Spirit

by Ashe Barker

  “I see.”

  He lifts that expressive eyebrow again and waits for me to say more. Determined, I keep my mouth closed. He gives a quick nod, acknowledging my meaning. “Good. First though, shall we go back and tell Ned and Annie the party’s on? They’re going to get their solar farm.”

  * * *

  We leave the farmhouse about ten minutes later under strict instructions to come back soon. This reminds me that I need to sort out the matter of my accommodation for the duration of the project. I need to be close by, able to get to the site easily. My flat in Manchester is reasonably convenient, but I’ll need a more local base.

  “I wonder, would you mind if I parked my camper on your land somewhere? Not right here in the farmyard, obviously, but close by. Preferably somewhere fairly sheltered, and where I could get access to an electricity supply. And water.”

  Annie’s eyes glint at me behind her spectacles, alight with mischief. She’s sharp, misses nothing, and I have no doubt she’s worked out what my plans are regarding my immediate sleeping arrangements. “Well o’ course tha can, lass. But I’ll not be hearin’ of you sleepin’ out. It gets right chilly round ‘ere at nights. There’s a spare room upstairs tha can ‘ave.”

  “That’s so kind, but really, there’s no need. My van’s fine, and…”

  “Beth’s going to be staying with me, at least for a while.” Matt interrupts our discussion, his gaze fixed on Alice who is parked a few yards away. Annie arches one knowing eyebrow, satisfied with her meddling. I look from her to Matt who is still studying Alice. From his expression I surmise he is less than impressed. I bristle.

  “Thank you, Annie. I might take you up on that.”

  Matt’s response is somewhere between a grunt and a snort, not his most articulate moment. He’s pacing around Alice now, peering in her windows and flattening his lips at the sight of her somewhat battered rear end. I wonder if he’ll be quite so disparaging about mine, when he’s done with it.

  If I let him.

  What am I thinking? When I let him. In a sudden flash of clarity I know it’s all been leading to this. This moment when I go with Matt to his converted school in Hebden Bridge and bend over to offer him unfettered access to my bare bottom. I’ve no idea how I’ll react, but I know I want to try it.

  I always wanted to try it, even back then, and it was my own horrified reaction to that desire that sent me scuttling off in a frenzy of blind panic. But we’ve come full circle, and here we are. Again.

  “Beth…” There’s a warning in Matt’s voice now, a hint that I should perhaps not bait him.

  I pull my keys from my pocket and head for Alice’s driver’s door. “Shall I follow you?”

  “Leave the van here. If that’s okay with you, of course…” He turns to Annie, who shrugs and nods. “Right, you can ride with me.”

  “But I’ll need my van. For getting back up here tomorrow.”

  “I’ll drive you back. Or you can borrow my Range Rover.” He casts a last disparaging glare at Alice. “That bloody thing won’t be much use anyway—you’ll be up to your axles in mud before you get ten yards from the lane. What you’ll be needing to get up to the tops there is a quad bike. We’ll have to hire one. I’ll add it to the project costs.” He marches off in the direction of his four wheel drive monster and opens the passenger door for me. I make no further argument and hop inside.

  The drive to Hebden Bridge is not a long one, half an hour perhaps. Much of that time is spent in contemplative silence. I gaze out of the window, enjoying the scenery for once as I don’t have to concentrate on negotiating the twists and turns of the high moorland road. As we reach the spot where I first saw the glorious hillside across the valley, I signal Matt to slow down. He pulls over and we both admire our imaginary masterpiece. I hug myself, excited but not entirely sure what’s causing the current fluttering in the pit of my stomach.

  The prospect of bringing the conjurings of my imagination to life? Perhaps, always a heady moment for me. More likely though it’s my reaction to the sexy man beside me, the man who demands everything by asking for nothing.

  “How do you feel, Beth?” He slouches in his seat, regarding me through narrowed eyes.

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Liar. You’ll need to do better than that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’ll give you what you want, all of it, but you’ll have to ask me. Tell me what it is you need.”

  “What if I don’t know?”

