Over the Knee

by Ashe Barker, Lily Harlem, Katy Swann, Wendi Zwaduk, Lucy Felthouse, Dolly Watt

  “I see. How will we pass the time?”

  “I might have a book of Sudoku puzzles somewhere. Or there’s always the Sunday papers.”

  “Those sound riveting. Or we could experiment with the clit clip I brought you.” He withdraws from me, and I roll over to face him. I reach up to caress his cheek, loving the slight rasp of stubble against my palm.

  “Are we really all right again? Can you forgive me?”

  “Already did, or did you miss that bit. Were you not concentrating, Libby? You know how that can end up.” He lands a playful tap on my still-tender bum. “But it wasn’t all your fault. I should have told you I intended to apply for a discharge, put your mind at rest. I’d already seen my CO and put the process in motion, and I suppose I was still getting used to the prospect of a life outside the army when I took that call from you. Then I was just so bloody angry that I didn’t want to speak to you. I was seething for months, but I never wavered about leaving. It had been a difficult decision, but once I’d made it I didn’t look back. I was head-hunted by another ex-Paras friend of mine to join his security firm as soon as I got out, so I was pretty busy. And when the new shopping center opened in Manchester, I landed that job.”

  “How long have you been there?”

  “Six months or so.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Some days are better than others. Yesterday was pretty good.”

  “Is it what you want to do? Forever?”

  He shrugs. “Probably not. The ‘forever’ bit of my life is here, in this bed with you. But the job will do—for now.” He flips the pair of us over so I’m on my back, looking up at him. “So, about that clit clip, could I interest you in that? Before we need to go back downstairs and make the gravy.”

  “Oh, I think you can, Sir.”

  About the Author

  Ashe has been an avid reader of women’s fiction for many years—erotic, historical, contemporary, fantasy, romance—you name it, as long as it’s written by women, for women. Now, at last in control of her own time and working from her home in rural West Yorkshire, she has been able to realize her dream of writing erotic romance herself.

  She likes to write about people, relationships, and the general cock-up and mayhem that is most of our lives. She often writes about places she’s known but her stories of love, challenge, resilience and compassion are the conjurings of her own imagination, with a hefty dose of kink to keep it interesting. We all need to have a hobby.

  Ashe loves to craft strong, enigmatic men and bright, sassy women to give them a hard time—in every sense of the word.

  When she’s not writing, Ashe’s time is divided between her role as resident taxi driver for her teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, rabbits, tortoises, and Colin the hamster.

  Email: ashe.barker1@gmail.com

  Ashe loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com

  Also by Ashe Barker

  Carrot and Coriander

  Red Skye at Night

  The Dark Side: Darkening

  The Dark Side: Darker

  The Dark Side: Darkest

  Sure Mastery: Unsure

  Sure Mastery: Sure Thing

  Sure Mastery: Surefire

  The Hardest Word: A Hard Bargain

  The Hardest Word: Hard Lessons

  The Hardest Word: Hard Choices

  A Richness of Swallows: Rich Tapestry

  A Richness of Swallows: Rich Pickings

  A Richness of Swallows: Rich Promise

  Paramour: Re-Awakening

  Jolly Rogered: Right of Salvage

  What’s Her Secret?: The Three Rs

  Totally Five Star: Chameleon

  Totally Five Star: La Brat

  SPICING IT UP

  Lily Harlem

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Tabasco: McIlhenny Company

  Stella Artois: Anheuser-Busch InBev N.V.

  The Simpsons: Matt Groening. Twentieth Television, Inc.

  Chapter One

  Cassandra stood naked in the kitchen. There was nothing unusual about her state of undress. It was how she had to be when in the house with Sir. He loved her body—seeing her body, touching her body, using her body—and he wanted her available at all times.

  She liked that—it made her feel adored to know how desired she was. But what she didn’t like so much was frying onions ready for the dinner party with her flesh so near to the pan.

  “Here, I’ll do that,” Sir said, rushing over.

