by Ashe Barker
I take a few minutes to work my way leisurely down his body to his waist, then start on his taut buttocks. So often he’s caressed me here, but this is the first time I’ve really had my hands on him. It feels good, liberating, my submission now acted out in pleasing my Dom. And I am pleasing him. I know this from the sighs and moans and occasional muttered comments. “Holy fuck, Hope” and “Christ, girl, where did you learn that?”
I reach for more oil as I slip my hand between his legs to cup his balls. Harry spreads his thighs a little to allow me access. I shift to kneel between his legs, reaching farther to grasp the shaft of his cock. My hand is slippery, gliding along his solid erection.
“Fuck, girl, you need to make this quick now. I want to come inside you.”
That’s what I want too, but the sensations are overwhelming. This is a heady cocktail of submission laced with the knowledge that I can arouse him with my touch, my actions, my words—just as he does for me. I can’t resist one last slithering caress before I release him and kneel back.
“If you’d like to turn over now, Sir.”
He requires no further urging. I know in my heart if I hadn’t stopped when I did, it would have been out of my hands anyway. Doms don’t allow subs to set the pace in a scene, but he’s been obliging me and I appreciate it. From the dark expression on his face I know he’s reached the limit of his forbearance now. He lies on his back, piercing me with his glare.
“Climb on and take me inside you. Do it slow, and do it now.”
“Yes, Sir.” I position myself, kneeling up to give me the space I need to reach down and place the head of his cock at my entrance.
Harry’s hands are on my waist, his fingers digging into me. I rest my palms on his chest, lean forward slightly to adjust the angle, and sink onto him.
My pussy is already wet, ready for him, but the oil smeared on his cock increases the lubrication. He fills me easily. I rest my weight fully on him, and can feel his cock nudging my cervix. I close my eyes as I rotate my hips slowly, easing the fit and allowing myself the moments I need to reshape around him.
“Don’t move. I’ll tell you when you can.” The command is barked at me.
I go motionless. I can’t disobey when he uses that tone, although my pussy is convulsing of its own accord, beyond my control. He reaches for me, his thumb connecting with my swollen clit. He rubs and I arch, squeezing his length buried deep inside me.
“Keep still. You have permission to come. And, baby, make it quick.”
“Yes, Sir. Oh, oh, Sir. Sir, Sir, Sir…” I let out a strangled moan as he ramps up the pressure, circling my clit then flicking it hard. I’m panting, gasping for oxygen, my head thrown back now as my orgasm bubbles up from almost nowhere. He turns his hand slightly, and takes my clit between his fingers. He pinches it, just once but it hurts. My arousal is peaking. I’m close, very close. I whimper.
“Come for me, girl.” He pinches my swollen nub again.
I cry out, and this time it’s enough to send me over the edge. I hurtle into my climax, my pussy spasming around the solid cock embedded in me. I want to move, to pump up and down, but even locked in the frenzy of orgasm, I hear that low growl that says ‘don’t even think about it’. And I obey.
As the waves of pleasure wash over me and at last begin to ebb away, Harry starts to move, thrusting upwards to drive his cock deep into my cunt. I shudder under the onslaught, still fighting the urge to thrust back. I want to increase the friction, I yearn to intensify the sensation, but I won’t disobey. This may have started with me leading, but Harry’s in full control now. I suppose he always was.
His hands are again at my waist, holding me still for the pounding he’s now delivering, his hips working like a piston to slam his dick into me again and again. I squeal, part pain but more in response to the riot of sensual overload coursing through me.
“Sir, I… Oh. Oh!” My pussy starts to convulse again, a second orgasm just moments away. Harry finds an extra gear from somewhere and drives into me harder still. White light explodes behind my eyes as I come again, the muscles in my pussy gripping him, squeezing tight, then tighter still. He stiffens, gives one last powerful thrust, using his hands to slam my body down onto his, then he holds still as his semen pumps into my hot cunt.
Moments later his fingers relax, he caresses my sides, reaching up to cup my breasts. I groan my appreciation, my head still spinning as my nervous system settles back into its normal rhythm.
