The Three Rs

by Ashe Barker

  He nuzzles my nose with his, to lighten the mood perhaps, but I know that this is a serious conversation. His tone betrayed that much. I was able to detect that subtle but certain shift I’m coming to recognize, that thread of steel in his voice that tells me to listen, to concentrate, to make sure I understand him. He props himself up on one elbow, caressing my face with his other hand. He doesn’t intend to intimidate me just now, but he does mean for me to pay attention. I give it. Undivided.

  “If you and I are going to play these games together, and, sweetheart, it’s clear to me that we are, then I need to make sure you know how to protect yourself. You remember the other day when I spanked you, I told you what to say to make me stop. I even asked you to count, and when you stopped counting, I knew you’d had enough. As a submissive, you need to be able to call a halt if something happens that you can’t tolerate, or if you’ve simply had enough. You need to be able to tell your Dom how you’re feeling.”

  I was right, this is heavy. And he does keep on using that same word. “Submissive? Is that really what I am? I thought we were just—having fun. Maybe some of the things I asked you to do to me were a bit unusual, but…” My voice trails away. I’m not sure what I ought to be asking, or what I actually want to know. If he gives it—this thing between us, this kinky fun—a name, it makes it all so much more real. I appreciate that, for me at least, this has already gone beyond light-hearted, no strings bed-romping. A fuck-fest as he likes to call it. I’m not trying to kid myself that none of it really matters. Cain certainly seems to have other ideas now, and I really should be pleased about that. I am.

  His expression is kind, patient, he’s ready to explain, to help me understand, but I know our relationship is shifting. Solidifying. That gives me a warm feeling. This is more than just my pussy responding, though heaven knows that’s happening too.

  “If you let me spank you, tie you up and maybe do other things to you as well, then, sweetheart, that’s you submitting. So you are a submissive. And I know full well that I’m a Dom. And we do need safe words.”

  I concede that, but I’m still inclined to think he might be over-complicating this. “I could just say no. Or stop. Will that do?”

  “Yes, up to a point. We made do with that the other day. But that was just a mild spanking. And this morning it was all about pleasure. It was intense, I know that, and I did offer to stop. I went very slowly with you, and did a lot of checking. And when I spanked you before, I did add in the counting thing, which worked well. Whether you realized it or not at the time, that got you out of trouble. The problem is, you might say words like no and stop anyway, when you really mean the exact opposite. Indeed, I’m pretty sure you will be in the next few minutes. And especially if you’re feeling something really intense. It’s possible to be misunderstood. I prefer you to have a safe word that you’d never normally say. Then, if I hear it, I know you mean it.”

  He rolls onto his back, pulling me up onto his chest. He holds my gaze as he continues this amazing discussion. “Actually, I want you to have two safe words. One will be your signal for me to stop, no questions, just stop immediately. Sort of like a red traffic light. The second safe word will be your amber light, a signal for me to slow down, that you need me to check, to be careful. It will tell me you’re struggling, upset, not sure, that you’re close to your limit. Maybe that you need to talk, or ask me something. Does this make sense?”

  Yes. No.

  “What? What sorts of things might you do to me? What could you do that would be so awful that I’d need to…” My voice trails away as I try to imagine the sorts of activities he might be planning. I have a sudden mental image of Cain looming over me with a whip in his hand. I’m not at all convinced I entirely like that notion, though it does hold a certain…allure. And if he is contemplating something like that, what on earth does he see in me—recognize in me—that I never knew was there?

  I can only stare, bewildered, as he continues to hold my gaze.

  Then he continues, “I can see you’re scared now, but you’ve no need to be, Abbie, I’ll never, ever do anything to you without your consent. I haven’t so far, have I?”

  I shake my head, still unable to find any words.

  “And I won’t. This isn’t about me attacking you, hurting and scaring you. This isn’t about helpless victims and violence. This is kinky fun, with a bit of an edge. So, if you let me tie you to the bed, as I want you to, you have my promise I’ll untie you if you use a safe word. No question. Is that good enough?”