  “You’ll know, when the time comes. If you don’t, that tells me you don’t want it. At least, not yet. There’s no rush, Beth. We’ll go at your pace. And nothing will happen between us that you’re not ready for. I promise you that.”

  I look at him, understanding for the first time what a caring dom is like, what the difference is between being with Matt now, and—before. This isn’t going to be about him, his pleasure, his desires, and forcing them on me because he can. It’s about what I want.

  “I know that. Now. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Have you seen enough?” He tilts his chin in the direction of the glorious vista outside. I give a quick nod and fold my hands in my lap as he re-starts the engine.

  * * *

  Matt’s house is lovely. Megan had wonderful taste. He pulls into the wide driveway, part of the old school playground I suppose. The outer edges of the gravelled forecourt are occupied by huge tubs, planted with all sorts of shrubs and trailing things. These invade the neatness of the hard landscaping, softening the rigid lines. They remind me of Matt, and seem to suit his mercurial personality.

  The place looks quite large too, too big for one person in my view.

  “Do you live here alone?”

  “Not entirely. There’s Ethel. And George.”

  Ethel and George? I open my mouth to ask, but he forestalls me.

  “Come on, I’ll do the introductions.” He gets out and walks around to open my door for me.

  I hear it as soon as we approach the front door, a frantic yapping from inside. Matt unlocks the door and opens it, to be greeted by a small white furball darting around his legs, tail wagging furiously. He bends to tickle the dog’s perky little ears.

  “This is Ethel. She’s excitable but she’ll soon calm down.”

  I bend to pat the little dog who seems to appreciate my greeting as much as she did Matt’s. She licks my hand and shoves her little wet nose into my palm.

  “She likes me.” I smile up at Matt, genuinely pleased to get the seal of approval from his dog.

  “Yeah, seems like it. George is harder to please though.” He gestures me inside.

  I enter, Ethel still hopping around my feet, and I gaze around at the wide hallway. There’s a lot of polished wood, and a staircase leading to the upper floor. I glance up to see a balcony overhead. Matt follows my gaze.

  “My bedroom. You’ll see that soon enough.”

  “Will you tie me to those railings?” My remark is playful, surprising me.

  Matt too, if the raised eyebrow is any indication. “Oh yes, I have something very much along those lines in mind for you, Beth. But please try to curb your enthusiasm, at least until you’ve met George.”

  Ah right, George. Matt takes my jacket from me as I look around the lobby, not sure what or who to expect.

  “In here.” Matt drapes my jacket over a chair and leads the way through a door to his right. I follow to find myself in a comfortable sitting room dominated by two large chocolate brown leather sofas facing each other across the centre of the room. A large fireplace graces one wall and on another is a huge television. There are bookcases too and, surprisingly, a piano.

  “Do you play?”

  “A little. I learned as a boy, but I’m not that good. That was Megan’s.”

  “I see. She left it behind then?”

  “Yes. I ended up keeping her piano, her dog, and—George.”

  An ea
r-splitting screech greets his final word, and I whirl around. Behind me, glaring at me through the bars of his cage, is a bird. A parrot, I think. He’s beautiful, his chest of a brilliant orange in sharp contrast to the turquoise blue of his back and wings. His beak is the most prominent part of him right now as he snaps his jaws open and shut. He looks seriously pissed off.

  “Oh my God, is he vicious?” He certainly looks it, his beady little dark eyes watching our every move.

  “This is George, an African macaw. And yes, I reckon he is vicious, at least around me. I try to keep on the right side of him.”

  “How do you do that?” I eye the gorgeous creature with a degree of cautious awe. Anything that can keep Matt Logan on his toes has to be worthy of respect.

  “Plenty of food mainly.” Matt reaches his hand towards the cage, whose occupant views the overture with a malevolent blend of suspicion and undisguised animosity. George lunges forward, and but for the bars I doubt Matt would have retained all his fingers intact. He whips his hand away and shrugs. “He was a teddy bear with Megan, but he and I never hit it off.”

