by Ashe Barker
The light is starting to fail, but we can still make out the sheep dotted around on the hillside across the lake, nimbly picking their way up and across the swell of the land in search of the best grazing. Nick pulls me closer, drapes his arm across my shoulders.
“Are you cold?”
His polite inquiry takes me by surprise, but I realize I have just shivered. I’m not cold though, definitely not. I shake my head, and he rubs his hand roughly up and down my bare arm.
“Good. Take your T-shirt off then, please.”
I gape at him then back at the road. It might be late, but someone could drive along at any time. Or some hiker might be ambling this way en route back to his car, keen to wrap himself around a hot meal and not expecting to be treated to an eyeful of me. Nick waits, patiently, but his gaze is level and serious, and I know he means it.
“You’re mine, Freya, for the time being. Remember? We have a deal. And you have gorgeous breasts, girl, so I want to look at them. And if it suits me to show them off to anyone else who happens to be around, I’ll do that too. Understood?”
I close my eyes, take a couple of slow breaths. Yes, I do understand. And I know this is not just a test of obedience, or of my modesty, or a way of testing my boundaries. It’s all of those things. And it’s also a sharp reminder that I’m in training already, and anything can happen, at any time. And that my Dom is in charge, absolutely, whenever he chooses to exert his authority. I take one more breath then hook my fingers under the hem of my T-shirt. I draw it over my head.
He nods his approval as I stand before him, my breasts now only covered by my low cut, lacy bra. Not for long though.
“The bra too, please. Take it off, and then place it with your T-shirt by the car. Then come back here and present your breasts to me.”
I do as I’m told, praying that no elderly couple out for a nice drive on this fine evening should come tootling around the bend in the road and catch sight of me strolling about the place topless. I’m no supermodel, but I could cause an accident. Well, maybe. I don’t though, and I arrive back in front of Nick Hardisty unobserved by anyone but him and an indeterminate number of sheep. I assume the required position, remembering how he taught me it in room nine back at the Collared and Tied club.
He just observes for a few moments, and I stand still, utterly self-conscious, my ears attuned for even the most distant engine noise. There is none, and he continues to look at me, to admire me, I hope. At last, he reaches out, trails the backs of his fingers lazily along the underside of my left breast. He draws his hand upwards, lightly grazing my nipple, which puckers and swells, hardening instantly under his touch and the slightly cool, still air. He appears to note the transformation, studying my breasts intently before lifting his gaze to mine.
“Very pretty, Miss Stone. You can relax now. And, I think you are cold.”
My hands now free, I make a see-saw gesture with my left hand to indicate maybe, and he smiles once more, slightly apologetic. But not so much so that he might allow me to put my clothes back on. “I’m sorry about that, but we’ll be a few minutes yet.”
We both glance up the road as the faint sound of an engine disturbs our solitude. My instinct is to turn around, turn my back to the intruders, or to step behind Nick, but he’s having none of that. He lifts one finger to indicate I am not to move, and steps aside to allow an unrestricted view to whoever might be driving past.
It’s an obedience test and a demonstration of his authority, his temporary ownership and right to display me if he chooses. And of the absolute requirement that I set aside my inhibitions at his command. I pass the test, never breaking eye contact with my Dom until the car, a little red Citroen, comes into view. In that moment Nick steps in front of me, close up, and pulls me in close to his chest, effectively hiding me from view until the Citroen cruises past and out of sight once more.
As soon as we’re alone again, he releases me, smiling at my bewildered expression. “Excellent. You did well. You would have stayed in view as long as I instructed you to, no matter how embarrassed it made you feel. That’s what I required, and it’s enough for me to know that you intended to obey me.”
At my continued frown of bemusement he goes on to explain further, “But it’s all about consent, isn’t it. You and I have both volunteered to be here, but who knows what the folks in that little red car would have wanted. Or chosen. Might have been a family with young children, or an elderly couple on their way to church. They haven’t consented to anything, so we leave them out of it.” Then, his mood switching instantly to one of playfulness, he grins broadly. “Now, let’s see how you are at skimming stones. My best is seven bounces. What about you?”
