by Ashe Barker
“It’d feel better if you were inside me.”
“No doubt, but this is a close second. Squeeze harder, love, faster…”
He lets out a low groan, and, encouraged, I reach with my other hand to palm his balls, squeezing and rolling them as I pump my fist up and down his shaft. On impulse, I turn to face him. Kneeling in front of him now, I lean forward to take the head of his cock in my mouth.
He tunnels his fingers through my hair, tugging slightly, though not forcing my face down. He lets me set the pace, and I do by taking the head and as much of his shaft in my mouth as I can. I suck, as he sucked my clit, grazing him lightly with my teeth. I use both my hands to squeeze and roll and grip, loving the saltiness of his semen as it starts to seep into my mouth. His cock jerks hard, and I feel his balls contract in my hands as he prepares to come.
“Summer…” His warning growl is my signal to back off, unless I want a mouthful of spunk.
I tighten my grip, increase the pressure, and moments later I’m rewarded by the full flood of semen as he ejaculates into my mouth. I swallow quickly, clearing my throat, as more hot liquid pumps out. I swallow again, never letting up as the shudders of his climax rack his huge, hard body. I feel a heady sense of power that I can cause this. That despite his refusal to fuck me, I can still make him lose control.
The crisis passed, I straighten, allowing his cock to slide from my mouth. I look up. Dan is smiling at me, his head tilted to one side.
“That was unexpected. And bloody good. Thank you, Summer.”
“You’re very welcome. Sir.”
He reaches for my chin, stroking it with the pad of his thumb as he lifts my face to place his mouth over mine, soft and undemanding. I open for him as he strokes the tip of his tongue along the seam of my lips, loving the sensuality of this moment. He is tasting me, exploring, swirling. Even after more orgasms than I can actually count right now, my pussy still clenches in response. I suck lightly. He rolls to his back, hauling me on top of him as he withdraws his tongue. Mine follows. He sucks it into his mouth, and I become the aggressor, playing and exploring, stroking his teeth as he playfully nips at me.
Now my hands are in his hair, combing through the wet, spiky softness as he palms my bottom. I don’t even wince, loving the raw tenderness still lingering, a souvenir of a remarkable experience.
I lift my head, breaking the kiss, saddened by the realization that our evening together must be coming to an end. I’ve lost track of time, but I suppose it must be quite late. Midnight at least, maybe later. He looks up at me, his eyes dark—with passion, I hope. And maybe approval. I want him to like me. I want to know I pleased him.
“Did I-I mean, was that…”
“You did well, Summer. You have perfect submissive instincts. Your responses are amazing. I’ve loved scening with you.”
“But still, you won’t…”
He interrupts me. “No, I won’t. One day, when you’ve more experience in this lifestyle of ours, you’ll understand.”
“I do understand. It’s because I said no earlier. At first. But I’m saying yes now.”
He eases himself into a sitting position and pulls me back onto his lap. His cock is nudging my bum, softening now, courtesy of my best efforts with mouth and hands. He trails his fingers idly across my breasts as he talks to me.
“A Dom can get a sub to agree to pretty much anything, especially after a couple of decent orgasms with the promise of more to come. Your sluttish instincts are a powerful motivator, Summer. I could easily exploit them, exploit you. We agreed to the limits of this scene right at the beginning. Your hard limits, I suppose you’d say. And yes, you can change your mind. We could renegotiate, but not in the middle of a scene. It’s the same with my rules for you. Once I’ve set them out for you, and you’ve agreed to them, I will enforce them. You’re new to this, and I’ve made some exceptions in recognition of that, but in general this is how it works. You’ve already learnt that. You need the protection of knowing I absolutely won’t exceed your limits when you’re in a vulnerable situation and are not able to stop me. If I were to do as you ask, you might regret it tomorrow. I know I would.”
Regret it? Why would he regret fucking me? Why does he think I might?
“I want to leave now.” My abrupt announcement may seem peevish. I can’t help that. I’m sick of asking, tired of being turned down. I don’t want to hear any explanations.
Shit, my mother charged those men good money for what I’m offering. Me, I can’t even give it away.
