by Ashe Barker
I feel the blood drain from my face as Nick gently removes the phone from my nerveless fingers and pockets it once more. He reaches for me, picking me up effortlessly as he takes my place leaning against the pillar and settles me on his lap. “It was a mind-fuck, love, that’s all. And it’s done with now. Finished. No more, I promise.”
His breath is against my ear as he whispers the words, and at last I accept that he’s telling me the truth.
Long minutes pass as we sit still, me snuggled up on my Dom’s lap, regrouping, gathering my wits once more. I’m well aware that my punishment is not yet complete, but Nick seems in no particular hurry to lay me across the spanking bench. Eventually I’m the one to break the mood as I lean away, stretching to reach the paddle still lying discarded on the floor close to the mat, where I dropped it after my outburst. He smiles as I hand it to him, ready now to finish, and above all desperate to move on.
“You got more back then than either of us bargained for. I’m ready to call it quits.”
I turn to him, surprised. Dom’s might occasionally reduce a punishment, but they never fail to deliver one, once it’s been earned. And despite everything that’s happened this afternoon, I find I don’t want him to. I deserve this beating, it’ll even the scales between us, and once it’s finished he’ll accept my apology and it’ll be behind us. I need that—nothing less will do.
I frown, shoving the paddle at him. He grins at me as he takes it, understanding my needs perfectly.
“Proper little pain freak you’re turning out to be. Okay then, if you insist.” He shoves himself to his feet, taking me with him. I stumble slightly as my feet hit the floor, and he steadies me. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t have to do this.”
I nod sharply and step out of his arms in the direction of the bench. I reach it then look back at him in inquiry.
He shakes his head at my perseverance, his smile wry as he issues his instructions. “Lie lengthways along the top, just as you did that first night at the club. I want to be able to see your hands so fold your arms above your head.”
I do as I’m told, quivering slightly in anticipation as I watch him approach, stand behind me, the paddle loosely swinging from his powerful right hand. I remember what he told me, about being able to make me safe word within three strokes if he chooses to, but I’m not afraid of him. Or of this.
“Would you like me to prepare you first?”
I nod, thankful that he remembered.
“Okay. For this, I want you to relax into the bench, let it absorb the strokes. Remember to breathe slowly, breathe in between the strokes and out after each one. You’re not wearing your wristbands, so if you want me to stop you just slap the top of the bench, twice, sharply. So, are you ready to start?”
I nod, and brace myself. And wait. At last he speaks to me again.
“What did I tell you about breathing? You’re holding your breath, Freya. Breathe out, now.”
I do, and he instructs me to breathe in. Then out again. In, out, until my breathing is slow, steady, controlled. And I really am ready.
The first blow is exquisite, the pain across my left buttock sharp, crisp and clean. I breathe out, more of a sigh really, then draw my next breath, ready for his palm to fall again. It does, this time on the right side, and once more the sensation is glorious, the burn sweet and erotic. He repeats the action, alternating between my buttocks and managing to position the blow perfectly each time. I can feel the glow growing, blooming as my flesh absorbs the spanks, heating up under his hand. He increases the weight of his strokes, just slightly, just enough to maintain the shock but blending that with exhilaration, building the sharp tingle artfully as I writhe on the bench.
I’m reveling in this, and intuitive Dom that he is, he knows it, continuing to spank me long after the preparatory effects are exhausted. He ramps up the pressure again, very slightly, but it’s enough. It hurts, but it’s a good sort of hurting. It feels wonderful, exciting, beautifully erotic. I’m welcoming every blow, jerking under his hand as it falls and connects with my sensitized bottom, each resounding slap echoing around the room. I’m aware of the pain, attuned to it but at the same time becoming strangely disconnected from it as the sting radiates and disperses through my body. I experience a curious impression of floating, and can no longer feel the floor under my bare feet. I could fall, could roll off this bench so easily, but I really don’t care. All I care about, the only thing I’m aware of is the steady, rhythmic sound of the slaps, and the sublime mix of pleasure and pain now curling seductively through my body. I want more of it, I want all of it. I never want it to end. I want to soak it all in, soak it up.