“I promised you slow and gentle. Maybe next time.”
“I have no complaints, Sir.”
“Would you say if you did? Dutiful sub that you are?”
I lean forward to kiss him, loving the feeling of fullness as his cock moves and angles inside me. I break the kiss, pressing my forehead to his. “I think you’d know if I wasn’t happy. But I am. Very.”
“Me too. Shower, then sleep?”
“Yes, please. Sir.”
We don’t linger over the shower, unusually for us. I’m almost dead on my feet by the time I flop back onto the bed draped in just a fluffy hotel towel. Harry’s already there, waiting for me. Somehow he manages to pull back the duvet beside him. He rolls me into the cocoon of warm softness and follows me there, spooning behind me. His arm is across my stomach as I drift into contented oblivion.
Chapter Nineteen
Harry’s side of the bed is empty when I awake, though still warm. He can’t be long gone. I prop myself up on my elbow and see that Daisy’s blanket by the door is also unoccupied. There’s an empty cup on the dressing table so he must have helped himself from the tea and coffee provided and gone out for a walk. I’m just thinking how nice a hot cup of coffee would be right now when I spot the cup on my bedside table. I snake out my hand for a quick check. It’s still warm.
God, loving this man is so easy. I wriggle to a sitting position and lean back against the bedhead to savor my morning hit of caffeine. According to the display on the wall-mounted television, it’s eight forty-seven. I seem to recall they serve breakfast until half past nine, and my stomach is grumbling. Ann-Marie’s sandwiches were chunky and satisfying, but they were a long time ago. I down the rest of my coffee and head for the bathroom.
I’m just pulling my canvas shoes on as Harry returns, a happy Daisy rushing over to greet me. I stop faffing with my laces to give her a hug, her whole body thrashing from side to side with the momentum of her tail. Can this really be the same timid little waif we found out there in the Cairngorm mountains, scavenging to survive?
“Morning, beautiful.” Harry drops a kiss on the top of my head as I put the finishing touches to my laces. “Ready for some breakfast then?”
“Yes. Starving.” I stand and we’re ready to go.
We hold hands as we make our way along the carpeted corridor to the sunny conservatory where they lay out the cereals and such like. I’m looking forward to seeing Angus and Ann-Marie again, and to getting a proper look at Kilmuir, but I’m also conscious that they’ll know Harry has spoken to Ritchie. This is going to be awkward.
“What will you tell them? About your granddad?” I wait until he has chewed his way through his helping of bacon, eggs and the vile black pudding he insists on sampling. He’s still working up to haggis.
“Not sure yet.” He flashes me a quick smile and helps himself to toast.
I wait, but that’s all he’s saying.
* * * *
We arrive back at the bungalow just after ten o’clock. Ann-Marie’s face is at the window. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she’s been there since first light, waiting for us. Maybe even fearful still that we might not come back. My heart goes out to her, perhaps the real victim in all this.
Angus opens the door, his smiling welcome every bit as genuine if less emotional than his wife’s. The two of them get into the back of my car, and Harry pulls Daisy forward to sit in the footwell in front of him. I drive us the short distance up the road to Kilmuir. I park in the same spot we chose yesterday, and we st
art to make our way up the hillside. It’s slower going than when Harry and I did it alone, but we adjust our pace to suit. Harry and Angus are ahead, Ann-Marie and I bringing up the rear with Daisy prancing around between us. I have to say, that dog is having a wonderful time and I reflect again on how completely her fortunes have been transformed.
And what about me? If I’m limping at all, I’m not conscious of it and no one else seems to be either. Perhaps that episode really is behind me now. I’ll never be an athlete again, and I probably wouldn’t want that anyway. But neither am I a freak. In my more rational moments I know I never was, but it sometimes felt like that. Now, I’m just—average. Well, perhaps not quite average. Average women don’t have handsome Doms providing orgasms at every excuse, and a refreshing, therapeutic spanking at the drop of a hat. It’s not only Daisy who has seen an upturn in her fortunes.