  “Why did you keep him then?”

  “Loyalty I suppose, but it may have been misplaced. I’m thinking I should try to re-home him, find him someone to live with that he actually likes. Or maybe a zoo, where at least he’d have more freedom. I don’t dare let him out of his cage here or he’d have my eyes out.”

  “Oh, poor George. He must be lonely. And frustrated.” Despite Matt’s near miss I hold out my hand to the bird. George’s reaction is suspicious, but he tolerates me getting somewhat closer than he did Matt. His head is cocked to one side and he makes a low warning sound in his throat, not quite a growl, but as near as a parrot would get, I daresay. I ignore that and try talking to him.

  “You’re such a pretty boy, such lovely colours. Why so grumpy, eh? We’re not going to hurt you…” I move to stand closer, all the time crooning at the disgruntled parrot.

  “Careful…” Matt’s murmured warning reminds me that I’m a guest here and shouldn’t interfere. But something attracts me to the lonely, imprisoned bird. I’m determined to make friends with him if I can.

  “I’ll see you later, George.” I turn to Matt. “This is a lovely place. Would you show me around?”

  “Of course. Over there are the stairs to the rest of the upper floor. We’ll come to those later.” He points to the spiral staircase in a corner. “The stairs in the hall only lead to my bedroom.”

  He takes my hand and leads me on the rest of the grand tour, Ethel trailing along behind us. We take in the large kitchen cum dining room, his home office equipped with enough technology to launch a mission to Mars as far as I can see, and another larger reception room lined with full bookcases.

  “You like to read, obviously.”

  “I do, and I collect rare books when I can. There are several first editions in here.”

  “I still have your copy of Jane Eyre. I should return it to you.”

  “I’d like you to keep it. And before you mention it, you can keep the jacket too, a rather fine Rohan as I recall.”

  “Thank you. I do quite like it, even though it’s a bit shabby these days. It got a lot of wear. Did you say first editions?”

  “I did.”

  “Oh. May I look?”

  “Later. You’ll have plenty of time to explore. First let me show you my playroom.”

  I’ve read enough erotic literature to know what to expect, and I’m aware of Matt’s sexual preferences, so when he opens a door at the far end of the book room I expect to find myself surrounded by spanking benches and perhaps a St Andrews cross. What I’m not prepared for is the full size snooker table, dartboard and table tennis set-up. He steps into the games room, a boyish smile on his face.

  “Ah, Beth, you are so obvious. I do have a few toys upstairs, but if you want a dungeon we’ll need to head farther afield. I do know a couple of decent places though.”

  “Yes, I imagine you do.” I hesitate before continuing, but I do need to get the next little matter over with. And he has sort of raised it. “Toys, you said?”

  He nods, his gaze never leaving mine. He’s perfectly attuned to my shift in mood.

  “What sort of toys? Exactly?”

  “I think you know. You saw my collection back in Leeds. Shall I show you?”

  My answering nod is hesitant, and he picks up on that too.

  “When I say toys, I mean exactly that. For playing, for having fun. I won’t do anything you don’t want, or use anything you prefer me not to. Okay?”

  I nod again, my confidence reasserting itself but only marginally. The memory of the items I discovered in his flat all those years ago, and my near-irrational response to them haunts me still.

  Matt takes my hand once more, and this time he leads me straight to the bottom of the stairs in the hall. With a word he sends Ethel to sit in her basket in a corner of the hall then he starts up, glancing back at me.

  “We won’t do anything you’re not happy with, and we won’t do anything at all if you don’t want to. I promise.” He turns to face me, and takes both my hands in his. “You’ll never need to run away from me, Beth, not again. You don’t have to stay, but if you do decide you want to leave, talk to me before you go. Will you promise me that?”

  I nod, then on impulse I follow him up the steps and reach to kiss him, the first intimate contact between us since Annie’s parlour. My lips brush his, relishing the softness of his mouth. My hands are on his chest, crushed between our bodies as he enfolds me in his arms and deepens the kiss. My doubts and hesitancy are not obliterated, not entirely, but they are crumbling.