I have no idea how long he continues to pleasure me with pain, how long I lie there, my body bared and vulnerable, accepting the sweet torment he’s lavishing on me so generously. But at last he slows, the blows become less frequent, lighter, eventually stopping altogether. And still I lie there, drifting in a hazy sort of semi-consciousness, my body sore and aching but incredibly relaxed.
“Time to come back, Freya. You really don’t want to miss this bit.”
I frown, resenting the interruption, only to jerk to attention as he slips his hand between my legs. I’m completely alert as he gently slides two, then three fingers inside me, filling me with their length, testing my wetness. And I am very, very wet. Very aroused. I clench around him, then turn my head to protest as he withdraws his fingers.
“Trust me. I’ll make this good for you.” His soft murmur tickles my earlobe as he pulls me from the bench, straightening me then lifting me. He strides across the room, to deposit me carefully on the floor in the area where it’s deeply cushioned. I feel the burn in my still acutely sensitive bottom as my weight settles briefly, but he quickly rolls me onto all fours. “Open your legs, Freya. Wide. Let me in. I want to see all of you. Show me your beautiful pussy, girl.”
I do, gladly, loving the warmth of his gaze as he looks at me, spread out, open for him, his to touch, to use as he likes. His fingers are gentle as he parts the lips of my pussy, once more sliding three long digits into me. With his other hand he flicks my swollen clit then presses his thumb to it, rubbing sharply. “Come for me, girl. Now.”
I obey his command, my orgasm sweet and powerful, washing through me as I shudder, clenching and writhing around his wonderful, skilled fingers. At last the storm passes, but he hasn’t finished, his fingers are still inside me, thrusting slowly as he continues to circle my clit with the pad of his thumb.
“That was so good, girl. You do come beautifully, and on command too. I like that. And now we’ve taken the edge off we can slow it all down a bit. You can learn a little about patience, and the rewards of delayed gratification. Would you like that, do you think?”
My head’s still spinning and I can’t formulate a response. He clearly expects one, though, and his fingers are motionless inside me as he waits. “Answer me. Would you like me to finger-fuck you, nice and slow? Or do you want my cock inside you? Or maybe you’d like my tongue on you, in you? Which is it to be, my sexy little sub?”
I’m confused, I have no idea what my answer might be. And even less notion of how to tell him anyway. No wristbands, I can’t sign in this position, and I so don’t want to move. But there’s no need. He chuckles, the sound low and sexy as he resumes his slow thrusting. “Not sure? I think you’d better try them all then. Pay close attention, I’ll be asking for comments later.”
The play of his long fingers inside me continues as he curls them to stroke my G-spot, then spreads them wide to stretch me, increasing the pressure on my internal walls. He’s so good at this, knows my body and my responses so well, working me into a near mindless frenzy before slowly pulling his fingers out.
My silent groan of frustration is quickly transformed into an inner shriek of delight as he draws his tongue along the whole length of me, from my throbbing clit right back to my tight little anus. I stiffen, my bottom lifting as I arch to offer him better access as he rep
eats the slow exploration, this time stopping to dip the tip of his tongue into my waiting, welcoming pussy. I feel myself start to thrust, but a firm palm landing on my still tender buttock stops that. My lesson learned, I hold myself perfectly still for him.
My reward is a superb rush of exquisite pleasure as he alternates between lapping at my clit, flicking it with his tongue, then sinking his tongue deep into my pussy once more. The tongue-fuck is fabulous, so erotic, each thrust sensational, the intimacy of the act gripping my emotions as firmly as the physical impact is dominating my body. My fingers are clutching at the cushions under me, opening and spreading, then clenching into fists as each wave of ecstasy builds and breaks over me. My orgasm starts to build again, and my breath catches in my throat as I prepare to climax.
“Not yet. Not quite yet.”
