Red Skye at Night

by Ashe Barker

  “So pretty, so hot. Mine.” He murmurs the words as he lets his fingers do the walking across my pubic bone and down to my pussy. He takes his time tracing the outline of my pussy lips before using his thumbs to carefully ease them apart. He glances back at me, briefly meets my eyes before his attention returns to my wet, needy cunt.

  He lowers his head and I scream out loud as he eases his tongue into me. His weight on my lower body and his hands holding my pussy wide open keep me still and in place as he proceeds to fuck me with his tongue.

  I’m gasping, relishing the soft, intimate probing, so different from the hardness of his fingers. I wonder at the growing sense that he can do anything, anything at all to me, with me, and I will love it. Even as I’m melting under the heady, sensual pressure of his tongue he shifts his attention to my clit once more. If sucking and biting my nipple could arouse me almost to orgasm, the same treatment applied to my clit is little short of devastating. He sucks, sending shock waves along the length of my pussy. He laps at my clit with the flat of his tongue, and I scream again, the sound dropping to a frantic whimper as he ratchets up the pressure.

  I wriggle, desperate for more. More sensation. More suction, more anything. Again, he knows. He plunges three fingers inside me, opening and spreading them to increase the pressure on my inner walls. He twists his hand, the motion swirling rather than thrusting now, the effect just as heady. It occurs to me that this wonderful, sensual treat will last longer if I can manage to control my response. Perhaps I could count to ten again?

  I’d have more chance of flapping my arms and flying around the chimney pots of Scone. And, in any case, I never got past seven when I tried that before. This time I reach five, but by then my resolve is shattered, my self-control a distant memory. I come again, my body bucking as each wave flows through me. I’m spinning, my senses fragmented, a crazy kaleidoscope of color exploding behind my tightly closed eyelids. I might have screamed, but by now I have little awareness of anything except the magic being wrought by his skilled tongue and clever fingers.

  My climax passes, my breathing evens out. Or restarts perhaps, I’m really not at all sure. I lie still for a few seconds, reorienting myself before I venture to open my eyes again. Harry lifts his head to wink at me. He reaches for the tie securing my left ankle and releases it. He does the same with my right then tugs the bulky pillows from beneath my bottom and tosses them onto the floor. I wait, expecting my wrists to be freed next, but instead he stands up. I watch, my mouth drying out fast as he starts to undress.

  At last.

  His shirt is discarded first, dumped on the carpet with my clothes. He unfastens his jeans and lowers the zipper, but doesn’t immediately pull them off. He reaches for the bottle of water next to the bed and sits beside me. He doesn’t ask this time, he just knows. I accept the drink, swallowing the cool, refreshing liquid. I smile my appreciation as he replaces the bottle on the floor then stands up again. This time the jeans do go, followed by his boxers, and I get my first proper look at his erection.

  Harry McLeod is one seriously fine man.

  I run my tongue across my lower lip.

  “More water, Hope?”

  I shake my head.

  “You still okay with this?”

  A small nod this time, don’t want to look too eager. But hell…

  “Say it, please. I want the words.”

  I swallow my nerves. “I am okay. I want you to fuck me. Now. Please.”

  He requires no further urging. He reaches for his discarded jeans and rifles through the front pockets. He extracts a condom, then rejoins me on the bed. He lies alongside me, trails his fingers across my breasts and down to my waist.

  “You are so beautiful. I knew you were, from the first moment you glowered at me from your cab. I could tell, even under that awful little cap you seemed so fond of.”

  I should just accept the compliment. I should bask in it, but I’m not wired that way. Instead I seize on the implied criticism. “I did not glower. I don’t glower. Ever.”

  “You’re glowering now. I suggest you stop it.” By way of persuasion he flicks the tip of my nipple with his fingernail.

  “Ouch.” I manage a note of indignation, but he’s unimpressed.

  “Manners, Hope. As I was saying, you are one seriously lovely woman, but on the occasions you find yourself tied to my bed, you’ll do well to be polite.”

  “Occasions? You intend to do this again then?”

