by Ashe Barker
“Nearly bloody blinded me…” I mutter, but without heat. Despite the flashing lights and din of the Land Rover, I was so glad to see him, so grateful. Still am. Always will be.
“And the rest you know. I brought you back here, put you to bed to sleep it off.”
“Why here? Why not Smithy’s Forge? When I asked you to take me home, I meant…”
“I know what you meant. Maybe I was being selfish, but I wanted you here. Also, I couldn’t have just left you on your own in that state, and it seemed easier to bring you here where I could take care of you, get you a doctor. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, I’d have preferred to come here. I just didn’t like to ask, wouldn’t have assumed…”
“Idiot,” and this time his voice too lacks heat. Then, “I’ve got a question for you…”
“Okay, what is it?”
“When did you start to feel ill? Was it before you went rushing up onto the moor to Rosie?”
I’m puzzled, can’t see what this has to do with anything. “Yes, it started to come on just before I saw her. I’d started to see stars and was just packing up to head for home and put myself to bed for a couple of days or so, when I spotted her pink jacket. I used a telephoto lens to get a good look and realized she was hurt. And crying. I phoned the air ambulance straight away, then went up to wait with her till it arrived.”
“And knowing what was coming, and how quickly, you still went up the moors, still went up to Rosie. That was not very sensible, love.”
“I wasn’t going to, not at first. I was going to come straight home after I dialed nine-nine-nine. But I could see she was on her own, and scared. There was no way she could know I’d even spotted her let alone phoned the ambulance, that she was about to be rescued. I couldn’t just go off and leave her there. She was crying, Tom…”
He settles his arm more tightly around my shoulders, pulls me in close. “I know, I get it. But it was dangerous. Christ, you might have died up there last night but for Barney. When I think how close I came to losing you…”
“Barney was wonderful, fantastic. Not just because of the tracking device. He kept me warm, dragged me over to that wall when I collapsed. He deserves a medal. Or at least a nice big bone.”
“You both deserve medals. But you need to know, sweetheart, that if we had a Dom/sub thing going on, if we had some sort of understanding between us right now, one that included discipline and obedience as well as shit-hot kinky sex, you’d be over my knee at this moment screaming for mercy. And agreement or not, no safe word would save you from the spanking you’ll get if you ever, ever scare me like that again. Is that clear? Is that absolutely crystal clear?”
I gaze back at him, my dark brown eyes caught by his emerald green ones. Is this it, the threat, the underlying Dom cruelty re-emerging? Is this what I’ve been expecting, what I’ve been afraid of? But I know that it isn’t. I may not be able to articulate it yet, but I sense this is different, very, very different. Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, “I want an agreement. One like that. And, you can spank me now if you want.” My fear has evaporated. This is Tom, my Tom. And Tom makes me safe. There’s a lot I need to understand, to learn, and I’ll start with Abbie as soon as I can. But for now…
His eyebrows shoot up. He clearly didn’t expect that response to his threat. Or was it a promise?
“Ashley?”
I rush on. “I want to be your sub. Your submissive. If you still want me…”
“Of course I bloody want you.” The words are ground out, a growl almost. He pauses for a moment, his expression uncertain. “Are you sure about this? Do you know what you’re agreeing to?”
“I think so, in broad terms. I read about how it works. More or less. And I’ll talk to Abbie. I don’t know the details, of course, you’ll have to tell me exactly what you want me to do. I don’t mind, it’s up to you really, whatever you like…”
He’s staring at me, his surprise evident. “Sweetheart, we need to talk this through. You can’t just hand yourself, your body, over to me without agreeing your limits, without knowing what I intend to do.”
“But I trust you. I do. Will there be a contract? Do I have to sign anything? Some sort of consent form?”