  Is it? Yes, possibly. Probably. I lie still, our eyes locked together, and I see honesty in his. And gentleness, despite the unwelcome image of the whip. I see caring, maybe even tenderness. He’ll take care of me, give me what I want and keep me safe too. So I really think his promise is good enough. Better than good, even. I find myself nodding, slowly, but with a growing degree of certainty. I trust Cain Parrish, in this matter, definitely.

  He smiles at me again. “Right. So, unless you have something else in mind, what about we use the traffic lights then. Red means stop, amber means slow down. Will that do?”

  Again I nod. Then, “What will you use? To tie me up, I mean? I don’t want to be handcuffed.”

  His smile broadens, and now it’s tinged with a truly wicked glint. My pussy clenches in response.

  “No handcuffs then. How about silk rope?”

  Silk rope? Now that does sound rather acceptable. So I tell him that will do very nicely indeed. He smiles and suggests I make myself comfortable on the bed.

  The rope is black and very soft. Supple. Cain produces it, two long pieces from the innocuous-looking blanket chest under the window. Except I’m now perfectly clear that it’s not a blanket chest—well, not entirely. He keeps a few other interesting bits and pieces in there too. I’m relieved that there are no whips or chains or anything terribly frightening. Just toys. Toys he promises to share with me, if I like.

  I might like. I might indeed.

  “I want you on your back, I think, this time. I did promise you a spanking, though, and you should have had it yesterday, but you were indisposed. So maybe we’ll start with that.”

  As I stand beside the blanket chest, still pondering the mysteries within, Cain tosses the lengths of rope casually onto the bed and sits on the edge. His curt hand gesture is clear—get over here, now, and lay yourself across my knees. Moisture is gathering between my legs just at the thought, and my bottom clenches in anticipation. To lie across his lap, both of us naked, seems so much more intimate, more connected somehow, than the table did. Still, I move slowly. I take my time positioning myself, and he seems to be in no hurry either.

  I place my hands on his thigh to steady myself as I lean forward. He doesn’t offer assistance, and I’m glad of that. Neither of us has said as much, but it’s an intrinsic part of this, a core part of our deal if you like, that I place myself here willingly. That this is by my own choice. At last I’m comfortable—my head close to his ankles, my hands resting on the carpeted floor. My hair is trailing on the carpet and my bottom is presented perkily for his attention. Only now does he touch me.

  His caress is light as he trails his palm across my buttocks, tracing the lower curve with his fingertips. He slides his hand along the deep groove between my arse cheeks, continuing down to ease through my now very wet folds.

  “Ah, yes, little Abbie. Anticipation is everything…” he murmurs as he slowly circles my now dripping pussy. “Open your legs, love.”

  I spread my thighs, and my reward for compliance is swift and certain. He takes my clit between his fingers and squeezes it. I gasp, caught between pain and pleasure. He releases me, only to rub the sensitized nub firmly with the pad of his thumb. Now the pleasure is pure, intense and unambiguous. My orgasm is there, rushing through me before I take my next breath. I’m shaking and shuddering under his skilled caresses while he continues to roll my clit between his fingers, my nerve endings all standing to attention. He takes his time, drawing
every last ripple and surge of delight from me. He’s hardly started, and already I’m dissolving. I feel as though I could just melt into a puddle at his feet, a warm pool of delight soaking into his knee-deep shag pile.

  At last I’m back, my body my own again, in a manner of speaking. In truth, I’m his to do with as he will—we’ve pretty much agreed that. I’m utterly relaxed, absolutely content. I lie still now, my bottom quivering while I wait for him to deliver the first swat.

  I hiss sharply when the first spank lands across my right buttock. It’s hard, sharp. More intense than my first experience of this, downstairs in the kitchen. But I need that, want more. I wait for the next one, but instead I hear his low, sexy voice.

  “Count, please, Abbie.”

  “One.” My voice is clear, strong. Why I should feel at my most powerful when I’m really at my most vulnerable is another mystery to address later, along with the contents of the blanket chest perhaps. But for now I’m just going to absorb what this moment has to offer.

  “Hard enough?”

  “Harder, please.” Now, where did that come from?

  I give a small yelp as the next slap catches my left buttock. My arse clenches wildly now, and the heat starts to radiate.