  “Oh, I think I will. So, the glowering…?”

  I decide discretion is the better part, and all that. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was doing it. I never meant…”

  The snap of the condom foil interrupts my apology. I watch, mesmerized, as Harry unrolls the latex along his cock. Irreverently, I wonder if pharmacies sell those things in extra-large. He glances up at me, catches me staring.

  “I see I have your attention, Hope. You like what you see?”

  “Yes.” I whisper my response, not sure of the protocol here. But I see no point in being less than honest and he did say kind things about me. He didn’t have to. I’m not vain, nor am I high maintenance, particularly. I don’t require effusive compliments. And the simple truth is, Harry McLeod is quite simply magnificent. The main focus of my attention has been his cock, but the rest of his body is rather fine too, sculpted and hard. His chest is dusted with light brown hair that lends a certain shadow and texture to the otherwise angular planes. If my hands were free I would be running them across his pecs, then continuing on to explore that washboard stomach and tight butt. I wonder if he works out regularly, suppose he must do. I know he was keen to make use of the facilities in Edinburgh.

  “If you’ve done staring could you shuffle back up a little, toward the head of the bed and spread your legs. Wide.”

  I do as he tells me, though my right leg remains fairly straight. As always. He kneels between my thighs, leaning forward to place his hands on either side of my shoulders. His cock is poised at my entrance.

  “Look at me, Hope.”

  I hadn’t realized my eyes were closed again, but I open them now.

  “If I hurt you, you tell me. Right?”

  “I’m not…”

  “Not a virgin. I know that. And you’ve been thoroughly prepared. Even so, you tell me.”

  I nod, chewing on my lower lip. He starts to enter me, the pressure even and steady. The head of his cock spreads my pussy lips wide as he penetrates me. He pauses, allows me time to adjust before continuing. It’s tight, incredibly tight. My body is stretching, pulled taut around his huge cock as he slides forward. I gasp—this is nothing like the rather frenzied coupling I’ve been accustomed to, the occasional tumble across the bed sheets with some handsome but over-enthusiastic student. Those events, while pleasant enough, were over quickly and ultimately not memorable. I suspect Harry McLeod will have greater staying power.

  He thrusts, not hard but firmly. He slides his cock fully into me, to the hilt. He waits, again offering me the opportunity to adapt to his presence. I lift my left leg to hook it around his waist. I’d do the same with my right, but it doesn’t bend that far of its own volition. I’m surprised when Harry hooks his arm under my knee and raises it. He maintains eye contact, one eyebrow raised, checking this is okay. I smile at him as he gently lifts my leg to ease his penetration, sinking deeper into me. I let my head drop back, sighing in contentment.

  Harry, taking that, perhaps, as a further signal that all is well, starts to thrust. He withdraws, watching my response as he drives his cock deep again. And again. He sets up a rhythm, increasing the tempo. His cock is plunging in and out, each stroke angled to hit my G-spot. I grip his waist with my leg, clinging on, urging him to fuck me harder, faster. I’m twisting my hands against the restraints, though being held and seemingly helpless is without doubt heightening the sensuality of this moment.

  In this moment I am his. It’s really that simple.

  Harry varies the movements, firm thrusts giv
ing way to a circular grinding motion, his cock swirling against my inner walls as I squeeze him hard. At first my own response is involuntary but I soon learn to control my muscles, my clenching now deliberate, calculated to heighten his pleasure, and mine. It is my only contribution to the proceedings. Harry ramps up the speed of his driving lunges, each time filling me, stretching me to exquisite limits. I give a long, low moan as my orgasm again starts to take form deep within my pussy. The now familiar contracting of internal muscles, the tingle of growing pleasure as the sensations gather and coalesce into another stunning crescendo. This time Harry is close behind me, his body stiffening and holding still momentarily. I hear his muttered “Holy fuck” an instant before his semen floods the condom.

  His body is still shuddering from his orgasm when he tunnels his fingers through my hair, gripping a hunk of it to turn my face toward his. He lays his lips across mine, his kiss warm and wet, wholly sensual. His tongue is inside my mouth, tasting, taking. It’s a kiss of possession. I love the sensation of warmth, and safety, and of being his.

