Sure Thing

by Ashe Barker

  “Anal beads?”

  Another nod.

  “Ben wa balls?”

  I’ve never heard of ben wa balls and my look of puzzlement earns me a grin.

  “Trust me and just nod, sweetheart, you’ll love those, I promise.”

  So I nod. Obedience comes remarkably easy it seems.

  “Right, there’s more but I’ll check any new stuff out with you as we go along. And if there’s anything you don’t like you just tell me. Or use your safe word. Now, restraints. I intend to tie you up. Always. I really like to tie women up before I fuck them. And before you ask you can take that horrified expression off your pretty face—you’ll be the only woman around, so that means you’re the one to get tied up. You’ll be tied to my bed, as you already know. But we’ll be using other sorts of restraints too. A spreader bar, for example. And a spanking bench. And that collection of leather straps you found under my bed that time? You okay with all those?”

  Despite my best intentions I find myself speechless. He might as well be talking to me in Cantonese for all the sense this makes. A spreader bar? A spanking bench? What the hell are those?

  As if reading my mind he stands, holds out his hand. “Come with me, Ashley. I’ll show you.”

  Here? He has those things here? Dumbly I take his hand and follow him.

  He leads me back upstairs and this time we go into the spare bedroom, the one with just a bed in it. Or so I thought. Since the last time I waved a duster around in here the room has gained a couple of new occupants. The most dominant is a solid-looking wooden bench with a thickly padded leather seat, about three and a half feet high, not unlike something I used to see in the school gym. However, I suspect this has little more than appearance in common with its innocuous sporting cousins. There are a range of leather straps set into it in different positions, and the height looks to be adjustable. I stare at it for a few moments before reaching out, stroking the soft leather of the seat.

  “How would I…?” I look over my shoulder at Tom, standing behind me.

  “You could either kneel on it, your face down and your bum up in the air. Nice and easy for me to reach you. Or sometimes you might be lying on it, still face down, probably. It would depend what I wanted to do to you. The straps would hold you still. And make sure you don’t fall off. We wouldn’t want any accidents, would we? Oh, and you’d be naked, obviously.”

  “Obviously.” I glance back at him and nod my agreement. “Yes, this is fine. I don’t mind using this.” God, was that my voice?

  “That’s good.” He takes my hand and tugs me behind him back along the landing to his bedroom.

  I stand in the middle of the room while he reaches under the bed. As well as the tangle of leather I’d explored before Christmas, which he dumps unceremoniously on the bed, he pulls out a strange-looking contraption made up of four leather bracelets attached to a rigid steel rod. The distance between the bracelets seems to be adjustable. He tosses this onto the bed alongside the leather straps.

  “The bed restraint is clear enough I daresay. It secures you in place, your legs spread wide. Usually on your back but not always. The spreader bar works a bit like the spanking bench. You kneel down and your ankles go in the two outer straps. Your wrists go in the two inner ones, secured to your ankles. I can open the distance between your ankles, to spread your legs wide. Good for spanking, but also offers ready access for anything else I might have in mind.”

  Shit. The mental image is stark. And exciting. Exhilarating. I’m probably blushing but I choose to ignore that and hope he’ll have the good manners not to comment.

  “Naked again?” Silly question.

  “Oh, yes.” His response is emphatic, his voice low, suggestive.

  I shiver, wondering if we might be able to get started any time soon.

  I nod briefly. “Okay, this is fine too. Anything else?”

  “I don’t have a St Andrew’s Cross here at the farm, but I intend to buy one. For you. Will that be all right with you too?”

  “That’s for whipping me, yes”

  “It is.” His expression is serious, his tone to match.

  “Of course.” And I can’t help the cheeky grin that spreads across my face. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  His smile is knowing. “I’ll remind you that you said that, the first time you safe word for me.”

  “Who says I will?”

  “I say so. You will.”

  I fall silent, considering the implications of his certainty. This ‘agreement’ of ours might be just about the most adventurous, exciting, wonderful thing I’ve ever done, but it’s also going to be terrifying. He’s just promised to hurt me until I can’t bear any more, and still I’m eager to start. How weird am I?