I stare, shake my head in amazement as he turns away, stepping down to the water’s edge and selecting a handful of small, flat stones. He holds his collection in his left fist as he looks back up at me, the glint of challenge sparkling in his gray eyes now. “Come on, Miss Stone. Select your weapons. If you can manage four bounces I might even agree to fuck you again this evening. Across the bonnet of your beautiful car. Would you like that, my sexy little sub?”
I nod, but hesitantly. It’s the car thing. What if I dent it? But I don’t let that stop me entering into the spirit of this game as I step forward then crouch beside him to choose some stones for myself. Incredibly, as long as it’s only Nick Hardisty looking at me, I’m quite unconcerned about my state of semi-undress as I scour the shoreline for suitable stones and collect up a few likely candidates. I know exactly what I’m looking for, nice flat ones about the size of a fifty pence piece and upwards. I’ve done a lot of stone skimming over the years. Four bounces—piece of piss!
Well it would be, if not for Nick Hardisty’s interference. Happy with my first crop of missiles I square up to the lake, standing a few feet from Nick, my back to him as I curl my middle finger carefully and precisely around the edge of my first stone, ready to hurl it skimming across the surface of the water. I don’t hear his approach, and double up in self-defensive surprise as his hand snakes around me to catch my undefended nipple between his finger and thumb, just as I make my shot. He squeezes swiftly, the pain sharp and hard and over in a moment. The stone goes wide, clattering across the pebbled shoreline as I twist in his arms. He shrugs, releasing me, backing off, his hands spread wide in mocking apology.
“Sorry, beautiful. Force of habit. I’ll try to keep my hands to myself. Please, continue…”
I do, and of course, he doesn’t. The next ten minutes are spent with Nick laughing, groping me unashamedly, cheering and groaning at my stone-skimming efforts and their varied results. And I’m clapping and preening in smug delight as, despite his determined attempts at sabotage, I manage to score an astounding five bounces. Nick puts up a brave attempt, concentrating hard on the task as he realizes he’s not up against a mere novice, but the best he can manage is six. Eventually we decide to settle for what we’ve achieved and make our way back to my car. His right arm is draped over my shoulders, and he uses his fingertips to lightly stroke and flick my right nipple as we stroll across the springy grass. I eye my pristine, maroon red bonnet nervously as we draw near. Surely he wouldn’t? In more or less broad daylight?
He would. And it’s not really daylight by now anyway. Mercifully he had the foresight to park the car with its nose pointing away from the road. And the lay-by is cut into the contours of the surrounding hills so we’re unlikely to attract the attention of any more passing motorists. Still, his curt, “Drop your jeans and bend over the bonnet” causes me to gulp. But I do it. Of course I do it.
I kick off my pumps first. My jeans and briefs are soon beside them on the grassy banking in front of the car. Naked now, I lean forward to brace my hands on the low bonnet of the Vantage, my bottom conveniently raised for his perusal. He moves to stand behind me. “Spread your legs, Miss Stone. Open wide.”
I do as I’m instructed.
“Wider, please.” It seems I am not yet positioned to his satisfacti
on. He gently nudges my right foot with his to indicate I should widen my stance still further, then with no preamble, plunges three fingers deep into my pussy.
I flinch, but in surprise not pain. I’d expected, anticipated, more in the way of preparation. Even so, his slick, easy entry is evidence enough of my readiness for this. His other hand is resting lightly on my naked bum as he withdraws his fingers, then thrusts them sharply into me again. A couple of more quick thrusts then he slides them out, only to immediately replace his fingers with his cock. I arch my back in delight at the full, stretching feeling, the sensuality of containing him, being filled by him. I clench around his length, all concern for my paintwork now abandoned as I give myself over to the waves of lust now coursing wildly through my body. He sets a brisk, demanding rhythm, and my first orgasm ripples easily and quickly through me, delighting but not quite satisfying me. Not yet. I want more, need more.
