Red Skye at Night

by Ashe Barker

  “Daisy?” I was preoccupied by his description of his plans for the evening, but don’t miss this latest clue regarding the dog’s future.

  Harry leans back against the worktop, watching the dog devouring her meal with an enthusiasm bordering on desperate. I wonder just how close she was to starvation when she happened to find our picnic.

  “She needs a name. I thought she looks like a Daisy.”

  I cock my head as I study the ravenous dog. She must have been famished but she’s been so patient, waiting to be fed. “Right. It suits her.” Daisy might well be visiting the vet tomorrow, but she’ll be going nowhere near the police station or the council. I leave them to it as I head for the bathroom.

  Chapter Nine

  “Come here, Hope.”

  Harry’s tone is stern. I turn to look at him, lounging on the bed, a towel draped across his lap. His hair is still wet from his shower. I opted for the bath, enjoying a long soak in the scented water. I made good use of the complimentary toiletries—it’s rare that I have an opportunity to pamper myself. I think I’m going to need it, given what Harry has in mind for me. Starting now.

  I’m perched on the end of the bed, brushing my hair. I don’t usually bother with a hairdryer, but this time I decided I would and my thick locks are sleek and soft, the clipped layers falling in perfect shape. I look good, I feel good.

  I reach to place the hairbrush on the dressing table. It’s the one Harry bought in Boots.

  “Bring that with you.”

  I stand, the brush still in my hand. If he wants to brush my hair for me, that’s fine too. I walk toward him.

  “Lose the towel.” His tone is rich, but with an edge of steel, the sound both intoxicating and compelling but slightly intimidating too. In his normal persona, Harry is cheerful, pleasant, generous, but as soon as he slips into Dom mode he takes on a dark, dangerous aura. He’s unpredictable, tough, demanding and utterly wonderful.

  I drop the towel onto the bedroom floor and wait beside the bed for further instructions. I’m new to this, but instinctively I know that he’ll direct me. He’s in control here and that suits me fine. I love to obey the Dom in Harry. I’m already starting to recognize that he has discovered and unleashed the submissive in me, and having seen the light of day she’s not about to be buried again. I’m not sure what I’ll do after Harry leaves, but I’ll find something. Someone. Now I know what I’m looking for.

  “Give me the brush, and lay yourself face down across my lap.”

  “I thought— But you said…”

  “I changed my mind. A paddling first, then I fuck you.” He taps the back of the hairbrush against his palm, the slap a deep, thudding sound. Realization dawns. My mouth dries instantly.

  I don’t hesitate, though. Harry knows what he’s doing. I trust him and despite our brief acquaintance, I know he cares about me. A little. Certainly enough for this. I position myself across him, my bare bottom poised to receive the paddle.

  “Ten strokes. On each side. That’s twenty in total. Quite a lot but I’ll keep it light. This first time. I’d like you to count these, if you would.”

  “Yes, Sir.” I wriggle, trying to make myself comfortable.

  “Fold your arms and lay your forehead on them. Just let your muscles relax. Breathe in before the stroke, and out afterwards. Accept the pain, let it soak through you. You can do this, Hope. You know how good this feels, right?”

  “Right, Sir.” And it does. I know it does. I have no notion how or why, but the pain is exquisite, my arousal total. I’m already disgustingly wet, and he hasn’t laid a hand or anything else on me yet. I concentrate on obeying his instructions, allowing my body to drape bonelessly across his. I purr softly as he caresses my soon-to-be-paddled buttocks, opening my legs as he slips his hand between them to stroke my clit.

  “So wet, and not even started yet. What am I to do with you, my slut?”

  “Spank me, Sir, then fuck me. Please.”

  “Ah, Hope, when you ask me so nicely…”

  I let out a startled gasp as the first stroke lands across my unresisting bottom.

  “Hope, are you counting?”

  “Yes, Sir.” I clench my bum, my equanimity wavering.

  “Out loud, please.”

  “Oh, sorry. That was one, Sir.”

  “Ready for the next one?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He’s clever, he knows just how to play me. By making me talk to him, count out loud, he keeps me here, in the moment, with him. I can’t retreat into my own pain.