  “There’s more, lots more. I could show you my whips, canes, straps, crops. You won’t like them all, you probably won’t much like any of them at first. But you will learn, and you will adjust. You will learn to tolerate the pain, to welcome and respond to it. Little by little, not too much at first. And never more than you can take. Do you trust me?”

  I bob my head in agreement again. “I saw some of those, your whips and other things. The day I found the vibrator, when I cleaned your bedroom.”

  “Good. No nasty surprises then. Or at least, not as many. First things first, though, are you hungry?”

  I look at him, baffled. “Hungry?”

  “Yes. You never eat before you turn up here. So, I’m assuming you’re hungry. You usually are.”

  “I, yes. Yes, I am.”

  “Food first then. Spanking later.” And with that he takes my hand again and tugs me behind him back downstairs and into the kitchen. “Sit down, while you still can, and look pretty. I’ll entertain myself cooking your dinner and imagining the gorgeous stripes I intend to lay across your totally delicious arse. And then, I intend to fuck you into something close to oblivion. Is that all right with you, my beautiful Ashley?”

  I smile sweetly at him, sit down as daintily as I can, in view of the distinct wetness pooling between my legs. “Yes, that’s perfectly all right.”

  His glance back at me is hard, stern, and I notice the shift immediately. “That’ll be ‘Yes, Sir’. And that’s lesson one, Ashley. You will call me Sir. And for every time, from now on, that you forget, you’ll receive an extra stroke on your tender little bottom. So do try to concentrate, you will regret it if you don’t.” His tone, when he turned to address me, was firm, clipped, authoritative.

  I look up at him then quickly drop my eyes from his. This is the Tom I first met, intimidating, demanding, harsh and austere. I need to be careful around him. I intend to be very, very careful. I keep my eyes lowered, my voice subdued, my tone perfectly respectful as Tom prepares our meal of grilled chicken and salad. I eat contentedly, thanking him for my meal, appreciating every mouthful. I take my time over the food and so does Tom. He’s in no particular hurry it seems. Eventually, though, it’s time. By mutual consent, we stand and head for the door to the stairs.

  So, back in the bedroom I am surprised to see the spanking bench now occupies pride of place at the foot of the bed. I’m not sure when Tom could have moved it, or quite how he managed it alone. But he did, and one questioning blond eyebrow is lifted, wondering how far I’m prepared to go in this, our first real ‘scene’.

  I smile softly, genuinely at ease with this, and walk over to the bench.

  “How would you like me?”

  He regards me calmly for a few moments before replying, as though he knows something I don’t—yet.

  “I want you naked. And face down. It’s your first time so I’ll help you into position. In future, though, I expect you to be in place and ready for me when I come in. Is that understood?” Then, “Do you have any questions, Ashley?” His tone is distant, business-like.

  I detect the difference immediately, subtle though it is, and I recall what Abbie said about Tom in Dom mode—tough, demanding. I caught a glimpse of my Dom downstairs earlier, an
d Tom’s alter ego is definitely re-emerging now.

  “Do I still need to call you ‘Sir’?” I’m only half-joking, but even that amount of levity seems misplaced.

  His expression tightens, a chilling glint in his eyes, and I suppress a shudder inside. I hadn’t expected this, I’m off kilter, uncomfortable. I suppose I know what I expect him to do, but up to this moment I hadn’t given any real thought to how he might be, how his attitude toward me might change.

  He lounges calmly against the bench, watching me. “That would be good, and I seem to remember telling you already that I will require it. I don’t like having to repeat myself. But I don’t expect you to learn all the requirements of your submissive role straight away. We’ll take it slowly. Now, are you ready to proceed? I love your dress, very sexy, but I need you to take it off. Now.” His voice is cool, efficient. He means me to obey him.

  I nod, more hesitant now, uncertain of what the next few minutes—or hours—could bring, and start to undress. Tom leans back on the bench, watching me in silent appreciation as I remove my clothes. Still self-conscious—the modesty of a lifetime is not easily dispelled, I find—and distinctly nervous in the company of this new Tom I am only just properly meeting, I eventually stand before him, naked, ready.