  Afterwards we both lie motionless. In fairness, I have no choice. Harry has lowered my right leg back to the bed but my hands are still fastened to the headboard and Harry’s weight pins me in place. I’m not complaining—this is a good place to be. He seems to be in no hurry to withdraw his cock from my pussy. His face is buried in the hollow between my neck and my shoulder, his heavy breathing loud beside my ear. It steadies, settles, and he turns his head to kiss the sensitive spot behind my lobe. This is another of my ticklish zones, I note, though I decide against sharing that detail.

  “Are you good?” His voice is soft and so sexy, his concern for me an absolute turn-on.

  “Yes. Very good. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, sweetheart.” He does at last slide from me, rolling onto his back to lie by my side. “Are you hungry?”

  “Hungry?” I haven’t given a moment’s thought to food, but right on cue my stomach gives an insistent growl. Harry chuckles.

  “I’ll take that as a yes then.” He reaches past my head to untie my wrists. “How about a shower then we hit the dining room. Or I could order something to be brought up here if you prefer.”

  I flex and rub my wrists, easing the kinks out of my shoulder muscles. Bondage is intensely sexy, I conclude, but it plays havoc with the tendons. “I didn’t bring the sort of clothes I’d need for dining in smart hotel restaurants. Could we get room service? Would you mind that?”

  “No, it’s fine.” He leans across me to fumble on the bedside table, then drops the menu onto my chest. “Choose something, then you can hit the shower. I’ll join you when I’ve phoned our order down. And tomorrow, we go shopping. A pretty dress, I think. On expenses.”

  I wriggle into a sitting position, propped against the plump pillows. “I don’t care how pretty it is, a dress won’t suit you. And you don’t have the ankles for strappy shoes.”

  Harry chuckles, the sound one of satisfaction rather than mirth. I glance up at him to catch a decidedly wicked gleam in his eyes.

  “Ah, have a care, Hope. Your sassy mouth could get you in trouble. You should realize that by now. Or are you deliberately being a brat?”

  “A brat? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, are you sassing me because you want the spanking that will follow?”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Hell, I would. Will.”

  “No. No, I…”

  “I think yes, Hope. The chicken salad looks good. With a side order of fries?”

  My head is reeling. “What? Yes, anything. You are not going to spank me.”

  He ignores my statement, preferring to reach for the hotel phone and punch the key for room service. He rattles off our order, adding a tray of tea, fresh orange juice and a cheese board to the tally. He replaces the handset and turns to me.

  “Where were we? Oh, right, your first spanking. You can get used to the idea in the shower. Come on.”

  He grabs my hand and before I can muster further protest he’s tugging me across the bedroom in the direction of the en suite facilities.

  Chapter Six

  “I would never harm you.”

  Harry murmurs the words into my ear as he massages shampoo through my hair. I’m leaning against the tiled wall, my head tipped back to give him access. My hair is short and easy to manage, but it’s incredibly nice to have someone else wash it for me. Harry’s hands are efficient, competent. I have no doubt he could deliver a very effective spanking. I take a few seconds to consider his reassurance before I respond.

  “I know that. But you would hurt me. Spanking hurts.”

  “It does, that’s true. But pain and pleasure are almost the same thing, don’t you think? Or they can be.” He continues to massage my scalp, increasing the pressure of his fingers as I contemplate his cryptic reply. Oddly enough, I think I do know what he means. Sort of.

  Back in my days as a competitive athlete I used to push myself hard, daily. My coach would urge me on, and I did as I was told, resolute about stretching my boundaries, bettering my previous achievements. My lungs would be burning, my legs close to collapse at the end of a hard sprint, but the exhilaration was total. That was pain and pleasure mingled, the thrill of success dragged from the grueling punishment of supreme effort. I loved it, thrived on it. I miss it still. I’ve never felt anything like that since. Perhaps Harry is offering me an alternative.