  “Thank you.” She rested the metal spatula down and stepped away. “Sir.”

  “You have to be careful.” He frowned at her then wiped his hand over his cheek. He deposited a small streak of butter there—he’d been making dessert. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  She smiled and wiped it away with her thumb. “You’re a messy cook, Sir.”

  “It usually tastes okay, though.” He grinned.

  “It’s always delicious.” She pressed her lips to his. He had a dusting of stubble—he hadn’t shaved as it was the weekend—and she loved the feel of the sharp little hairs on her chin.

  “One quick job before you get dressed,” he said, patting her ass in a playful tap and breaking their lingering kiss.

  She didn’t flinch, barely even noticed the smack. She’d had her ass beaten much harder than that—quite regularly, thank you very much—and she thoroughly enjoyed it.

  “Oh, what job is that?” Cassandra glanced around the kitchen. The starters were laid out ready, the steaks for the main course would be fried then topped with the onions when their visitors arrived and dessert was now in the oven, baking slowly.

  “Cass…” he said with a frown.

  “I mean, what’s that, Sir? What else would you like me to do?”

  The crease in his brow relaxed. “Go to the bottom drawer of the fridge.”

  She did as he’d instructed and made sure to bend double with her rear up and her legs parted. She wanted him to catch a glimpse of her pouty lower lips and her most private hole.

  As she reached into the vegetable compartment, the spoon stopped scraping against the frying pan.

  Oh yes, he’s watching.

  “What am I getting?” she asked, twitching her hips from side to side.

  “The ginger. There’s a fresh root in there.”

  Cassandra spotted it still wrapped in a thin, clear supermarket bag. She clutched it and stood, shut the fridge door then turned.

  She’d been right. He was staring at her, though he was absently stirring the onions again now, the spoon once more making a grating noise.

  “You little minx,” he said, shifting from one foot to the other.

  “Sir?” she said, a question in her voice.

  “Flaunting yourself like that to me.”

  “But I was only doing what you told me to and reaching the—”

  “And with no time for me to do anything about it.”

  She glanced at his groin. Sure enough, the outline of his cock was visible through his jeans. But then again, that was quite a normal condition for him to be in. He seemed to be permanently aroused these days. Living as Dom and sub full-time, and not just in the bedroom, certainly seemed to be agreeing with him.

  It was agreeing with her too. The decision they’d made six months ago hadn’t been taken lightly but it had been made for the right reasons. They loved each other. He wanted to care for her and she wanted to be cared for. Some might think she was trapped by having a Master, but she’d never felt freer and she’d created some of her best artwork since that pivotal moment. Now when she had her brush in her hand and a canvas in front of her the paint spoke to her—no, it more than spoke, it sang. It lifted her high, and higher still, like wind beneath her arms as she created images that had bee
n bursting to get out of her head for years.

  Her new way to live, as a sub, was a revelation, a revolution, it was part of her evolution.

  “Take the ginger out of the bag, Cass,” he said, turning off the heat under the onions.

  Cassandra pulled it out and examined the gnarly root. It was nearly as big as her hand with protruding nodules—one longer than her finger and twice as wide.

  “I took great care choosing it,” Sir said. “There were lots in the box but I wanted that one.”

  “Oh…” She held it up, wondering what was special about it.

  “Yes. It’s going to be just right.”

  “But we don’t have a course that needs ginger in it, Sir.” She was confused—prawn cocktail, steak and New York cheesecake weren’t ginger-requiring dishes.

  “I have something that requires ginger in it,” he said, sweeping his tongue over his bottom lip and narrowing his eyes.

  His tongue had left a faint sheen and Cassandra wished she could lick it off. But she couldn’t, their guests would arrive in twenty minutes. If she got him more riled up, in the mood, that wouldn’t be nearly enough time for fun. Not to mention she needed to get dressed very soon.

  “What is that, Sir? That requires ginger in it?”