  The next stroke lands immediately below the first one, as does the next. He’s concentrating on one cheek first. I say the numbers out loud.

  “Two. Three. Four.”

  After the fifth he stops then lays the paddle beside him on the bed. His palm on my smarting buttock is cool. He massages me, his fingers firm. I squirm under his hand.

  “Keep still. You are not to move during a spanking. I’ll tell you when it’s okay to get up.” His voice isn’t harsh, it never is, but there’s a steeliness there that demands obedience. I go still instantly. “Good girl. You’re doing well.”

  I love it when he praises me, his words more effective than any amount of pain relief. As long as Harry approves of me, I’ll do anything he asks. This is true submission, I suppose. I sigh in contentment, my body softening further as he reaches for the hairbrush again.

  The next five strokes are laid across my other buttock, starting at the top and working down toward my thigh.

  “I’m avoiding your sit spots because I want you to enjoy your dinner. And because I have something more—intense—planned for later. You okay so far, Hope?”

  “Yes, Sir. I’m fine.” My bum is smarting now, really feeling the burn, but I turn my head to smile at Harry. My pussy is so wet I swear there’s a puddle forming, but he’s instructed me not to move so I can’t check.

  “By fine, do you mean you’re managing to put up with this, or do you mean you’re desperate for me to fuck you? Or something in between?”

  No point in coyness. “I’m desperate for you to fuck me, Sir. After the next ten, of course.”

  “I thought so. We’d best get on with it then.”

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

  He resumes his relentless paddling, dropping the blows along the tracks of his first batch. Maybe he’s ramping up the pressure, or perhaps my bottom is just more tender now. In any case, this second round hurts a lot more than the first. I manage to hiss the numbers, but I’m clenching my buttocks defensively with each blow.

  “Thirteen. Ow. Fourteen, Sir, ouch. Oh Christ, fifteen.” I’m shivering now, struggling to hold back my tears. Harry lays the hairbrush down again, then proceeds to caress my burning bum.

  “Oh, Sir, that hurts. Don’t press on, ooh!”

  Harry just chuckles, the bastard. “Your ass is a truly lovely shade of red, Hope. I bet that’s sore.”

  “It is, Sir. Very.”

  “Would you like to thank me, then, for helping you to become so aroused?”

  “I-I’m not sure, Sir. Please, don’t do that.” He’s tapping his fingertips smartly on my sore buttock. “It hurts like crazy.”

  “What are you not sure of, Hope?” There’s an edge to his voice, a timbre of Dom menace.

  My stomach lurches. “Please, Sir, I don’t know what you’re driving at. Am I doing something wrong?”

  “No, Hope, you’re doing fine. Open your legs, please.”

  His tone has softened, and this I do like. I spread my thighs willingly. Harry plunges three fingers into my pussy, no preamble, no preparation. They slide in without difficulty, my slickness audible as he thrusts hard.

  “Ah, so hot. So wet. So ready. We’re very nearly there, don’t you agree, Hope?”

  “Yes, Sir, please, I want…”

  “Yes, Hope?” He thrusts again, my G-spot humming under his expert attention. I need his cock, and I’ll do anything, say anything, to get it.

  “I want
the last five slaps, Sir.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now.”

  “Happy to oblige. Then I’ll fuck you. Isn’t that what you’re trying to say?”

  “Yes, it is. Please, Sir, I can’t wait.”

  “Last five then. Hard this time. Remember to count.” He withdraws his fingers.

  My cunt feels empty, bereft. I moan in frustration. “Aagh! Sixteen.” It is only with a supreme effort of will that I’m managing to lie still now. “Seventeen. Oh, sweet Jesus… Aagh, eighteen.”

  I’m sobbing in earnest now, gripping the duvet under my hands. “Nineteen. Shit! Twenty. Oh, Christ, Sir. That fucking hurts.”

  “So glad to be of service.” He taps my throbbing buttock, and I scream again. “I’d best fuck you from behind, I think. Bend your knees and lift your ass up. Spread wide, please.”

  Despite the agony coursing through my smarting arse, I do as he instructed, dragging my abused body into the required position. I lean forward, my arms and forehead on the bed, my bum up high. I set my knees as far apart as I can. And I wait for his cock. I’ve earned this.

