by Barker, Ashe
“Tell me how this feels, love. Is it good, for you? Not too hard, too fast?”
“It’s good, so good.” I sigh, my face still pressed into the duvet as I centre all my consciousness on the wonderful sensations building in my within me. The vibrator filling and stretching my anus is pulsing. It’s utterly delightful and I’m clenching around that shaft too, although I seem to have no conscious control over that. Nathan takes my clitoris firmly between his finger and thumb. He rolls it. And I come. Again and again and again, the orgasms crashing in waves, radiating out through my helpless, responsive body. I relinquish any lingering sense of control and surrender entirely, feeling my body go limp, boneless. Nathan feels it too and reaches under me to fully support my weight. He holds me still, gently stroking his cock in and out of me until the last tremors fade. Only then does he switch off the vibrator and slide it out, using his fingers to soothe my stretched anus. He dips his thumb into the empty space, turning it to massage the rim and instinctively I use it to squeeze around, closing up the sphincter again. Satisfied, he slides his thumb away, and pulls out of me completely. I fall to the bed, face down, exhausted.
A moment later he is beside me, pulling me into his arms, turning me to face him. He tips my chin up and kisses me, deeply, tenderly. My arms slide up to link around his neck, and I hang on for dear life.
Long minutes later my world is once more spinning safely on its axis and I reflect on what just happened. I think back over how something initially so terrifying, so overwhelming, became the most wonderfully erotic, intimate, sensual experience I could ever imagine. I cling onto my anchor, my face pressed into his strong chest.
“I’m sorry,” I start, but he places his finger over my mouth to silence me.
“Stop, sweetheart. You did well.”
“I used a safe word. I never thought I’d…”
“That’s what they’re for. To use when you need to, to keep yourself safe. And happy. You knew what you needed and you asked for it. And because you let me know how you were feeling I could help you. And it ended okay, yes?”
“Oh yes, definitely very okay.”
“And I’m glad you’ve got the idea about protecting yourself. At last. It’s something of a relief, to be honest. And like I said, we’ll make a decent sub out of you yet.” His playful pat on my bum is the only signal I need to know we’re okay.
“Tired?” His murmur is low, sweet against my ear. I nod.
“Me too, it’s been a hell of a long day.” He reaches down to pull the duvet around us.
* * * *
“Daddeee! Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.” I feel the thump of one small and another not so small body landing hard on the bed, bouncing up and down.
“What the—?” The low murmur of Nathan’s voice against my ear is all I need to tell me we’re well and truly rumbled. I roll over in his arms, to look up into Rosie’s delighted little face, and Barney’s more restrained one. Both pairs of eyes are looking down at us, their expressions a more or less even mix of surprise and confusion.
Nathan is the first to react. “What are you doing in Miss Byrne’s bedroom, young lady?” He’s got a cheek, I’ll grant him that. Nice try, though, Mr Darke.
“I’m getting her up. It’s time for our lesson. What are you doing in Miss Byrne’s bed, Daddy?”
“Er…”
All three of us wait, expectantly. This should be good.
“Er…”
“And why are your clothes thrown on the floor? You never let me do that. You’re supposed to fold them up.”
“Look, Rosie…”
“Is Miss Byrne your girlfriend now, Daddy? Megan’s mummy has a boyfriend and he sleeps in her bed too.”
“What? Who’s Megan?” He’s obviously stalling now, playing for time.
“Megan Brame. She sits next to Sebastian at school.”
Sebastian?
“Can I play you my new violin tunes, Daddy? And does this mean Miss Byrne’s staying forever? And Mrs Richardson’s coming home today as well. You need to get up.”
Despite her admonitions to us about our lazy habits Rosie is making definite efforts to squeeze in between us. At the same instant we both realise our naked state. This is going to be awkward. Nathan gathers his wits properly, at last.
“Princess, I need a glass of water. Would you get me one, please?”