  “Guess.” He took a small knife from the drawer and began to peel the fibrous root.

  The spicy scent drifted toward Cassandra, making her think of Christmas and mulled wine and dunking biscuits in tea after long walks through the woods.

  “I don’t know if I can guess, Sir.”

  He set the now peeled root on the chopping board. He began to carve and sculpt, shaping the ginger and removing all but the longest protrusion. “Well?”

  “I’m sorry, Sir.” She shrugged and shook her head. “I really don’t know.”

  “What does it remind you of?”

  “A… A carrot?”

  “Yes, I suppose it does. But I didn’t mean another vegetable. I meant what does it remind you of that I have in my special cupboard.”

  Special cupboard? That was where he kept floggers and whips, bondage straps, ball gags, vibrators, wands, lubes, handcuffs, butt plugs… Butt plugs.

  She swallowed—her throat suddenly tight. Yes, that’s what it reminded her of—a butt plug. He’d carved it to the same conical, tapered shape. It even had a ridge at the bottom that would, if inserted there, stop it going too deep.

  “Good girl,” he said, tipping his head and smiling. “You’ve got it, haven’t you?”

  She nodded. “Yes, it’s a butt plug, isn’t it, Sir?”

  “Yes. It is.” He held it up to the light and spun it in his fingers. Its moist surface shone and a few fibrous strands hung from it. “And, my darling girl, it’s going to heat you up from the inside out in the most delightful way.”

  “But…”

  “There is no but.” His voice was stern. “Now go and get dressed. Our guests will be here soon. Wear your red dress and put your hair up. I’d like to see those new earrings too. The ones I bought you from Oxford Street last weekend.”

  “Yes, Sir.” She nodded and watched as he placed the ginger on a small flowery plate and set it on the windowsill. Was he really going to just leave it there? While they had guests in the house? Yes, of course he was. Their friends wouldn’t suspect for one moment that her husband had carved a butt plug out of ginger root, and that he intended, as soon as they’d stepped from the house, to ease it into her behind.

  Would they?

  She turned and went quickly to her bedroom. They lived in a bungalow so it was only two doors from the kitchen. Once inside she could still smell the onions and the ginger but the quiet and the dim light gave her time and space to think.

  ‘Heat you up from the inside.’

  Cassandra wasn’t naïve, she knew full well that the root would be like having Tabasco sauce on her asshole. Ginger was hot, spicy—it would make her burn. If she touched her eyes after chopping it, then they stung like hell. She’d made that mistake once before and the sensation had been akin to chili.

  All she could do now was hope that her Master knew what he was doing. That he’d researched this evening’s entertainment thoroughly.

  Of course he has.

  She trusted him entirely. Sir would never do anything to give her bad pain. The ginger would likely feel incredible. It would send her soaring into ecstasy and he’d probably fuck her mouth or her pussy while it was inserted.

  Oh yes, that sounded good. More than good. That sounded like something well worth looking forward to.

  She plucked the red dress from the wardrobe and slipped into it. She didn’t wear knickers—that was always forbidden in the house—but she did add a bra to hold her ample breasts in place—the dress was low and it wouldn’t do to show too much flesh to a male guest.

  Sir wouldn’t like that. She was his.

  Which was how it should be.

  Cassandra sat at the dressing table and began to pin her hair high. She tried to do it neatly, but the heaviest strands always won the battle and the result was a casual updo that had several tendrils hoping to break free and two that had, down her nape.

  She found the new earrings, shaped like small hearts, and slipped them in. After a slick of lipstick and a squirt of flowery perfume, she was ready.

  “Oh my, Cass,” Sir said when she walked into the dining room. “You look simply stunning.”

  A flush of heat warmed her cheeks. “Thank you, Sir.” She adored his approving look, it made her heart swell with love.

  He rested down the last of the dessert spoons on the perfectly set table and came toward her. “Your beauty blows my mind,” he said quietly. “I’m so happy that you’re mine.”

  “Yes, I’m yours. Always, Sir.”