  He looks me up and down slowly, his expression unreadable. With a quick swirl of his raised finger he indicates that I should turn around. I do so and can feel his eyes raking my body. After a few moments I hear the soft rustle of his clothing as he straightens, starts toward me. I move, intending to turn back toward him, but his hands, firm on my shoulders, hold me in place.

  “Don’t move unless I give permission.” Again that hard, implacable tone, perfectly polite but demanding obedience.

  I close my eyes and my body stiffens under his hands, my tension building. This is not the sensuous seduction he treated me to when we played chess, or after he brought me back down from the moors, when my migraine eventually passed. This is not the easy love-making I’ve come to expect from Tom. Gone is the playful lover. Instead I have a dispassionate observer examining me. And, possibly, finding me lacking. I shiver involuntarily, but he feels it.

  “Are you cold, Ashley?” Still polite, but so cool, so detached.

  And I am cold. Cold and exposed and I just wish he’d wrap his arms around me, hug me, tell me again that this is going to be fine.

  “No, I’m all right.”

  He dips his head to nuzzle my hair, loose now rather than in my usual plait. His breath skims my ear as he leans in. “You’re not all right, Ashley. You’re shivering. If not cold, frightened then?”

  “Yes, a little,” I whisper.

  “Yes, a lot,” he murmurs. “But that’s okay, this is all new to you. Trust me, I will look after you. And nothing’s going to happen that you don’t agree to. We’ll go very slowly, and I won’t force you to do anything you’re not ready for. Do you trust me, little Ashley?” His voice had softened, his lips feathering along the edge of my ear.

  And I realize I do trust him. Despite my anxiety at what’s to come I know I’m safe. That’s not to say I’ll find my first experience of true submission easy or pleasant. Quite the reverse, I suspect. But he will get me through it. And despite my fears I do still want to do this. I think.

  “Yes, yes I do trust you. Sir. And I’m ready to start.”

  Chapter Seven

  His smile is blinding, seductive, predatory. But with an edge of softness in there too. His next words prove it.

  “Excellent. And, Ashley, just for the record, because it seems particularly important just at this moment, may I say that you are without doubt the most beautiful woman I have ever had the pleasure of taking a whip to. You are quite perfect, exquisite. You totally delight me.”

  His arms are around me, he turns me and his mouth is on mine. He thrusts his tongue into my mouth, deep, exploring. I gasp, thankful, my wonderful Tom is briefly returned to me just when I need his comfort and warmth. I loop my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life as I kiss him back. He tunnels his fingers through my hair, holding my head still for him to taste me. I feel rather than hear his groan of satisfaction at my capitulation and I revel in it. Maybe the submissive in me is emerging too, just when she’s needed. I certainly hope so.

  At last, too soon, he raises his head, breaking the kiss but holding my gaze. His smile is soft, encouraging. “Come on, let’s get you in place.” He angles his head toward the bench but makes no move toward it. He’s leaving it to me to initiate the next step.

  I lower my gaze, stepping away from him as I turn obediently to the bench. I walk to it and place my hands flat on the seat, and stand there, hold my breath, waiting.

  “You’ll find it more comfortable to lie lengthways along the top.” Tom positions himself at one end and motions for me to step to him.

  I do, and he turns me to face the bench.

  “Lean forward, lie along the top. Shuffle around until you’re comfortable.” He steps back a couple of feet to allow me room to move, to position myself as I feel best.

  I find that as I lean forward the height of the seat is perfect to support me in a standing position, my waist bent at a right angle.

  “Place your hands on the bench in front of you, stretch your arms as far as you can and grip the edges.”

  I do as I am asked, shuffling and wriggling slightly until I am stretched out along the bench, my legs straight and my feet on the floor. I reach as instructed and close my fingers around the padded edges of the seat. The top of the bench is thickly cushioned, covered in soft leather. It’s warm against my naked stomach and breasts—it feels sensual, a pleasant caress against my skin. I turn my face to one side, my cheek resting on the buttery leather. Tom is standing beside me. He crouches to bring his face level with mine.