  He doesn’t disappoint. Neither does he hang about. He parts my buttocks with his fingers, avoiding the sore places now, and places the tip of his cock between my pussy lips. Instinctively I try to push backwards, onto it. His hands on my hips prevent that for a moment, then he lunges forward at the same time hauling me back hard against him. He fills me with his cock, sinking balls deep inside my cunt.

  “Oh God, yes! Harry, Sir.”

  “Just Sir is fine, honey.” He withdraws then slams his cock into me again.

  He wasn’t kidding when he said he would not be gentle, but this is exactly what I want right now. The discomfort of the paddling has brought out my latent aggression, and I’m thrusting back to meet him, adding my momentum to his, squeezing hard. Harry allows this for a few strokes, then he takes my hips between his palms again and holds me still.

  “My show, baby.”

  He murmurs the words, but I understand a Dom command when I hear one. I hold still, gasping as he shortens his thrusts. Each stroke is shallow, but he uses his hand to swirl his cock inside me, circling my entrance, stretching me, tormenting me. I’m panting, my need almost palpable.

  “Please, Sir, don’t tease me. I need this. I need you.”

  “You have me, baby.”

  “More, I need more.”

  “You want it hard? You want fast? And deep?”

  “Yes, yes!”

  He rams the full length of his cock into me again, and my climax overwhelms me. Waves of pure pleasure shoot through me, pulsating through my body. I’m shaking, my pussy convulsing wildly around his cock. He doesn’t let up, increasing the tempo as my orgasm grips me, and him. I’m clawing at the bedding, my moans of delight filling the room. As my release subsides, the aftershocks are almost as heavenly as the main event, continuing to shimmer and tingle as my nervous system returns to normal. Harry’s own climax follows seconds later. He grasps my hips hard, pulling me back against his body as he drives forward with one last powerful thrust. I gasp. He holds still, tensing as his semen fills me to overflowing.

  Neither of us moves for a moment. Then I hear Harry’s breath beside my ear as he leans forward to kiss my neck. “Christ, girl, that was good. So fucking good.”

  “Yes.” I can only whisper my agreement, sighing in genuine loss as he pulls out of me. I roll to lie on my side, still panting. Harry settles himself behind me, pulling my body into the curve of his. I nestle there, my sore bum pressed now against his softening cock. I am utterly content.

  Long minutes pass in which neither of us speaks. Eventually Harry pushes himself up on one elbow to look at the time on his watch, which he has left on the bedside table.

  “Twenty to eight. Do you still feel like eating?”

  “Too right I do. I’ve worked up an appetite. I want double helpings and you’re paying.”

  “Sounds fair. In that case, you need to slip that gorgeous blue dress of yours on and we’ll go see what this place has to offer. You might like to visit the bathroom first. We were bareback, and it would be a pity to leave stains.”

  “Of course, Sir. Thank you for your kind advice.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I ease myself from the bed, careful to avoid putting my weight on my still smarting bottom. Harry grins at me. “You might prefer to leave off the underwear this evening. I know I’d prefer that.”

  * * * *

  Our meal is delicious, as everything has been on this trip. Maybe it’s my imagination, or perhaps being around Harry has heightened all my senses, brought out the hedonist in me. Whatever—a simple chicken and bacon pasta never tasted so good. The dessert of chocolate mousse is light, fluffy, absolutely to die for. My sweet tooth is drooling. Harry declined the dessert menu himself, settling for just a black coffee. He watches me across the table as I spoon my pudding into my mouth, closing my eyes to savor each mouthful. His eyes are crinkling at the edges in that gorgeous way he has, his smile lighting up his entire face. I shift in my seat, the discomfort from my well-paddled bum fading now.

  “You have an expression a bit like that when you come.” He looks thoughtful as he continues, tilting his head to study me. “Maybe a little more slackness around the lips, perhaps slightly more dilation in the pupils. But near enough. I’m guessing that chocolate thing is good.”

  “It is, Sir. Very. Thank you.”

  “Thank me later. When I give you even more cause. Speaking of which, are you almost done or do you intend to take the pattern off that dish?”