Shocked, I’m not sure where that thought came from. I rarely acknowledge what happened back then, what my mother still does for a living. Never, actually, if I can help it. Disgusted with myself for letting this surface now to ruin this evening of perfect surprises, I wriggle out of his arms, heading for the steps to clamber out.
“Summer…?”
I don’t even turn to reply. “I want to leave now. I’m allowed to leave. You said I could go whenever I want to.”
“Of course, but not like this. You’re upset, and I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Well, not in this way.”
“I’m not hurt. It’s late that’s all. Time to go. Freya will be wondering where I am.”
“I doubt that.” He follows me from the tub, catches up with me back in the other room as I’m grabbing my clothes. He drops a large towel across my shoulders.
“Dry off first. And we still need to talk.”
Despite my zeal to be away, I do appreciate the towel. I hug it around myself, rubbing my wet limbs.
“Talk? You mean you talk and I listen? I do as you say?”
“Yes. Most of the time it’s that way round. But this time, I want to listen to you. You promised to tell me about your tidy mind.”
“No I didn’t!” I never talk about this. How does he know…?
“Yes, you did. Just before I spanked you. I asked you about keeping things tidy and symmetrical. You said it was personal, and you wanted to tell me, but later. It’s later now.”
I stare at him, remembering my rash promise made under what can only be described as extreme duress. It’s true. I did say I wanted to talk to him. I even felt I could—then. Not now. Now, I want to escape, to lick my wounds, nurse my hurt feelings and re-bury the reality of my sordid past and its legacy. Now I want to deal with my mess, get it all tidy and ordered again. Under control. I want to get back to normal. Or what passes for normal, for me, which does not include spanking and multiple orgasms and begging a near-enough total stranger to fuck me.
“It’s nothing, not really. I’m just a bit of a stickler for having things nice and tidy, that’s all.”
I’m pulling my underwear back on now, but Dan seems disinclined to get dressed himself. Instead he strolls over to the couch, a towel looped around his waist, and he sits down. He leans back, watching me quietly.
“Freya’s going to be ages yet. I just checked and I had a text from Nick. They’re back in room nine.”
“Oh, well I could go up there and…”
“Oh, no you couldn’t, Summer. Neither one of them will thank you for bursting in and disturbing them. If you really need to leave now, I’ll get you a taxi. When you’ve told me what I want to know.”
“I’ll get my own taxi.”
“You could. But a deal’s a deal. You agreed to talk me about this, to explain it to me.”
I stop my fumbling with my clothes, having managed to wrestle my way into my bra and pants. “Okay, what do you want to know? I don’t like untidiness. Lots of people don’t. I like my ducks in a row or my swallows in a straight line, as you noticed. What’s so strange about that? It’s not a big deal. Why can’t you just accept that? Unless you want to spank me again, beat the truth out of me.”
His eyes narrow and I think for a fleeting moment I may have gone too far. After all, he’d have no reservations at all about taking a cane or a whip from one of the racks surrounding us. He might even now order me back to that bench or tie me to one of the metal rings attach
ed to the walls and ceiling. My belligerence evaporates as rapidly as it formed.
“Please, it’s late and I’m tired. Just let me go home now.”
He watches me coldly for a few moments then gets to his feet. He closes the distance between us, and I fight the urge to back away. He takes my chin in his hand, forcing my face upwards to meet his eyes.
“Next time, Summer. Next time you and I meet, I will fuck you. I’ll love fucking you. Hard and deep. I’ll take a very, very long time over it. Over you. And you will tell me about your straight lines. Is that clear? Understood?”
“Next time? I may not be back. Not now that Freya doesn’t need me to…”
He shakes his head quickly, a flash of irritation glinting in the rich brown of his eyes. “Isn’t this where we came in? I thought we’d already established that Freya didn’t need you. You were here for your own reasons. You were curious. We already established that and we’ve gone some way to satisfying your curiosity, I hope. But I believe there’s more, and that ‘more’ will bring you back. Or maybe I’ll come looking for you. I do intend to collect on that promise, if not now then soon.”