  “Okay so far, Ashley?” His tone is still soft, reassuring.

  My whispered “yes” earns me a slight smile, then he stands, steps away. He walks to the end closest to my hands and there’s a faint click as he opens small flaps on the sides of the bench to release the restraints. Soon the soft leather ties are encircling my wrists, becoming more taught. Tom slips his fingers beneath the buckles to insure they’re not too tight before pulling similar straps around my elbows, anchoring them to the bench. I can’t resist a little tug to test the restraints and find that though not painful or uncomfortable at all, I am unable to move. Although I had expected this, the sense of total vulnerability still takes me by surprise and I am unable to contain my whimper of fear as my heart rate accelerates. Tom is immediately aware and comes back to crouch alongside me again. He lightly kisses my lips before turning his head to admire my body stretched out at eye level before him. He trails the backs of his fingers along my ribcage, tracing the outline of my breasts on the soft leather.

  “So beautiful, Ashley, so very perfect. I won’t do anything to harm you. Take deep breaths and look at me. Open your eyes, Ashley, look at me.”

  I realize my eyes were screwed up tight and I force myself to open them, to meet his soft gaze again. My tender lover is still here.

  He smiles at me, holding my gaze. “I’ve been doing this stuff a long time, Ashley, and you’ll benefit from my experience, really you will. But, I’ve never yet found a way to top a sub gently—and I don’t really think either one of us is here looking for gentle. Are we, Ashley?”

  “I, no, no I suppose not…” Pity, but it’s true.

  “Right, so I’m not going to try for gentle then. But I can do slow. I can take this at your pace, give you all the time you need to adjust, to keep up. I’ll want you still there with me, at the end. This is about physical pain, yes, but it’s not meant to be an emotional battering.” He smiles at me again, then winks as he stands. “I’m going to strap you around the waist too. It’s really important that you remain very still because I’m going to open your legs wide and I don’t want to accidentally hit anything delicate because you’re wriggling around.”

  Despite my fear
s there’s a distinct rush of wetness between my legs at his words, at the implication of intent behind his statement. Moments later the leather strap encircles my waist, tightening around me. He steps back, and I tug against the restraints. I quickly realize that although my legs are free and I can move my head and shoulders slightly, my upper body is pretty much immobile, bent over the bench. Ready and perfectly positioned for spanking or whatever else he might have in mind.

  “Would you like a sip of water, Ashley?” Tom is crouching beside me again, a small bottle of mineral water in his hand.

  I nod thankfully, becoming aware of the dryness in my mouth. He trickles a few drops of water between my lips. I swallow gratefully then ask for more. He obliges, then offers me more still. Eventually I thank him, tell him enough, and he straightens again. He moves away to stand behind me.

  I wait, expecting any moment to feel the harsh sting of—what? A whip? A cane? Or maybe his hand, like that other time, which seems a lifetime ago now?

  It is his hand I feel but not a slap. He’s caressing me, his palm softly kneading my buttocks, first one side, then the other. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t tell me what he intends to do, doesn’t ask permission. With his other hand he traces the valley separating my buttocks, sliding his fingers between the cheeks of my bum to explore me thoroughly. I gasp, spread my legs instinctively for him as he strokes the soft, moist folds. I am wet, hot, ready, and he obligingly slips two fingers swiftly into me. He waits a moment as I clench around him, then withdraws, before thrusting in again, hard and fast. I moan with pleasure, rotating my bottom against his hand, trying to ride him, greedy for more. He steps closer, leaning forward to reach around me to take my swollen clitoris between the finger and thumb of his other hand. He squeezes, strokes me firmly.

  “I want you to come. Now. Now, Ashley.”

  His command is delivered sharply, obedience expected. Demanded. His fingers are unerring, accurate, insistent. I have no option but to comply, and I do come, on command, immediately, my orgasm rippling forcibly through my helpless body. I am gasping for air, my pussy clenching madly at this relentless onslaught, but he is not content with just one release. He continues to finger-fuck me, the friction building as he thrusts, strokes, demanding my response.