He’s silent for a few moments, thinking. “No. No paperwork exactly. Some Doms do write it down, but not me. I think a written contract clouds the issue, muddies the terms. Especially as it’s not a legal arrangement, not enforceable. If it helps though you could download a model contract from the internet to get an idea of what’s involved, what a Dom/sub relationship is like. I prefer to reach an understanding with a submissive by talking. I prefer to tell you what I want to do to you, and you tell me how far you’re prepared to go. You ask me questions. I explain, clarify, we talk it through and come to an understanding. It’s part of building trust. Communication is everything in a Dom/sub relationship, and it always comes down to talking. And listening. Hearing. It’s serious stuff, especially for the sub, and might seem very confusing at first. You need to know what you’re letting yourself in for, but also be prepared to take a few risks with me. It’s good that you feel you can trust me, but I’ll also need you to be able to talk to me, be completely open with me. I need you to be honest about what you want, uninhibited. And you need to know that I care about you, that I know what I’m doing and will keep you safe. But, Ashley—”
He stops, hesitates, places his palm around my jaw and lifts my face to his. He holds my gaze as he tells me about the reality of this. “You also need to know that as your Dom I’d be hard, harsh even. I’ll be uncompromising, demanding obedience from you. You might change your mind, lose your nerve, find some aspects of what I want to do to you difficult to accept. You might not even recognize me in Dom mode, and you probably won’t like me much.”
I snort at that. I can’t imagine ever not liking Tom Shore. Then I remember that first time. And I know what he means, what Tom in unrelenting Dom mode is really like. But I survived him once, I’m sure I can manage to meet him again.
He ignores my unladylike response. “So, all of that would be very, very difficult to put in a contract, don’t you think? That’s why we need to talk. And it’s a conversation you should have with your clothes on.”
I don’t want to get dressed. And I want him undressed. The first rush of post-migraine/near-death-experience lust satisfied, I feel a need for something else. Something a little less hurried.
“I know we haven’t—agreed—yet, we haven’t talked much about this. But can’t we, isn’t there something fairly, fairly…” I hesitate, not sure what I’m trying to say, what I’m asking him to do. I think of the ice lolly he slid into my pussy the first time we played our kinky games together. I was shocked, scared at first, it was so totally unexpected and I wasn’t sure I liked it. But I did, soon enough, as he licked it out! And I know I want that sort of feeling again. Something intense, edgy. And I want it now. I want that rush of fear and exhilaration, the pleasure tinged with pain that I know he can supply. “Please, I’d like to try…”
He looks at me, knowing. He smiles. “You’d like something sharp? A challenge? But not too brutal. Intense but not painful. Or not very painful? Is that it, Ashley?”
Yes, that’s it exactly. A challenge, something to prove to me I’m still very much alive. I nod, my eyes wide with anticipation.
“I think I can do that.”
Chapter Three
Moments after asking Tom to come up with something suitably challenging to celebrate my soon-to-be entry to his world I found myself on my back, my wrists tied to the bed head. Still fully dressed, and his wonderful cock safely tucked away inside his zipped jeans, Tom stood at the foot of the bed and looked at me. For what seemed like hours he just stood and gazed, though in reality I suppose it was just a couple of minutes. Then, calm and unhurried, he walked around the side of the bed, knelt down and reached beneath. He pulled out the box of toys, picked it up and carried it across the room to place it on a small dress
er in front of the window. His back to me, he lifted the lid and reached in. I watched—my mouth dry as he examined the contents, considered his options. I knew it wouldn’t be anything too painful—we’ve not agreed on the fine details of my submission yet, not had the ‘clothes on’ discussion that Tom seems so keen on. And I’ve yet to meet with Abbie, the fount of all submissive wisdom it would appear, and that does seem like an important step. But I knew, hoped, it would be intense. I wasn’t disappointed.
Finally, he turned back to me, his expression stern. Serious. Gone was the playful lover. I was now starting to see the hard Dom I’ve met once before, and who Tom hinted was always there. Lurking, waiting for me. And Tom had been right, I wasn’t sure I liked him, wasn’t sure I could cope.
He returned to his position at the foot of the bed, a pair of nipple clamps in his right hand. Dark red in color, joined together by a thin length of chain, the fierce crocodile-style jaws looking cruel. Each clamp had a bullet-like weight hanging from it, and I couldn’t even start to imagine what those were for. My ignorance would not last long.
And in his left hand, a very familiar purple vibrator.
