleashed. I’m rocked by it, beyond conscious thought, beyond remembering my own name.
He doesn’t stop there. The instant I start to quieten again, he starts on my clit at last, rubbing it with his thumb to prolong my release, or re-start it, who knows? All I know is the fabulous pulsing, shuddering, earth-rocking storm is flying at me from all sides now and I think I may be in orbit. I’m spinning, out of control, dizzy, clutching wildly at the pillow for some semblance of solid anchor to see me through this storm of sensation. My body clenches and spasms helplessly, my legs spread wide to offer him greater access, pleading with him to take it, use it, use me.
And at last, I am through, and tumbling down to earth again on the other side. My entire body feels like jelly, boneless, and my breath is hitching. I suspect I may have suffered some form of oxygen deprivation damage—it seems so long since I last dragged in a decent breath. My eyes are closed as I slowly come back into the here and now, re-acquaint myself with the real world, my surroundings—the beautiful man now holding me against his chest as the last of the tremors escape my body. He tangles his fingers in my hair, lightly stroking it until I calm again, until my eyes are focused and I seem, at least outwardly, in control. Then he starts again.
“That was excellent, Miss Stone. Very nice indeed. I think we’ll be having another of those, don’t you?”
Another? Not likely. Not in this lifetime…
Maybe if I could have gotten some words across to him I might have expressed my serious doubt that another such orgasm could ever possibly exist again anywhere in the known universe. But I can’
t, so instead I watch helplessly while he slides off the bed to kneel on the floor, pulling me to lie across the bed, my bum near the edge closest to him. My feet are dangling, just touching the floor, but he takes each of my ankles and places them on the edge of the bed, my knees bent. Then, slowly, deliberately, he pushes my knees apart, wide apart, opening me to his gaze. Despite everything he’s done to me already this evening, this is the first time he’s examined me so closely, so intimately, and I’m unaccountably embarrassed. Even so, and with some effort, I make no attempt to close my legs or hide from him. I remain still, let him look, and hope he likes what he sees.
I needn’t have worried. “So pretty, Miss Stone. And red as a cherry. You’re really very eager, aren’t you?”
I’m not sure if I should be answering that, but on this occasion he seems not to intend to press me on it, preferring to devote his attention to placing his thumbs on either side of my labia and pulling them apart, gently opening me. He leans forward, blows onto my sensitive, engorged flesh, and I shiver, the gesture so intimate. He slides his thumbs up, toward my clitoris then gently pulls back the delicate folds surrounding it, causing my clit to stand even prouder, even needier, desperate to be touched. Licked. Sucked.
He does all three, in that order. And I put up a valiant fight, enduring his sensual onslaught for all of seven or eight seconds before orgasm takes me once more. It’s gentler this time, less intense, less the earth-scorching firestorm and more the howling gale that goes on all night, rattling windows and toppling roof slates. He plays me like a maestro, holding me at or around the point of orgasm for what seems like eons, frequently tipping me over the edge, just to catch me on the other side and toss me back up again. He knows exactly what he’s doing, how he’s affecting me, how my body’s responding, and each time I think he’s finished, that maybe I’m done now, he starts me up again. I’m not writhing and thrusting under him, rather I’m lying still in his hands, like a baby bird, shivering and helpless and hoping to simply survive.
And at last, at long, long last, he decides I’ve had enough. He delivers several last hard laps around my clit then sinks his tongue deep into my pussy, wringing one last lingering shudder of bone-deep satisfaction from me before he slowly lowers my legs, easing me back onto the length of the bed and moving to lie beside me. He doesn’t ask my permission, no final checks or further molly-coddling. No, we’re well beyond that now. He stops only long enough to grab a condom from the drawer beside the bed, snap open the wrapper and unroll it along his length. Then, with no further ado or fanfare, he simply spreads my legs and positions himself between them. He eases the head of his cock into my thoroughly prepared and disgracefully ready entrance, and thrusts hard. His entire length plunges inside me. Easily, deeply, totally. Embedded to the hilt, Nicholas Hardisty stops, holds still, allows me the few moments I need to adjust, to stretch and shape myself around him, to accept his invading presence. My eyes are closed, my head tilted back in silent ecstasy as I savor this moment. I open them slowly, and he’s there, looking down into my face, waiting for my signal that it’s okay to continue.
I lift my right hand, but only to loop it behind his neck and pull his face toward me. He allows me to pull him down, and I stretch up to kiss his mouth. And that is signal enough. He starts to thrust, at first slowly, withdrawing then re-entering me. I’m tight, I know it, I can feel it. And so can he, and he appears to love it. I’m not so sure, he feels huge, wide and thick and so very hard, and as he forces his length inside me, my body stretches helplessly around him. He’s not hurting me, although I’m still nervous, still slightly tense.
He continues to slide into me, then withdraw before filling me again, his full length entering me more easily with each thrust. I know he’s treating me very gently and soon my body relaxes, accepts him. He obviously feels the moment my doubts and any remaining resistance borne of inexperience melt away and he picks up the pace, thrusting more quickly, harder, deeper. He lifts my knees, his elbows hooked beneath them to allow himself a better angle, to penetrate me more deeply. This isn’t my first time, I’m no virgin, but it’s not exactly familiar territory either. He knows it, and I know he’s spent a long, long time preparing me. But now, his initial penetration accomplished, he’s fucking me hard, offering no respite, no quarter, no further concession to my inexperience. Not that I want that, not anymore. What I’m getting is perfect. Absolutely perfect.