  I scrape my spoon around the small bowl one final time, scooping out every last trace of the confection that I can manage to extract. I lick the spoon, deliberately holding Harry’s gaze whilst I do it. I’m living dangerously, I realize that. My bum’s already sore—a little more spanking won’t make a lot of difference. I hope.

  “Hope Shepherd, you’re a brat.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “A brat. A submissive who goads her Dom on purpose, to earn a whipping. Is it a whipping you’re wanting, then, Hope? Is that how you plan to top off our evening? Pun intended.”

  I lay my spoon on the table, unaccountably chastened by the reprimand—if indeed he was admonishing me. His tone remained soft, even, not the Dom voice he can switch on at will. His eyes are still smiling. I lower my gaze, a precautionary measure. It’s not that I fear the physical side of any punishment he might mete out, I’m quite sure now that I will come to no harm at Harry McLeod’s hands. I wish I hadn’t displeased him, though—his disappointment in me is more powerful a censure than any implied threat.

  Harry reaches across the table, cups my chin in his hand and tilts my face back up, forcing me to look at him.

  “Why so woebegone, Hope? Are you afraid of me?”

  “Of course not, Sir. I love being here with you.”

  He nods once. “So?”

  “I’m sorry. I was teasing, I meant nothing by it.”

  “I see. But I wasn’t teasing. You do know that, don’t you? If you act like a brat, I’ll treat you like one. Which means I will punish you, though not in the way you want.”

  I reach for my glass of water. Harry drops his hand to allow me to take a couple of sips. When my mouth is sufficiently refreshed, I level my gaze at him once more.

  “I’m sorry, Sir. I genuinely meant nothing—I was just enjoying myself, enjoying the food.” I hesitate, but I have to ask. “What do you intend to do?”

  “Nothing. I accept your explanation. I want you to have fun and you can’t do that if you’re scared to speak in case you annoy me. When I’m topping you, I expect you to take matters seriously, behave accordingly. That means lots of respect, and lose the levity. At other times, like now, you can relax.” He reaches for my hand, squeezes it. “Okay, Hope?”

  I nod, incredibly relieved. My Dom’s approval is becoming all-important to me.

  “Can we go back now?” I’m
anxious to be alone with him. After our little almost-spat I’m craving the intimacy that any sort of scene will bring.

  Harry nods, rises to his feet. He comes around to slide my chair back as I get up, then takes my hand as we make for the door. He pauses to sign the chit at the till authorizing the cost of our meal to be added to our bill when we check out. Then we’re strolling back along the graveled path leading across the resort toward our chalet.

  “Do you suppose Daisy will have been all right?” I confess I totally forgot about the most recent addition to our party while I was relishing my dinner with Harry.

  He shrugs off his jacket and drops it across my shoulders. “Yeah, should be. She had food and water, and I took her out again while you were getting dressed. We’ll soon see.”

  Our lodge comes into view. Harry pulls the key out of his trouser pocket, and I follow him up the half dozen steps leading onto the verandah. He unlocks the door, opens it, and we’re met by a small, brown, and totally elated whirlwind.

  To say Daisy is pleased to see us is an understatement. She spares a brief lick for my outstretched fingers, but her real and true adulation is reserved for Harry. She curls herself around his legs, her skinny little tail flapping madly. He crouches to tickle her ears, which sends her into another frenzy of hero worship, licking his hands, battering the tiled floor with her whip of a tail.

  My more practical turn of mind compels me to survey the foyer where she’s been confined while we were out. No telltale puddles or worse. No chewed skirting board, nothing to suggest she’s done anything but sleep. And eat. Her food bowl is empty, her water almost so.

  Harry stands up, turns to me. “Everything looks fine. I’ll take her for a walk, then feed her. You’ve plenty of time to get ready.”

  Ah, right. I wait for my more detailed instructions.

  He continues, his expression giving nothing away. He might as well be giving me directions to the nearest post box. “You’ll wait for me in the bedroom. By the time I get there I want you naked, kneeling on the floor. You’ll have dealt with any ablutions because you won’t be getting a loo break until I’m done with you. Take a shower if you want. You have half an hour. Oh, and I want you to find the tube of lubricant I bought earlier. We’ll be needing that.”