  He set a very soft kiss on her lips. Sometimes he liked smudging her lipstick, sending it all around her mouth so she appeared bruised and battered by his fingers or his lips, but not now. Now it was a kiss as gentle as the brush of kitten’s whiskers.

  Ding-dong.

  “Ah,” he said, pulling back. “That will be our guests. Let them in while I quickly change my shirt.” He pointed to yet another smear of butter, this time on the material over his belly from where he’d held the pudding bowl as he’d mixed.

  “Of course, Sir. I’ll get everyone drinks, shall I?”

  “Good idea.”

  She had one last check of her dress, brushed away a piece of lint, then answered the door.

  “Sarah, James, how are you?”

  “Fine. Thank you for inviting us.” Sarah stepped in and pressed a quick kiss to Cassandra’s left cheek.

  “Here,” James said, handing over a bottle of red wine. “A little something.”

  “Oh, rioja, that’s Raif’s favorite.”

  “Great.” James shrugged out of his jacket.

  Cassandra hung it on a peg then took Sarah’s and did the same.

  “Is he here?” James asked. “Not out at work, surely?”

  “No, not at all, he’s not on call this weekend. He’ll be here in a minute.” Cassandra gestured to the kitchen. “Let me get you both a drink.”

  “It smells wonderful,” Sarah said, her high heels clipping on the wooden floor.

  “Oh, it’s nothing fancy,” Cassandra said with a shrug. “You know Raif, he likes his meat, so it’s steak for main.”

  “Perfect,” James said, rubbing his hands together and leaning against the counter next to the windowsill.

  “Red or white, or would you prefer a beer?” Cassandra asked, trying not to look at the butt-plug shaped ginger root right behind James.

  “I might start with a beer,” James said, smiling. “If that’s okay?”

  “Of course.” Cassandra went to the fridge and reached for a Stella. They were on one of the lowest shelves and she was careful not to bend over too far this time. James would get a shock if he received the view Sir had earlier.

  She straightened and used a Simpsons beer opener to pop the
lid. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” James grinned and took a sip.

  “I can smell ginger,” Sarah said, sniffing the air. “Have you made gingerbread men?” She giggled. “I love them.”

  “Er, no. Dessert is cheesecake.” Cassandra smiled and reached for the corkscrew.

  “Mmm, I can smell ginger too,” James said. “Nice.”

  “White okay?” Cassandra asked, pulling the cork on a bottle of chardonnay. White was Sarah’s favorite.

  “Lovely,” Sarah said. “Oh, there’s the ginger.” She pointed to the windowsill behind James.

  “Oh yes,” he said, turning. “That’s what I can smell.”

  As Cassandra poured Sarah’s glass of wine, James picked up the carefully carved root. He held it aloft and studied it. But he didn’t hold it from the base, he held it from the tip, the insertion end.

  Cassandra felt her stomach tense, her chest tighten. Fuck. Would he recognize the shape?

  No, surely not. He was holding it inverted, upside down.

  But she had no idea what Sarah and James were into. She’d worked with Sarah for the last year and they got on well… But not well enough to divulge sexual preferences and kinks. Maybe an upside-down butt plug shape would be easily identifiable, maybe…

  “Love, I think that will keep Sarah going for now.” Sir was behind her, holding her arm and stopping the flow of wine.

  Cassandra glanced at the crystal wine glass. It was a hair’s breadth away from overflowing.

  “Whoops.” She passed the wine to Sir, grateful that he’d saved her from making a mess.

  “Here you are, Sarah,” he said, passing the full glass her way. “How are you?”

  “Very well, Raif,” Sarah said, offering her cheek for a kiss.

  Cassandra watched as her Master gave Sarah a polite peck. She didn’t like it. Not one bit. His lips were hers, every bit as much as hers were his. But it wouldn’t do to harbor those thoughts. That was the kind of thing that festered and he’d told her not to let jealousy raise its head in their relationship, there was no need or room for it.