He’s filling me and stretching me, and my pussy is starting to clench wildly as the sensations build. Each thrust is perfectly angled, hitting that most sensitive inner spot each time, and just to make sure I get the message, he slips his hand between us to once more position his thumb over my clit. He rubs the swollen, sensitive little nub, hard, matching the rhythm to his thrusts, and my body convulses in orgasm yet again. I can do no more than hang onto his neck, my legs clasped around his waist as he fucks me into total and truly wonderful oblivion. I’ve heard of being fucked senseless and thought it was just something people said. Now I know better. Now I know what senseless really means. It means this—detachment, this total surrender to the physical, the here and now where nothing else of any importance exists. I genuinely think if the bed beneath us had caught fire I’d have simply shrugged, intending to get around to seeing to it later on. Probably. Much later.
“Come for me again, Freya. Now.”
His whispered instruction is none the less commanding, and, incredibly, I find myself obeying. The sensations, which had been subsiding—well, I think they may have been—suddenly erupt in fury once more as another storm of sensation hurls me back into this moment, shuddering, gasping and squeezing him with my inner walls as my body gives up yet another frenzied release. I’m spinning, crazily out of control, my center of gravity scrambled as my body is tossed around in the heady whirlwind. This time though, he’s with me, his own release now imminent as I climb once more to that place which has become delightfully familiar to me this evening. And as my pussy tightens and squeezes him hard before eventually relaxing, his muttered oath, more a growl than words signals his climax and I feel the warmth as his semen spurts out to fill the small sac at the end of the condom. He plunges deep, holding that position as his cock twitches, pulses and empties inside me, his arms rigid, tense, as he takes his weight and mine as I wrap myself tightly around him.
Then it’s done, and he relaxes, rolling swiftly to his side and pulling me with him so I land on top. I’m pathetically grateful for his consideration. I hadn’t expected him to collapse onto me and crush me exactly, but I did wonder…
I lie motionless on top of him, my limp body draped across Nicholas Hardisty’s lean chest and hard thighs. I’m intensely conscious of his firm, sculpted length under me, and I want to sink into him, remain part of him as he’s become a part of me. He’s still inside me, and that joining feels wonderfully intimate to me in those moments as our heart rates calm, dropping from frantic, needy thumping to a soft, sated, rhythmic pulsing. I’m in no hurry to separate from him as our bodies return to normal, this—connection—feels so right to me, and I can’t recall ever feeling so deeply contented.
Not so Mr Hardisty, it would seem, and all too soon he shifts, his palms on my hips as he gently lifts me from him. He rolls away, removing the condom and efficiently knotting the open end. He directs a brief smile at me as he slides from the bed, strolling in all his wonderfully naked glory across the room to the en suite in the corner. I hear the flush as he disposes of the condom, then re-emerges to walk back across the room. I try not to stare, honestly I do. But he is absolutely stunning. Tall, hard, all angular planes and toned, corded muscle. I have no idea what he does for a living—maybe I could ask him…? But I’m betting he doesn’t spend his time in an office. Those muscles didn’t become so perfectly honed in a gym. And then there’s the pretty much all over tan. I’m scrutinizing him carefully, yes, definitely staring despite my best intentions. He’s slightly paler across his firm, perfectly rounded buttocks, but only very slightly. He cl
early spends a great deal of his time outdoors, and not much of it around here. The north west of England is nice enough, but not widely renowned for its sub-tropical climate.
If I’m honest, I don’t as a rule think nudity is especially flattering for a man. Clothes do tend to disguise any slightly flabby areas very effectively, and all those dangly bits can be very distracting if you’re trying to hold a serious conversation. Not that conversation is high on my ‘to do’ list just now. And come to think of it, fully naked Doms are a rare enough sight even in a BDSM club. Usually that degree of exposure is reserved for we submissives who are frequently paraded around nude. But Nicholas Hardisty seems to make his own rules, and I am definitely appreciating the view just now.
He strides over to the door leading into the corridor, opens it and steps outside, quite oblivious to the display he’s about to gift to any fortunate passerby in the corridor. He’s back in a moment, carrying a tray. He returns to the bed and dumps the tray next to me before sitting down himself.
“Room service came. Coffee?”
I scramble into a sitting position, equally unembarrassed to enjoy a naked late night snack and nod my thanks. Apart from a tall carafe of coffee, milk and a bowl of those rough-cut sugar lumps you sometimes see in up-market Italian bistro’s, the tray carries a selection of dips along with bowls of vegetable chunks and a plate of still-warm strips of pitta bread. Very healthy, just the sort of food I like. How did he know? Lucky guess, must have been. He turns the two cups on the tray upright and pours coffee into each, again very un-Dom-like. ‘Serving’ of any sort is normally strictly reserved for submissives or the club staff. Doms lift nothing, unless you count whips, of course.
He hands me a cup, gesturing to me to help myself to milk and sugar. I just take the milk, and settle back against the bed head to sip my coffee. Nicholas Hardisty shifts around to arrange himself next to me, one long, tanned leg bent at the knee and the other stretched out lazily. I can’t resist a surreptitious peek at his now less than impressive erection, wondering what sort of provocation it might take to re-kindle it. Maybe later. Hopefully…