With a nod Rosie hops off the bed and heads out onto the landing again. Nathan leaps out of bed, and I can’t help but admire his taut bum as he grabs his jeans from the floor, pulling them on, commando, just as she reappears. He throws his discarded T-shirt at me and I wriggle into it under the duvet. Sitting back on the bed alongside me, Nathan throws an arm around my shoulders, pulling me up against him. With the other arm he reaches for the glass of water in Rosie’s outstretched hand, taking a sip before placing it on the bedside table. Then he reaches for her again, lifting the little girl up to sit between us, and drops a kiss on the top of her head.
“Would that be okay with you, Princess? If Eva stays here with us.”
“Yes! Cool. As long as she keeps on teaching me violin. You will, won’t you, Miss Byrne? Eva?”
“It’s Eva now, sweet stuff. And I daresay she won’t mind continuing the lessons…?” He glances the question at me and I nod. And, taking advantage of our momentary distraction, with a deceptive little wriggle Rosie’s managed to burrow under the duvet and get herself nicely tucked up with us. And so, it’s settled.
* * * *
The rest of the day passes in a blur of activity. The nurse arrives as planned and we get her nicely settled, just as the hospital’s patient transport service arrives to deposit Mrs Richardson with us. She is trundled into the house in a wheelchair and between me, the nurse and Nathan we transfer her to her new bed in the dining room. The room’s large and we’ve managed to drag a sofa and the portable TV from the kitchen in there, too. The plan is that we’ll all use this room until Mrs Richardson is up and about again. Both Nathan and I did wonder about a little privacy for the invalid, but she was adamant that she didn’t want to be shoved in some corner of the house on her own. And if she wants peace and quiet I expect she’ll say so.
By unspoken agreement Nathan is chief cook, with me, Nurse Amy, and Rosie acting as bottle-washers and fetcher-carriers. Tom drops in to see if we’re okay, and he and Nathan spend half an hour huddled in Nathan’s home office sorting out farm business that’s been building up in his absence. Then between us we rustle up a very acceptable evening meal of beef stew with mashed potatoes, and a rice pudding for afters. The evening is spent peacefully watching telly, all of us happy to be together again.
Eventually Nathan nudges Rosie, who is dozing in his arms as I snuggle alongside him on the sofa. Tom has headed back to his pigs and chickens and whatever else he has over at Greystones and the nurse has taken herself off to her room, having seen to Grace’s personal needs and sorted her out with pain relief. Grace is now snoring softly in her pristine white sheets. “Bedtime, Princess,” he murmurs.
“I need my bath,” comes the sleepy reply, and I feel Nathan stiffen. This is not normally his territory.
“That’s my job now,” I butt in, putting him out of his misery. His look of grateful relief is almost comical. I hold out my hand to Rosie, who uncurls herself from around her daddy and slides to the floor, happily trotting out of the room with me.
The next half-hour is spent in happy girlish chatter as Rosie excitedly reminisces over the events of the day. I comb and plait her towel-dried hair and dry the rest of her off with a large fluffy bath sheet before helping her into her nightie and settling her into bed. Barney makes himself comfortable at the foot of it—a bad habit we do seem to have drifted into but so far no one’s complaining. I read her a story about baby owls waiting for their mummy to come home, and she observes that her daddy’s come home now, just like in the story.
He certainly has, and he’s waiting for me downstairs.
* * * *
I find him
in the kitchen, bare-chested now. The room is warm, the Aga still hot from cooking earlier. His black jeans are faded, well-worn, and unbuttoned at the top. I suspect he has no underwear on, but I don’t dare ask. His expression is dark, formidable, his mood obvious. A few cushions are piled on the floor. The spanking paddle is on the table, along with the vampire gloves and the nipple clamps. Oh God!
“We have unfinished business, Eva. Are you ready?” Meaning, ‘Do you consent?’
“Yes.” My voice is quiet, but I am unafraid. I look him in the eye. He cocks an interested eyebrow and nods briefly. We understand each other.
“Undress, please.” He stands, leaning against the edge of the table, his arms folded. I step forward to stand in front of him, close up. I tilt my head back to meet his eyes, which are dark, hooded. His finely chiselled masculine good looks are breathtaking and I lick my lips. “Everything, Sir?” I ask.