And there is more. Slowing, he leans over me, reaching around and under me to caress my clit, his fingers gliding easily and smoothly past my inner lips to roll the sensitive bud between his thumb and forefinger. I gasp, my breath catching in my throat as the tumult of sensation starts up again, this time concentrating and coalescing under his fingers as he increases the pressure. He withdraws his cock until only the head remains inside my entrance, then he thrusts once more, deep and hard. I clench in response, seizing and gripping him as my own pleasure builds, heightened by his deep penetration as I soar once more toward release.
He straightens, his wonderful, skilled fingers leaving my clit, and I feel cheated, abandoned. I swivel my hips, clench my inner muscles in protest, and he immediately slaps my bottom. Hard enough to hurt. And to excite. I drop my head, utterly accepting, greedy for more, hopeful, for anything and everything. He knows it, he’s picked his moment.
“I’m going to explore your sweet little virgin arse now. Okay, girl?”
I don’t think, don’t hesitate. I’m totally his. I just nod, not even sure he can see me. I guess he can, because he gently parts my buttocks with his palms, opening my anus for his examination. He continues to fuck me, his long strokes now slow, steady, solid and reassuring as I feel his gaze on my most intimate opening, my only remaining secret place.
“Just one finger, and I won’t hurt you. I promise.” His tone is soft, but with that thread of steel in it which I’m sure all Doms cultivate, but Nick Hardisty has polished to a fine art.
I believe him though, if he was going to hurt me he would have said that. So I relax, ready to let him do what he wants with me. To me.
It feels strange at first, the slight pressure as he inserts just the tip of one thoroughly slick and well-lubricated finger into my anus, my own juices serving their purpose as he gently but firmly pushes past the sphincter. My instinct is to resist, but I consciously fight that urge, responding to his deep but gentle penetration and the firm caress of his other palm on my buttock, smoothing away the slight sting of his slap a few moments ago.
The whole experience is intensely erotic, arousing, incredibly personal and intimate, and I feel tears threatening. Emotional, joyful tears—my connection to him, my absolute faith in him so overwhelming in that moment. He increases the pressure, working his finger farther into me, and I accept him, welcome him. I know when he’s reached his full extent. His finger is now fully inserted and he starts to withdraw, only to ease slowly and surely back in again. He repeats the careful, deliberate movement, once more, twice, increasing his speed only slightly. Just enough to pick up the same rhythm as that set by his cock, fucking my pussy leisurely, at the same time finger-fucking my now totally receptive arse.
The unfamiliar sensations excite and intrigue, and the familiar warms and calms. It’s enough, more than enough. Shivering and shuddering toward my climax, I’m intensely aware of his presence in me, everywhere, and of nothing else. In that moment I think a whole army of hikers could have ambled past and I’d not have known they were there.
Nick eases me tenderly and surely over the cliff and I’m tumbling, weightless and spinning as my release finally washes through me. It’s fabulous, other-worldly, and I’m struck by how different it seems to be each time he does this to me, sometimes so powerful it takes my breath away, other times, like this, so achingly sweet I want to cry. Before, he made me sizzle, now I’m melting, soft and pliable and yielding. And totally fulfilled.
His finger leaves me as I regain my senses, and he snakes his other arm around my waist to hold me upright as my knees buckle. With a couple of swift, hard strokes, he finds his own climax. There’s a muffled “Holy fuck, Freya” as his semen spurts out to fill the condom he somehow managed to bring into the mix without me even being aware of it.
We’re breathing heavily as he at last straightens, withdrawing from me and quickly doing the necessary with the condom before reaching for me once more. He lifts and turns me, still helping me to stay upright as he lowers his head, intending to kiss me. Instead though, he sees the tears I was only dimly aware of, now flowing freely across my face. He stops, framing my face with his hands as he uses his thumbs to smooth them away.