  “Two. Harder still, if you could.” Amazing!

  “Oh, I certainly could, Abbie.”

  And he’s not wrong. I yelp again when he swats my right buttock once more, right in the same spot as he did previously.

  “Three. Thank you. Four. Five.”

  I continue to count while he continues to land the blows, each one unerringly hitting the same spot on each buttock, alternating between them. He’s accurate and consistent, each spank is just the right intensity to hurt me, to push my limits, but not quite enough to make it really unpleasant. It’s almost unpleasant, almost too much, but not quite. Just enough. My bottom is hot, burning up, the tender skin absorbing the slaps as he delivers one after the other.

  “Ten. Eleven. Ahh. Twelve.” I can’t bite back my scream, but this time it doesn’t stop his next slap.

  “Amber.” I’m not sure what I’m asking, what I want exactly. I don’t want him to stop, not yet, but it’s just too, too…

  His palm lands on my bottom again, but now it’s gentle. He slowly caresses my quivering, skin. I sigh, loving the tenderness in his touch. He draws his fingers lightly across the most sore places, and I rub my cheek against his leg in grateful response.

  “My hand print is here, in vivid red on your bum. It looks gorgeous.” I wince as he traces the outline of his hand, etched on my skin. “A minute’s break, then six more, but not as hard. Okay with you?”

  I shift on his lap. “Only six?”

  “Six. If you get that far. Remember your safe word.”

  I won’t be needing that. This is nothing. Not really. I just need to relax, accept, enjoy.

  I do all these things, but I still safe word after the fourth slap. Cain massages my sore bottom again, once more slipping his fingers between my thighs to test my pussy’s reaction to all this. I’m absolutely soaking. There are wet sounds as he slides two fingers deep inside me, finger-fucking me hard and fast as I open my legs wide again. His other hand reaches for my clit. A few seconds, and my orgasm is once more rippling through me as I spin delightfully out of control. My pussy clenches around his fingers, greedily seeking more friction, grabbing at him. He chuckles and deliberately slows his thrusts. It’s too late, my body is beyond recall and I thrust my hips wildly to maintain the pressure, tightening around his fingers and wringing the last dregs of release from my body myself.

  At last, I lie still. I’m satisfied, utterly content.

  But Cain is not. “Stand up.” His voice has taken on that hard edge again, sublime but so powerful, demanding obedience.

  I stand.

  “Lie down, on your back.”

  I glance at him balefully. My bottom is smarting, I’d really prefer to lie face down. One look is enough to convince me not to argue. I dutifully scramble onto the bed and carefully ease myself onto my back. It’s not too uncomfortable, on reflection. As long as I don’t move.

  Cain stands, watches me trying to find a way to lie still without irritating my sore bum any further. His lip quirks, but he says nothing. He doesn’t have to. I make a mental note to safe word earlier next time.

  He picks up one of his lengths of rope and makes a smallish loop at one end. He holds that out to me, and I slip my left hand through it. Without speaking to me now, he quickly ties both my wrists to the bed posts. I know he’ll have done a thorough job, and he’s obviously not new to this, but still I try a couple of experimental tugs to see if there’s any give. There isn’t.

  Cain takes a little more time carefully checking his knots, asking me if my wrists hurt at all. I shake my head. I’m tied up well and truly, but the ropes are soft and supple against my skin, and not so tight that they affect my circulation. Satisfied it seems, he picks up the second length of rope and quickly repeats the process but this time tying my ankles to the bottom bedposts. I’m not tall enough to actually reach, so this time there’s more rope involved to cover the extra distance. And by the time he’s finished, his knots checked and my wellbeing assured, I’m quite immobile, naked on his bed, my legs spread wide, and completely at his mercy.

  Wonderful!

  “You’ve had two orgasms already. I think you might be able to show a little restraint now, no pun intended.” He seats himself on the bed beside me, idly circling my left nipple with his fingers.

  It tickles, sort of, and I wriggle slightly. He stops his tormenting, smiles at me then deliberately starts again.

  “Look at me, Abbie. If I didn’t want you to watch, you’d be blindfolded.”