“There isn’t any more. It’s just me. You’ve seen me, all there is to see. Nothing hidden.” I’m whispering now, almost pleading with him to let it drop.
“Not true, love. There’s a lot, lot more to you than you’ve shown me so far. I intend to peel back the layers. I will know you, Summer. And I will understand you.”
He holds my gaze for a few moments, though it seems longer. At last he takes pity on me. “I’ll see you into a cab.”
Chapter Seven
We walk in silence through the corridors and down the staircase toward the ground floor. We cross the foyer toward the cloakroom, and Dan nods politely to Gerald, still hovering and eying me suspiciously. I produce a small ticket from the back pocket of my jeans and slide it across the counter to the receptionist-come-attendant in charge of personal possessions. Freya explained before we came here that handbags and cameras are not allowed inside the club, for reasons to do with security as well as convenience. In fairness, it would be hard to keep track of belongings while strapped naked to the dungeon wall.
My coat and bag appear on the counter—I thank the attendant and turn to Dan. Not sure what the protocol is here, I offer him my hand.
“Thank you. For an…enjoyable…evening. Sir.”
He regards my outstretched hand disparagingly. “Now, Summer, I thought we’d got past all that.” He smiles as he places his palms on my cheeks and kisses me.
I’m angry with him, resentful and confused by my own feelings. Still I respond, opening my lips to accept his tongue at the same time as I reach up to run my fingers through his damp hair. He insisted I use the hairdryer while he got dressed, so mine is more or less back to its usual state, though considerably less restrained. I’m not entirely sure when he dislodged my tight ponytail, though I do recall he had to keep lifting my hair from my face while I was on the bench, so it must have been before that.
Christ, some things that happened to me this evening are etched vividly on my memory—never to be forgotten, every detail sharp and clear—and other parts are a total blur.
Dan lifts his head, breaking the kiss. “My pleasure. Any time.” He turns, calls out to Gerald, “Would you arrange a taxi for Miss Jones please? Charge it to my account.”
“Of course, sir.” The doorman pulls his phone from his pocket and hits a key. Obviously there’s a taxi firm on speed dial.
“You don’t need to do that. I can pay for my own ride home. It’s miles back to Kendal.”
He tilts his head. “Kendal? We’re neighbors then. Nearly. I live in Keswick, but I work near Ulverston.”
Nearer than he thinks. Ulverston is close to Barrow. I could run into Dan Riche in the street, in the supermarket. In the increasingly cool climate of fading lust and mounting embarrassment, multiplied by the humiliation of having been repeatedly turned down when I offered him sex, I find that prospect less than appealing. Distinctly unattractive, in fact.
It could get even worse. What if Freya and her formidable Nicholas Hardisty do manage to get some sort of thing going—their display in the dungeon certainly suggests that is not beyond the bounds of possibility. Our orbits might collide more in the future. Nicholas and Dan are friends, or at least that’s the impression I had. I start to panic, wondering how to make sure this dangerous, disconcerting man never gets his hands on my body again. I couldn’t endure that, to be stripped bare in every way, examined, punished, played with then put back as though nothing has happened to me, as he now seems to be keen to do, packing me off in a taxi. I conveniently disregard the fact that I insisted on leaving.
If I’ve learned anything from Dan Riche, it’s that a Dom/sub relationship, even a fleeting one such as this, is intense, riveting, all-consuming—and altogether too turbulent for my taste. I can’t live with the chaotic sensations and mixed up feelings now coursing through me. I need to get away, now, this very minute, and regroup. Even as this realization crashes through my head, the sound of a car horn outside provides my exit route. Thank God the taxi firm must be based nearby.
“That’s my cab. Thanks again, Sir.” I turn and rush at the door, only to find that Dan’s longer stride reaches it first.
He opens it for me, stepping back to allow me to escape. “Until next time, Summer.” He murmurs his final words as I charge past him.
“Over my dead body.” I doubt he manages to hear my response, muttered under my breath as I trot down the stone steps to the waiting car. I slide along the seat then slam the rear passenger door shut. I heave a huge sigh of relief as the taxi pulls away.