He nods slowly. “Everything, Eva. But first…” He reaches a hand behind my head to pull out the elastic bobble holding my hair back in a loose ponytail. He runs his fingers through the wild length of it, dropping the long waves around my shoulders. “I love your hair, Eva. And I love you. You do realise that?”
I knew, but this is the first time he’s said it out loud. I nod, my eyes never leaving his. My reply is whispered, “I love you too, Nathan.” He nods again, his smile brief but warm as he leans in to brush a light kiss across my lips. He straightens, and leans back, his arms folded once more. Waiting.
I step back, and take my time over undressing. Neither one of us seems to be in any hurry. My loose T-shirt first, followed by my skinny black jeans. I drop them to the floor behind me and stand before him in just my bra and panties—carefully chosen from my selection of sexy matching underwear—before reaching behind me to unhook the bra. I drop it to the floor with the rest of my stuff and start to slide the panties over my hips.
He reaches out, stops me. “No, let me do that. In a moment.” My heart is thumping despite my new-found confidence and my mouth is dry. I stand still, waiting for his next instruction. He turns to the table and picks up the spanking paddle, flexing the rubber blade between his fingers. Turning back to me, one eyebrow raised, he runs the blade slowly down between my breasts before flicking it sharply upward to catch my right nipple. I gasp, flinch. And stand still again as he repeats the action, this time tormenting my left nipple. Knowing what he intends to do, the pain is sharper the second time. My hands move involuntarily to protect myself. His look of reproach is enough to make me drop my arms back down to my sides, as I wait for what comes next. He flicks each nipple with the paddle twice more, and I force myself to stand perfectly still despite the biting sting.
Satisfied at last that I am obedient, accepting, he turns away, pulling a chair out from the table and sits on it. He beckons me to him, and with a soundless gesture indicates that I am to lie across his knees. I step forward to stand beside him, my hands on his leg as I carefully lean forward, positioning myself. When I am comfortable I let my weight rest on him, my head hanging down nearly to the floor. He strokes my back softly, running his fingers down my spine, and I shiver. He repeats the action, this time sliding his hand down over my buttocks, under my panties. He massages the rounded, fleshy cheeks of my bum, sliding his fingers between them to caress my sensitive slick folds. I moan, unable to contain my mounting pleasure.
“How many strokes do you need, Eva?” His voice is curt, harsh despite his gentle, arousing fingers. I am momentarily confused by his deliberate choice of words. What sort of ‘strokes’ does he mean?
The sharp, stinging slap on my bum settles that question. I squeal.
“Be quiet or I’ll have to gag you. We don’t want you waking up the household, now, do we? Now, how many strokes?” He slaps me again, hard. I muffle my squeals with my hands. “I… I don’t know—” I manage to get out before his hand lands on my bottom again and I can’t help but start to wriggle. His arm is firm across my back—I’m going nowhere. Not that I want to.
“I think twenty strokes should see you fine. With the paddle. But first, I intend to warm you up a little with my hand. Is that okay, Eva?”
His gentle, matter-of-fact voice is deceptive. I know I can manage his hand—he’s spanked me before and it’s been wonderful. But the paddle? That’s an unknown quantity. I begin to quake. What have I let myself in for?
“Eva, answer me. And remember your safe words.” I do remember. And I remember how beautifully he took care of me last night, when I got into trouble, was struggling. I relax, feel myself go limp across his knees again.
“Yes, twenty will be fine.” My voice is quiet, but strong now. I’m ready.
“Pull your panties down when you’re ready.” His voice is gentle now and I concentrate on breathing slowly, steadily, as he taught me last night to control my panic. I reach behind me and slide my panties down across my hips to my knees. He leans down to remove them fully, and I realise this is because they were preventing my thighs from parting. He clearly has plans, and I think I’m going to approve of those plans.
I brace myself for the first blow to fall, but instead I feel a strange scratching, first across my shoulders then moving down my back. It’s the vampire glove. Ah, this is new. I know those spikes are sharp and I have to lie still to avoid being cut. The scratching continues, tugging at my sensitised skin, down to my buttocks. I sigh in lazy pleasure as he gently but rhythmically squeezes the smooth flesh, kneading it with his harsh, spiky palms. The feeling is exquisite, the tingle of danger lending a dark edge to the rich, comfortable warmth of the sensuous massage.