“I’m going to blindfold you in a moment, but I want you to see these first. Are you happy to continue, Ashley?” The words were softly spoken, I could refuse. I knew I wouldn’t though. But, nipple clamps? Ouch.
“Will they hurt?” I whispered the question.
He shrugged. “Depends how tight they are, how sensitive your nipples are. How long I decide to leave them on you for. You tell me. Afterwards. And as for this”—he twirled the vibrator in his hand—“I thought it was time for a demonstration. Then next time you borrow it you’ll know how to get the full benefit.” The talking over, he stepped forward, dropped the items on the bed next to me. He reached around into his back pocket and pulled out a dark scarf. Soft, supple. My blindfold. He doubled it over into a long thin length, held it loosely in his hands as he gazed down at me, his face impassive now. “So, are you ready? Can we begin?”
I nodded, he leaned in, and my world went dark.
“These first, I think.” I flinched as his hands, warm and hard, caressed my breasts. His fingers stroking my nipples, rolling and lightly squeezing. I knew what was coming, gritted my teeth, expecting a sharp biting pain. Instead I felt the wet heat of Tom’s mouth, gentle as he sucked my tender nipples, then the harder edge as he lightly bit me—drew his teeth along the sensitive peaks again and again. I was gasping, moaning under him when he finally raised his head. I felt the brief cool draft on my wet breasts before the tight pinch of the clamps sank onto my nipples, first the left, then the right. I screamed, but more in anticipation of the pain I had expected. The reality of it though, was much less severe. Not comfortable, certainly, but not painful. Not exactly. Yet.
I was panting, my whole body tense. I felt the bed dip, was aware of his length stretched out alongside me. He took my chin in his hand and turned my face to his, kissed me. It was enough, it captured my attention, anaesthetized me until my shaking body adjusted, accepted.
“Are you okay, Ashley? How are you feeling?” His voice is low as he murmurs in my ear, his hand lightly caressing my breasts, his touch featherlight on my tortured nipples. “Do you remember your safe word?”
“I’m, I’m fine. I think.” My own voice is shaky, breathy, my fear and uncertainty obvious.
“Your safe word, love? Do you remember what it is?” Again, that soft voice, concerned. Caring.
“Yes, yes I remember.”
“And…?”
“I’m okay. Really.”
“You will tell me the moment you’re not? I can stop, slow down, try something else.”
“Yes, I know. I will. But, I’m okay. For now.”
“You’re a lot more than okay, sweetheart.” And he chuckled softly before kissing me again.
I squealed when the vibrations started, my engorged, sensitive nipples now tingling as the bullet-like weights suspended from the clamps sprang into life. The sensations were intense enough if I remained still but magnified if I moved, causing the suspended weights to swing and tug at my nipples. And occasionally, if I didn’t move, Tom would take the weights and pull on them gently, or nudge them to create new and deliciously painful sensations. And all the time I lay there, helpless, accepting. Trusting him.
I was dimly aware of the bed moving again—this time as he got up and stepped away. At some level I could feel his gaze—I knew he was watching me from wherever he was in the room. And I didn’t care. The stimulation pounding through my clamped nipples was so focused, so overwhelming, I was focused solely on that.
“Open your legs, Ashley. Wide.”
At first I was stunned, couldn’t make sense of what he wanted now. I didn’t move, despite his instruction, riding the pain/pleasure of the nipple clamps.
“Open your legs. Now.” The voice was harsh, commanding, requiring obedience. But still I lay there, stupid, dazed.
“Last chance, or I do it for you. Which is it to be, Ashley?”
Through my hazy confusion the bite of his stern voice was at last penetrating my consciousness. I needed to do something, and do it right then. Or else. Or else what?
I tried to open my eyes, searching for clues, but the blackness of the blindfold was uncompromising. “What? What should I…?” I was mumbling, whimpering almost. His strong hands took hold of my ankles, pushing them up toward my hips, forcing my knees to bend. Then he slid my ankles apart, spreading my thighs, his hands moving to my knees to open them wider. I gasped as the tendons in my inner thighs stretched. It was painful, he was hurting me. Really hurting me.