  His tongue sweeps between my lips and starts a sensuous dance with mine. I suck on it, remembering instantly how much he had seemed to appreciate that response in the past. Nothing has changed and he tangles his fingers in my hair as he angles my head for deeper access. I groan, the sound lost in my throat as my pussy spasms. It’s been so long, so fucking long…

  As though reading my mind Matt breaks the kiss and swoops back down the stairs to lift me off my feet. He carries me up and straight into his bedroom, depositing me on my feet in the middle of the carpeted floor.

  The room is huge, taking up perhaps a third of the total floor area of the house. As I’d expected, the bed dominates. It is set in the centre of the room, a solid oak affair, king-size plus. I peer at the bedposts but can detect no tell-tale hooks or restraints, though there would be no difficulty finding anchor spots to attach such things. This is a dom-friendly bed if ever I saw one.

  There’s a triple wardrobe against one wall, complete with mirrored doors, a blanket chest at the foot of the bed, and a chest of drawers at the head. A double sofa sits under the window. The overall effect is one of space and comfort. I find nothing immediately threatening here.

  I turn to Matt. “Where…”

  He makes no pretence at not understanding. “In the blanket chest, where else? I’m a creature of habit. Go on, have a look. Then we’ll talk.”

  I kneel before the chest and lift the lid. Inside I find the dizzying array of sex toys I expected, and a number of items which seem to me far from playful. Several whips, neatly coiled, a selection of canes, paddles, a thick leather strap, slit down much of its length. Another one is made of suede and split into several strands. There are several tubes of lubricant, bottles of oils, and of course the feast of dildos and vibrators I’d hoped for. These I can cope with, these I know I’ll like. I’ve used these sorts of things before, in the relative peace and quiet of my flat, and just occasionally in the back of my camper van. Always alone though, always a solo effort. This will be different.

  I glance at Matt, leaning against the wall beside the window, watching me. His brilliant blue eyes are soft, warm, and the bulge in his jeans tells me he’s anticipating our coming encounter with some interest. He’s in no hurry though. He smiles at me as he shifts to pull his jumper over his head. Underne
ath he has a light grey T-shirt, which does nothing to conceal the hardness of his chest. Matt always did fill his clothes well, and the strength in his arms and shoulders is apparent now. I imagine one of those paddles gripped in his fist and his arm swinging it towards my bottom.

  Ouch. And—wow! My pussy is wet, starting to spasm around nothing. I really, really want to hurry this along now.

  I return my attention to the blanket chest, rummaging inside until I find it. The one thing I dread, and most need to talk to Matt about. I can’t bring myself to touch it, so I stand and point into the chest.

  “Not that. I don’t want that. Ever.”

  Matt pushes himself from the wall where he still leans and comes to stand beside me. He looks into the chest, sees what I’m pointing at.

  “The ball gag?”

  I nod, not even wanting to say the words.

  “Okay. Do you want me to get rid of it?”

  I look up at him. “Would you?”

  “Of course.” He leans over and picks up the offending article and shoves it into the back pocket of his jeans. “I’ll light the stove later and this can go on it. Anything else?”

  “No, nothing else. And, I don’t mean you have to destroy it. I just, I mean, I don’t want… It scares me.”

  He slides an arm around my shoulders. “I know, I see that. I get it. I don’t want you to be frightened, there’s no need. Excited, challenged, maybe a little nervous, apprehensive even, but plain scared isn’t good. It isn’t fun, and we don’t go there.”

  I gaze up at him, my trust absolute. “So, where do we go then?”

  “Well. To start with I think I mentioned the balcony rail. I’d like you to undress and let me tie you to it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Matt steps away from me, allowing me the space to comply with his request. He moves around to the bed and lounges on it, pillows plumped behind him as he watches me. Something in his expression hardens, his eyes lose a little of their warmth. His erection seems if anything more solid within the constraining denim. He says nothing, but I know he expects me to do as he’s asked, and to do it now. Either that, or refuse. I have no intention of refusing.