His words are softly whispered, but firm, my body shuddering with repressed, unmet need as he lifts his head, abandoning my clenching, needy channel. His fingers are soon on my clit again, though, flicking, rubbing, stroking, and the ecstasy peaks again, rushing now toward an unstoppable release. Knowing the precise moment to pause, he brings me right to the brink, hovering there as he slowly slides just one finger deep into my pussy once more. He withdraws it, covered in my slick, hot juices, only to press it firmly into my arse. It’s unexpected, but not painful. And I’m so aroused now, so completely turned on, he can do anything he likes to me, and I’ll love it.
His finger thrusting deeply into my anus is soon joined by another. It’s tight, I can feel the stretch, the intimate intrusion, but it’s fine. I’m fine with this. He continues to withdraw his fingers, only to plunge them back into me, twisting deep inside, loosening and relaxing the sphincter to make his entry easier. And when I’m totally accepting, completely his, he uses his other hand to reach around me once more to take my swollen clit between his thumb and forefinger, and he squeezes it gently. One light tug, the scrape of his thumb across the quivering tip, and I’m lost. This time my release is so powerful that my arms give way under me. The sensations roar through me, buffeting and tossing me around, helpless and spinning wildly as my body abandons all control to him. My responses are his to master, his to command now, and I give it all up willingly in exchange for this mindless frenzy of pure pleasure.
Even as the tingles subside and the crisis passes, it’s still not over. With a gasp of satisfaction, I feel his cock slide into me, made even more delightful as his fingers continue to work in my arse, increasing the pressure, heightening every delicious quiver and tingle. He’s gentle at first, the strokes long and deep, the head of his cock nudging my cervix. And now I can’t help thrusting back, but he allows it this time, quickening the rhythm as I rush to keep up. He’s still stroking my clit, flicking, caressing me. I’m immediately back there, on the very brink of orgasm, gasping and straining and reaching for another breathtaking release. He doesn’t disappoint, tumbling me once more into that blurred, whirling bliss-filled space. He waits until the last tremor of joy has died before easing his fingers from my arse and relinquishing his deft touch on my clit. He uses both hands now to lift and hold my hips in place as he angles his thrusts to ensure he unerringly hits that sweet spot each time. And now he’s pounding into me, each deep plunge filling me completely, stretching me, the friction intense as he pounds me mercilessly, gloriously. I didn’t expect to come again, but I do, an instant before I feel the hot wash of his semen flowing across my cervix. More and more, he continues to pump his cum into me, and I squeeze him, hard, in thankful, silent acknowledgment.
Long moments later we’re both still at last, breathing hard. Still buried deep inside me, my Dom leans forward and lifts the hair from the back of my neck. He drops a light kiss there before placing his hands on the soft floor on each side of my shoulders, leaning down farther to murmur in my ear.
“Christ, girl, that was good. I fucking loved that.” His voice is low, husky, sexy, and he’s still out of breath.
In response, I simply turn my head to kiss him on the mouth. It’s enough, and I feel his smile against my lips as he slowly withdraws from me, allowing me at last to sink, boneless, to the floor.
* * * *
We’re seated in Nick’s comfortable kitchen, each of us nursing a hot cup of tea, each lost in thought as we reflect on the events of the last hour or so. Well I am, anyway. Who knows what’s in Nick Hardisty’s mind?
That was no punishment beating back there in the dungeon. At some stage he did pick up the paddle, I know that now. But he used it to arouse and stimulate, not to hurt me. So he did get his way, he did get to call it quits, but without needing to overrule my wishes. He could have, could have simply refused to continue the punishment, but instead he gave me exactly what I needed. Including my first excursion to sub-space.
I’d heard of that, obviously, that strange trance-like state experienced by some submissives, induced by the rush of endorphins. And he held me there, gauging the pace and pressure of his strokes so perfectly in order to draw out the experience for me, to let me hover there for longer than I would have thought possible, before gently drawing me back in. Then he carried me across the room to what he calls his fuck-floor, and delivered the most intensely erotic, most intimate experience imaginable. Christ, what an introduction to my formal education in submission.