  Could I do it? Could I even consider it?

  “How would you do it? I mean, what would I…?”

  “Your bare bottom, my bare hand. At least to start with. You might acquire a taste for the exercise, in which case I’d have to find something more imaginative for you.”

  “Yeah, right. I doubt we’ll find an Ann Summers in the Scottish Highlands.”

  “Ann who?”

  “Ann Summers. A sex shop. For the handcuffs and, and—stuff.”

  “Ah, right. I see. We won’t be needing Ann Summers. I can get all the ‘stuff’ I’ll need in a grocery store. Certainly enough to give you a good time.”

  I turn to gape at him as he sprays the water onto my head to rinse away the lather. “A grocery store?”

  He nods. “A roll of adhesive tape and a bottle of baby oil would be enough for most things. And a whole lot of condoms, obviously. You already saw what we could achieve with just a few neckties. The rest is just props. Sex toys are nice, good fun to play with, but what really matters is what happens in here.” He taps my forehead. “This is the erogenous zone we need to work on. And I think a decent spanking would help you get your head where it needs to be.”

  “What if I like my head just as it is, thank you?”

  “Then that’s fine too. I’ll never force you, or put pressure on you to do something you really don’t want.” He tips my chin up, holding my gaze. “But, Hope, can you honestly tell me you don’t want this? That you don’t want to at least to try it? Just once?”

  I stare back at him, chewing on my lower lip. It’s a nervous habit, I know that, but I can’t seem to help it. I suspect I’ll be doing it a lot in the coming days.

  “Yes. Yes, all right.”

  “Yes, what? Yes, you can tell me you don’t want to? Or yes, let’s do it?”

  “Yes, let’s do it.”

  My reply is whispered, I can’t quite believe I’ve said it. But as soon as the words are out, I know I’m doing the right thing. The right thing for me. Harry McLeod might hurt me, challenge me, he might push my limits, but it’s high time someone did. This could be a mad, crazy idea, but no more so than agreeing to come to Scotland with a man I hardly know. A man who is turning out to be the most exciting, wonderful, vitally alive person I have ever met. A man I could love.

  “You won’t regret this, Hope. I intend to take very good care of you.”

  I believe he will. Absolutely. For as long as he’s here.

  * * * *

  We eat our chicken salad and various accompaniments picnic-style, sitting cross
-legged on the huge bed, both of us wrapped in fluffy hotel towels. The food is delicious, and I’m starving. Orgasms are hungry work. By mutual but unspoken agreement, we confine the rest of our questions to the matter of sustenance.

  “Would you like the last chip?”

  “Is there any coleslaw left?”

  “Brie or red Leicester?”

  Eventually I collect the remnants of our meal back onto the tray and deposit the lot on the hall carpet outside our bedroom door. I return to the bed where Harry is already opening the road atlas at the right page.

  “So, we’re here.” He points to the little dot on the map that is Scone. “Tomorrow we head on north, and stop somewhere after about two hours. It’ll be slower going because we’re done with the freeways now. How far do you think we could do? A hundred miles or so?

  I ponder that. He’s probably about right. The roads are good, the weather not a problem. An average of fifty miles an hour or thereabouts seems doable. I can’t say I relish the prospect of driving three hundred miles a day, though, and to be expected to contend with spankings on top.

  “We can share the driving from now on. Seems fair.” Harry seems to tune in to my unspoken thought. I’m incredulous.

  “What are you on about? How can we share the driving?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “The only reason you hired me was because you can’t drive—or so you said.”

  “I think, if you recall, what I actually said was that I didn’t drive, not that I can’t. I can, and I do. And I think by now we both know I didn’t only hire you because I needed a driver. I needed you, Hope. Wanted you.”

  If I found the notion of sharing the driving difficult to comprehend, the conversation is really getting away from me now. This can’t be true. “I— You couldn’t. I mean, why? Why would a man like you want me?” I refrain from going on to say the rest of what I’m thinking— Why would a man like Harry McLeod want a plain little nobody, a grumpy cabbie with a gammy leg?