Ann-Marie links her arm with mine and we crest the hill together. “This is the first time I’ve been back here since we moved to the bungalow.”
I turn to her, surprised. “Really?”
“Yes. What’s to come back for? The place was never the same since Ritchie left. Don’t get me wrong, dear, Angus is good company. He always was. But these places need family. They need voices, chatter. Children. Not two people just growing old together.”
Good company? Well, I daresay that’s one way of describing life with a Dom. We amble on after the men, following them down to the crofter’s cottage nestling on the side of the hill. By the time Ann-Marie and I arrive they are inspecting the broken door.
“Ye could hae done worse, lad. Ye’ll find a hammer and such like i’ the byre.” Angus waves his arm in the direction of the outhouse, the gesture imperious.
Harry responds with a good-natured grin then strolls off to rustle up the required items.
Ann-Marie shakes her head. “My man’s always bossing someone around. Me usually. Still, ye’ll ken how that is, lass. Handy with a switch is he, our little Harry?”
I turn to her, incredulous. “I beg your pardon?”
“Ye can lose that daft expression, lass. I ken what these men’re like. I should. I’ve lived wi’ one for over seventy years.”
“What? I mean, yes, but…” Words fail me. What do you say to a ninety-three-year-old submissive who is apparently still at it? And, worse still, determined to talk about the subject? I’d have struggled to discuss it with someone my own age.
She grins at me, her eyes mischievous. I detect a distinctly wicked glint there. She’s enjoying this, having a whale of a time embarrassing me. I’m aware of the heat rising from my neck right up to my hairline.
“Och, lass, ye’ll learn. I hope ye’re not sae coy wi’ him.”
“Er, no. Well, obviously…” I struggle to drag a coherent sentence together.
“Just as well. They don’t like it. He’s whipped ye then? Spanked ye?”
I just nod.
“Thought so. How long have ye’ known our Harry?”
“A week.” Christ, is it only a week? So much has happened.
“Eh, ye move fast these days.” She smiles, not a hint of admonition in her tone. “I’d been married tae Angus nearly five years afore I let him take a switch tae my arse. Mind ye, he was away in the war most o’ that time. He went off to join up a fortnight after we were wed, an’ Ritchie was just turned four when he showed up again.” She pauses, looks at the ground as she contemplates the events of so long ago. “Aye, lass, they were hard times. It’s better now. Ye make the best of each other, enjoy each other. Time passes ye by faster than ye know.”
We’re interrupted by Angus’ voice. “Pet, will ye show the lass the well we used tae use, afore we had the plumbing installed?”
“I will not. It’s half a mile up that hill. The poor girl’ll be dead on ‘er feet.”
“Really, I’m fine,” I protest.
“Well, I’m not. I gave up tramping up that hillside fer water over thirty years back, an’ I’m not starting’ all that again now. I’ll point it out to ye, though, if ye fancy a hike.”
“I wouldn’t mind. And Daisy would love it. Hope?” Harry has come up behind us. He loops an arm around my shoulders and hauls me back against him.
“Yes, okay then.” I agree. “So, where are we headed?” We both turn to Ann-Marie who is peering up the hill, her hand shielding her eyes.
“There, by that stand of pines. See the heather in front? It’s just there. Ye’ll still be able to see the hand pump. Most are electric now or solar powered. We did it the hard way.”
“Right.” Harry whistles for Daisy.
“When ye come back, I’ll show ye the inside while Harry and Angus fix the door. My kitchen, and where we used tae sleep. It won’t take long, there’s nae that much tae the place.” She picks her way across the few yards of undulating moorland to where Angus is standing, looking out across the bay. He drapes an arm over her shoulders as they stand side by side, his head tilted toward her as she speaks to him.
I open my mouth, intending to tell Harry what she just said to me, but snap it shut again. He’ll notice, probably, then we might talk. If not, well, it’s their private life and should stay that way.