“So, miss, Kendal is it?” The taxi driver tosses the question back over his shoulder as he pulls out of the driveway leading from the Collared and Tied club and into the deserted road.
I glance between the front seats and spot a clock on his dashboard. Twelve forty-two. I’d thought it might have been even later.
“Yes, please. Kendal.”
The driver just nods and settles in. He tunes the radio in to something bland. Classical music, I think. I gaze out of the window into the late night blackness and recognize the route to the motorway. It’s not direct but without doubt, the quickest way back to Kendal in terms of time. As the lights of Lancaster recede into the rear-view mirror, just visible from my seat, I try to settle my shattered nerves. I was all right earlier, there, with him. Somehow, he made me calm, accepting. I could relax, let whatever happened just flow. Now I’m wound into a tight, painful knot of anxiety. I need to sort it, sort all of it. And what I can’t sort, I need to reject. It didn’t happen, or if it did, it was an aberration. Never to be repeated. Never to be even spoken of. Buried.
Except it won’t be buried. Or at least, not deep, as it needs to be. Deep and hidden, never to resurface.
He’ll be there, in Ulverston—lurking, waiting, or even worse, seeking me out. He said he would. ‘I may even come looking for you’. And Freya. Tomorrow morning she’ll be home too, ready to share all her experiences with Nicholas, expecting me to share mine. She’s sure to know I spent the evening with Dan. He was texting Nicholas—he must have told her. She’ll be surprised, intrigued. Delighted as well, probably. She’ll ask and probe and keep on digging until I tell her what happened. Some of it, maybe even all of it. Making it real again. I won’t be able to escape. Between them all, they’ll never let me bury this.
My hands are shaking as I grip my bag tightly, dreading the coming morning. But most of all, I dread ever meeting Dan Riche again. Around him, I’m vulnerable, laid bare. His air of safety and certainty is just an illusion—safety lies in order. It always has and always will.
The M6 motorway is just half a mile away now. A couple of miles north, and soon we’ll be purring into Kendal. Then it hits me. What if we turn right, head south? I don’t need to go to Kendal, never need to face Dan Riche again if I don’t want to. I can take a bit of a break, a holiday. I�
�ll let Freya know I’m okay so she won’t worry. No one else will miss me.
The idea taking form, I quickly check in my bag that I have my purse. My credit cards. I’m not rich, not by Freya’s standards, but I’ve been working for a few months and spending almost nothing, so I’ve a few thousand pounds in my account. Certainly enough to last me a while. I could take a holiday, let the dust settle. Then, when I’m sorted, stronger, I’ll go back. I’ll explain to Freya that this lifestyle of hers is not for me—whatever Daniel Riche might say.
“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go to Kendal after all.”
“Right, miss. Where to then?”
Ah, yes. Good question.
“I’m not sure. Could you go south when you get to the motorway?”
“Yes, miss. But I’ll need to let my control know how long I’ll be. How far south do you have in mind?”
“Bristol.”
That gets his attention. “Bristol! That’s over two hundred miles. I’m only being paid as far as Kendal.”
“I’ll pay you more. What will it cost to drive me to Bristol?”
“I don’t rightly know, miss. Let me think…”
“A hundred pounds?”
“Well, I’m not sure… I’d have to drive all the way back as well, you see. I’ll not get any more fares all night. Most of tomorrow too.”
“Three hundred pounds then. Is that enough?”
He hesitates a moment, then, “Oh, okay, miss. It’s a deal. Money up front though.”
“Good. Thank you. Can we stop at a cash point on the way please?”
* * * *
After Kendal, I think Bristol is perhaps my second favorite place to live. Maybe because I was happy here, doing well until my mother intervened, screwed up her life again and trampled all my plans into the dust while she was at it. I had a career—or at least the prospect of one—training, a pay rise, a job I loved, a nice little flat. My life was tidy, well ordered, just as I like it. I was comfortable.
Soon after I arrived here, I called in at my old library, the St Paul’s branch, just to say hello and to check out if there might be any jobs going. A long shot. They were fully staffed and in any case, the council doesn’t recruit people who just walk in the door and ask for work. But I felt I should try.