“No, stop, please, Tom, stop.”
“Safe word? Are you safe wording, Ashley?” The pressure didn’t ease, but got no worse either. He waited. And I waited. At last, “No, no safe word. I’m okay.” But I wasn’t at all sure I was anymore. It wouldn’t have taken much at that point.
He seemed to understand how I was feeling, how close to breaking I was, and he gently stroked my screaming inner thighs, massaging the cramping muscles until I began to relax under his hands. He kneaded and caressed me, waited for me and gave me time to become calm again, accepting again. I was acutely conscious of his strong, firm hands, his fingers sliding along my inner thighs, his thumbs slipping into that hollow where thigh meets groin, almost touching the sensitive, swollen folds and lips. I became desperate for his touch, to feel his hands on me.
He knew it, must have known it, but made me wait. He teased, his fingers so close I could feel the brush of air, feathering over my clitoris, around my pussy. Not touching. I was panting again, aware of the nipple clamps still, my sensitive nipples caught in their severe grip, flinching under the relentless pressure, but my focus had shifted, gone south. Now all I wanted was to feel his fingers plunge into me, to feel his tongue or better still his teeth on my clit.
Please, please.
“So eager, little one.”
His low, sexy chuckle drifted across me, and I realized I was begging, actually begging him out loud. Christ!
When he did actually touch me I nearly came off the bed, my hips surging upwards to meet his questing fingers. I screamed. Definitely screamed. He dragged his thumbs over my clitoris, hard and firm, pressing the desperate, delicate little button. And I came. Immediately. No frills, no build up, just a hard, honest to goodness soul-deep orgasm. Powerful, sudden, overwhelming. The pulsing sensation shot through me in every direction, out to my fingers and toes like electricity. My throbbing nipples swelled even more, if that were possible, the bite of the clamps then becoming excruciating. And I didn’t care about any of it. Felt nothing apart from the fabulous pressure on my throbbing clit. All I wanted was what I had, there and then, the overwhelming relief of a mind-numbing orgasm. All my body, all my consciousness centered there, on my clitoris, quivering under his touch.
I was shaking, literally shuddering with the shock of what had just happened as I drifted back to my senses. I became aware of
the bed under me, the slight discomfort of my widely spread legs, my thigh muscles taking up their protest again, the severe discomfort now of the nipple clamps biting me. And no sooner did I begin to regain my sense of equilibrium than he whipped it away again by sliding the purple vibrator right inside my vagina. I’d seen it in his hands before he’d blindfolded me, but with the rush of other sensations assaulting me I’d forgotten about it. Then—fast, hard, without warning, it was there. Buried deep inside me.
My body jerked in surprise, but I didn’t protest, offered no comment, asked no questions. Just lay still, waited. The good submissive in me was definitely coming to the fore, finding her feet. I felt the intrusion withdraw, almost entirely, just the head remaining at my entrance, the lips of my vagina stretched around it. Tom angled the head, gyrating it to swirl around my inner walls, just inside the entrance. Christ, he had a real knack for this, knew just what to do, how to touch me to draw out my response. I moaned, once more carried along on a wave of pure sensation, tilting my hips upwards to offer him better access.
He worked the thing back in, filling me entirely, more slowly this time, rotating and swirling. Instinctively I squeezed it, seeking more friction, more feeling, more intensity. And I got it when the vibrator lived up to its name. The pulsating sensations rippled along its length, caressing my inner walls from my entrance right to my cervix. The bed shifted under me as he moved away, still with me but no longer touching. He’d positioned the vibrator, positioned me, and now stood back to watch his handiwork unfold, the inevitable sensual unraveling of his helpless submissive.
I didn’t disappoint. My next orgasm arrived more slowly, built with a little more decorum, announced itself politely before sweeping me away. I crumbled more gradually this time, but crumbled nonetheless. Like a baby bird facing its first flight, caught up in that anticipation, that build-up of nervous tension, that sense that the coming adventure was most likely going to be okay, but still… Then that weightless leap into the air, that circling, floating, flying, before drifting softly to the ground.