* * * *
It’s an hour or so before we arrive back, mission accomplished. The tiny well is overgrown, but the pipework and old wooden lever are still there, rusted solid over years of disuse. The sound of running water so many meters below our feet is strange. It’s even stranger to contemplate that all the water for the house, for cooking, washing, for the animals, all had to be physically pumped from the earth then carried down the hill in buckets. Harry tells me that this was one of Ritchie’s tasks from when he was a small boy.
When we get back, Ann-Marie and Angus are inside the cottage. We follow them in, Harry bowing his head to clear the low doorway. Inside there is just one room really, which seems to have served as kitchen, living room, and there’s even a box bed tucked in an alcove. The McLeods are seated in the only two chairs. From her expression of distaste as her eyes dart around the room, I surmise that Ann-Marie much prefers her bungalow.
“Och, ye’re back. Did ye find it then?” She pushes a stray strand of her light gray hair back from her face, catching it at the nape of her neck with a hairgrip.
“We did. Thanks. Couldn’t draw any water, though.” Harry is looking around him with interest, perhaps imagining his grandfather as a small boy, spending most of his life in this room and on these surrounding hills.
“Not tae worry. We’ll have some tea when we get back. D’ye want the tour then?” Ann-Marie gets to her feet. “It won’t take us long. There’s just this room, and the little box room next door. When I was first married Angus’ ma’ and da’ were here an’ I lived wi’ them while he was away fightin’. Ritchie an’ me slept next door, an’ my in-laws were in here. When they died, which was only a year or so after Angus came back, we moved into here an’ Ritchie had the back room. We did everything in here, cooking, eating, sleeping. Playing.” She exchanges a look with me, which causes me to redden again, but in the dim light in here, no one seems to notice.
“Well, there was allus the byre. We had some good times in the byre, lass, if ye remember.” Angus steeples his fingers, resting his chin on the top of them as he watches his wife and submissive of the last seventy years. His expression is one of amused adoration. I hope someone still looks at me that way when I’m ninety-three.
I chance a look at Harry, who is regarding the elderly couple with a slight frown. He’s thinking, adding up the clues. The moment the penny drops he beams at me. I smile back and nod. We all seem to be on the same wavelength now.
* * * *
Back at the tiny bungalow, Ann-Marie insists on making the tea while we all park ourselves in her living room again. Angus carries the tray in, and we help ourselves.
As the clink of teacups echoes around the tiny space, Angus at last broaches the subject I’ve been dreading, “So, lad, ye spoke to Ritchie last night, I suppose?”
“I did.” Harry puts his cup down and meets Angus’ level gaze.
“He was surprised tae hear yer news, I daresay?”
“He was. They both were.” I note he mentions his grandmother carefully, deliberately, as though gauging Angus’ reaction today.
The older man just inclines his head. “I can imagine. An’ did he ask about us? Our Ritchie?”
“Of course. He was keen to know how you both are.”
A silence follows, the silence in which Harry should be saying that Ritchie sent his regards, that he wished his parents well, or some other message of familial greeting. There is none.
“He didna ask for our phone number? We do ha’ a telephone now. Did ye tell him that?” Ann-Marie leans forwards, her face anxious. “Or perhaps ye could let us have his number. We could make the call. I ken it’d be long distance, but that’d be fine, wouldn’t it, Angus?”
“Aye, lass. D’ye have his number, Harry?”
“He won’t talk to you on the phone.”
Angus heaves a long sigh. “I can understand that. It’s been a long time, an’ I had hoped… Well…” His voice trails off but he rallies. “If Ritchie won’t talk tae me, what about his mam? He’ll talk tae her, surely.”
Harry shakes his head. “Not just now.”
Harry’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out to check the incoming text. We all wait, hoping it’s some reprieve from Ritchie. That he’s relented. Harry merely nods and slips it back into his pocket.
Ann-Marie launches in with what must be her plan B, “I’ll write tae him. He’ll accept a letter from us, surely. Ye could take it wi’ ye. An’ he’ll reply. Or maybe Sarah would. She’s a good lass. Me an’ her had ne’er a wrong word. Ye could ask her, lad. Ye’ll do that for me, aye?”