I am floating on a sea of sensation, drifting, and taken completely, cruelly unawares as out of nowhere his hand strikes my bottom hard. The glove off now, he lands another stinging blow. Christ, he’s really going for it this time. I bite my lip as the blows continue, each one building on the ones before it, the pain radiating outwards. My tender cheeks are on fire and I am jerking under each blow, trying to relax into the pain. I manage to remain silent, my fist pressed against my mouth. I count the strokes, ten, then fifteen. My eyes are closed tight, and despite my attempts to absorb and ride the pain I feel the tears building. I can’t bear it if he doesn’t stop soon, doesn’t let up soon.
And suddenly he has stopped. I lie still, gasping for air, shaking. His hand is gentle now, soothing over my abused buttocks. He eases my thighs apart and uses the hand that had been across my back holding me firmly in place to part the delicate folds between my legs. I’m wet, swollen and sensitive, ready for him. He reaches for me with his other hand, then into me, his finger sliding inside, first one, then two. Then three. He finger-fucks me hard, and I moan as the first tingle of orgasm grips me. I’m grasping his ankles as the tension builds, spreading my thighs wide to let him touch me, reach me, pleasure me.
As my orgasm approaches the point of no return he slows, withdraws his clever, wicked fingers. I wriggle, trying to recapture that exhilarating friction, that pressure I desperately need. He holds me still.
“Close your legs, Eva.” The quiet command is firm, unrelenting. I know he doesn’t intend to let me come. Not now. Maybe not ever. I grind my teeth in frustration.
“Please, Nathan, I need you to…”
“Twenty strokes. Brace yourself, Eva.”
The paddle lands, hard and firm and sharp across my already sensitive buttocks. My flesh feels to be on fire again. This is agony—I know I can’t bear twenty strokes of this thing. I tell myself to absorb the blows, ride this pain as I did the other. The paddle continues to fall, one stroke after the other, merciless. Relaxation is beyond me and I tense, my whole body a rigid knot of endurance. Somehow managing to detach myself from the pain, if only slightly, I count the blows, my misery piling up until I am overwhelmed by it. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.
“Yellow,” I whisper. “Oh, God, yellow.” And it stops.
“I think you mean ‘red’, don’t you love?” The soft voice is gentle now, the hand once more on my
bottom, caressing, soothing. I lie still, waiting for the remaining blows to fall after my brief respite. They don’t. The pain recedes, and I find myself lifted up, to be held in his arms. I feel secure, protected, comforted.
“We’re done, love. You’re fine, we’re fine.” He kisses my mouth and I reach up, snaking my arm around his neck. I cling on, my rock in a sea of pain. He holds me, tenderly nibbling my ears, my neck, my shoulders before kissing me deeply again. After long moments he stands with me in his arms, and turns to lay me on the table. He grasps for a couple of cushions from the floor then arranges them under me, taking care to raise my bum up from the hard surface, providing relief for my red, still smarting flesh. He pulls me to one end of the table and sits back down in his chair, this time turned to face me. He spreads my legs wide, firmly placing my heels on the edge of the table, and I know what’s coming.
His head dips between my spread thighs and he draws his tongue along my cleft, from my tight little anus, around my quivering vagina and up to my swollen clitoris. One long, sensuous stroke.
“How many of these strokes would you like, sweetheart?” He dips his head to do it all again.
“Oh my God. That’s so good…” I groan, rolling my head from side to side, my eyes clamped shut to better savour the exquisite pleasure.
“Not sure? Let’s see how many you can take then, before you come.”
Seven. As the seventh stroke of his wonderful clever tongue slides across my clit I lose it and go off like a firecracker. He knows the instant I come apart and takes the throbbing peak in his mouth to suck on it until I am spent. Which is not for some time. The ripples of delight and release roll on and on and I lie there, legs spread wide under his warm mouth, drowning in uninhibited bliss.