  My eyelids snap open, a shiver of unease rippling through me. I really am helpless and quite literally in his hands. He reaches for the jar of jam, still sitting on the bedside table. He dips his finger in then offers it to me to lick. I do, curling my tongue around his middle finger, tasting the jam but also my own juices from being finger-fucked just a few minutes ago.

  “Nice?” He asks the question casually. I manage an equally noncommittal tilt of my head. His lip quirks.

  “Not sure? Try this then?” He dips his finger again, and this time smears the jam across my lips.

  I snake my tongue out to lick it away. His eyebrow is raised, silently asking my opinion now. I lick my lips again, managing to exhibit a little more enthusiasm.

  His reply is just a slow, sexy smile. He dips two fingers into the jar, scooping out a more generous helping of the sticky red jam. Even though I know it’s going onto my nipple, I still jerk as he trails his fingertips around my areola then smears the stickiness all over the swelling peak of my left breast.

  “Cold?” His question is delivered so dispassionately he might have been discussing tomorrow’s weather.

  I shake my head. “Not cold. I told you, I’m ticklish.”

  “Ah yes, so you did.” And he proceeds to do exactly the same thing to my right nipple before stopping to admire his creation.

  I strain my neck to glance down at my vivid red nipples, now smeared with stickiness and standing to attention under the jam. I expect Cain to dip his head and start to lick it off, but he’s not ready for that yet. Instead he slides his fingers through the goo on my left nipple, pinching my swollen bud between his thumb and finger ends. I jerk again as he squeezes hard enough to hurt. His response is to take my right nipple in his other hand and apply the same pressure there too. I moan softly, arching under his touch despite the discomfort. He increases the pressure, only slightly, but enough to make me yelp as real pain bites. He releases me and lowers his mouth to my breasts to start the long and painstaking process of licking my nipples clean. He laps the jam away, then he takes one hard pink pebble into his mouth and sucks on it. The pleasure is intense, and I cry out.

  “Please, I can’t…”

  He stops sucking, but doesn’t release my nipple from his mouth. His
‘I told you so’ glance up at me is enough to silence me for a while as he starts once more. Moments later I’m writhing under him, as far as my restraints will allow me to, as he shifts his attention to the other side and starts all over again. I’m so incredibly aroused my pussy is clutching on the void within. I want to close my legs, squeeze my clit, anything to gain some relief. But I’m held securely in place, helpless, my legs spread wide.

  At last he lifts his head, and reaches for the jam jar again. I groan, expecting the process to start all over again. As indeed it does. He carefully spreads jam across my breasts, not just the nipples, and I find myself hoping the jar was closer to full than empty. Now that I’m becoming accustomed to the sensation, and to the restraints, it really is very, very nice. Not enough yet to bring me to orgasm, but definitely getting there.

  This time Cain doesn’t stop with my breasts. Satisfied I’m suitably coated, he gets up and to my astonishment heads for the bedroom door. Surely he isn’t going to leave me here… Wordlessly he leaves the room, but I trust him and I wait. In moments he’s back, a warm, wet flannel and a towel in his hands. He wipes his fingers then grabs a pillow from behind my head and shoves it under my bum to raise my bottom from the bed. Idly, I note that the soreness from my spanking is almost gone. He then lifts my hips again, this time to slip the towel underneath.

  “This bit can get messy.” He winks at me as he picks up the jar again.

  I hold my breath as he takes two heaped fingerfuls of jam, then using the fingers of his spare hand to open my inner lips, he smooths it thickly over my clit and labia. He’s now shifted his position so he’s lying across the bed, between my wide open thighs, propped on one elbow as he proceeds to dip his fingers again and paint more of my pussy with the sticky jam. He’s very thorough, smearing the cool, fruity concoction everywhere. I just know, no matter how diligent his attempts to lick it off, I’ll be back in the shower before this evening’s over.

  I lay there, perfectly still, acutely conscious of every sweep of his fingers across my clit, my labia, my pussy. He even dips his fingers into between my lips to deposit a blob there, before continuing around to coat my tight little arsehole with the stuff. Now I do gasp. This is new. This is something previously unexplored. I’m not sure what I make of this.