Afterwards we just lay on our backs, Nick fully clothed once more and me completely nude, but it felt just fine. My bottom was still sore, still tingling each time I moved, and I’d never felt so alive. Nick was first to get up, announcing that he needed a shower, a shave, a pee and a cup of tea, in that order. I asked if it was okay to have a shower too, and he told me, “Yes, of course.”
Then he asked if I wanted him to stay, to wait for me while I used the wet room in the corner, or maybe I’d like to go back to his bedroom to use the en suite there. But I didn’t. I really didn’t mind being alone in the dungeon this time. I asked him to leave the door open, though, which made him smile again, but he did as I’d asked. Under the stern, fierce Dom exterior lurks a really nice man. I hope to see more of him.
So now I’m perched in a carver chair at Nick Hardisty’s kitchen table, a deep red towel wrapped around me and knotted over my breasts, my colored wristbands in place and slipping up to my forearms as I lift my cup to sip my tea. I’m under strict instructions to keep the wristbands on permanently as I could find myself needing them at any time. I find that I quite like that idea. Nick leans sideways in his chair opposite me, fishes in his jeans pocket for something. His phone? No, this time it’s a key, the same key I think that I collected from the post office yesterday. I’d left it on the kitchen worktop, assuming that I’d have no further need of it once Nick arrived. He places it beside my cup. I look up at him in surprise.
“Your key to the front door. You’ll need it while you’re here.”
“I don’t understand. I thought I wasn’t allowed to leave.”
He glances up, fixes his steely gaze on me. “No. I asked you to wait here for me yesterday, that’s all. You didn’t and we dealt with it. End of that story. But it does raise another question we need to address. If I’m to train you properly I need to know just what sort of submissive you want to be.” He raises one eyebrow in inquiry, but I’m unable to help. I have no idea what he’s talking about.
Seeing my confusion, he clarifies, “In your email to me, when you first proposed this arrangement of ours, you mentioned wanting a Dom. You said you wanted to try out the many and various forms of submission, yes?”
I nod, still puzzled about where this conversation is headed.
He continues, “A Dom/sub relationship is mainly about sex, sexual submission. That’s something of an over-simplification, it’s actually more complex than that, and not all Dominants fuck their subs. But we’ve already established that between us there will be fucking. A great deal of fucking. Yes?”
Again I nod—this much is definitely agreed.
“But when you gave me that little language lesson i
n BSL, when you showed me the signing for please, thank you, I’m sorry, and Sir, you also signed ‘Master’. A Master/slave relationship is more, much more. Is that what you’re looking for, in the future?”
I sign the only thing I can think of in that moment, not that it makes any real difference. “How did you know what it meant?”
His smile is wry, mocking. I should have known he’d not miss an important clue like that. “I didn’t, not at first. But I knew it was significant by the way you tried to slip it in, so I remembered the sign and asked my BSL tutor later, when I did my crash course. So, Freya, is it a Master you want?”
I honestly don’t know and sign that. I’m not that certain I understand the difference, and I sign that too. He nods briefly, leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.
“As a sexual submissive, my submissive for the coming month, you accept my domination in all matters to do with sex and anything related to that. I’ll also require obedience and respect, at all times, but I don’t expect you to provide other personal services for me.
Maybe to illustrate that point he pauses to reach for the teapot, lifting an eyebrow to ask if I want a top-up. I push my cup at him by way of an answer. He pours my tea, then his own, before continuing.
“When we’re not scening, our relationship won’t be especially different from any other couple. We’ll go out together, have fun, relax, do things separately at times. You’re wearing my chain around your waist, but that’s more symbolic than anything else, and because I want you to experience the emotional connection it brings. I won’t be asking you to crawl on the floor or generally abase yourself or devote yourself to meeting my needs.”
He pauses again, this time to go hunting in a cupboard for a packet of biscuits. “Plain digestives okay for you?”
I nod, rocking my hand to imply ‘in moderation’. I must remember to thank him soon for his attention to my dietary needs, but for now I remain still to listen to his explanation of what’s to happen.