“Tears, Freya? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
I shake my head, smiling ruefully as I wonder how I could possibly mime ‘tears of joy’. I don’t need to though, as he continues to hold my gaze, his slate eyes warm now, and tender. “I see.”
He continues to wipe away my tears, and I couldn’t stem the flow even if I’d tried to. He doesn’t seem to mind, just waits until I’m collected, calmer. His kiss is brief, approving, before he straightens, catching and holding my gaze.
“This thing we’re doing together is very intense, particularly for the sub who’s just learning, exploring, finding out things about herself. It peels back your emotional layers, releases feelings you weren’t even aware of. Crying’s natural, and it’s honest. If you feel you want to cry, then just do it. Don’t try to fight it or hide it from me. And don’t be embarrassed. This is just me, and I know what’s going on. It helps me to know how it’s affecting you, how I’m making you feel. Especially when you can’t easily tell me any other way. Okay?”
His voice is quiet, muted in this vast space around us as his words are only intended to reach my ears, no further. His face, beautifully masculine, the Dominant severity now veiled under genuine concern and tenderness, is just inches from mine. I can see the lighter flecks in his storm gray eyes as he continues to hold my gaze, connecting with me, this moment every bit as intimate as when his fingers and cock were buried deep inside me.
I nod, my tremulous smile still somewhat watery as he lowers his head to kiss me properly at last. It’s a long, dragging kiss, deep and sensual and totally absorbing. I cling to him as I try to convey my absolute and bone-deep gratitude for the things he’s showing me, teaching me.
He breaks the kiss at last, raising his head to catch my gaze.
“Tears aside, I’m guessing you liked that. All of it.”
It’s a statement, not a question, but I nod my agreement anyway.
He dips his head in acknowledgment. “And you learned from it. I think your boundaries have shifted a lot today. You are a very receptive student, Miss Stone. And so am I. Would you demonstrate the signing for ‘thank you’, please?” He steps back slightly to allow me room to move my hands.
Puzzled, I nevertheless demonstrate the gesture, touching my fingers to my lips before extending my open hand.
He nods, and repeats it back to me. Thanking me for the lesson?
“When I teach you something, you should thank me. So from now on, I expect to see that gesture a lot, Miss Stone. And when I correct your behavior too, when I punish you and you learn from it. You will thank me for that as well. Now, teach me ‘please’, if you would be so kind.” His tone has hardened now, cooled, the Dom voice is back, and once more his mercurial switches unnerve me.
I demonstrate the correct sign. He inclines his head, storing the information. “I expect you to be respectful at all times, as
sume the proper attitude from a submissive toward her Dom. So you will ask me nicely when you want something, I expect to be seeing a lot of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. I demand perfect manners from my submissive. And you will need to say sorry when you make a mistake, so now show me how you’ll say ‘I apologize’.”
This time I touch my mouth before making a fist and rubbing it on my other palm, instinctively assuming the downcast eyes and anxious facial expression that would usually accompany the gesture. He notices the whole combination, and takes my chin between his palms to lift my face, bringing my eyes back to meet his once more.
“Eye contact will be an issue for us. Usually I’d require a submissive to lower her eyes, especially when showing respect, or when she’s being disciplined. But your eyes are so expressive. They tell me how you’re feeling, and I need those signals from you. We’ll see how that goes, but generally I want you to look at me, not the floor. Is that clear?”
I nod, and he tilts his head wryly.
“One more key word for now. You’ll call me ‘Sir’. At all times, please. So show me how that should look.”
I think for a moment, the nearest approximation dragged up from my school days although this seems not exactly the same sense of the word. Still, it’ll have to do. I demonstrate the gesture, then, on impulse, I also sign ‘master’. He watches, then regards me carefully. “Are those words interchangeable?” Insightful and intuitive as ever, he knows just what to ask me.
I shrug, wrinkle my nose to indicate ‘not really’.
He nods curtly. “Then I think the first will be fine.” In a rapid shift of mood, he leans down to pick up my discarded jeans and briefs, handing them to me. “Now, I’ve worked up an appetite. For food. What about you?”
