by Ashe Barker
It’s been raining. Again. That makes three days on the trot when I’ve been unable to get out onto the moors. I’ve been catching up on my edits and Photoshopping, but there’s a limit to that, even for me. I’ve got a whole new batch of Peak District material ready to send to my printer, and a lot more stuff in the pipeline now. I could start on the Lakes soon. If it ever stops raining.
Right now I’m in need of some serious diversionary therapy. And it appears my Dom has something in mind. Bring it on.
I shut down my computer, careful to save all my work in progress. I may be randy as hell and on a promise, but I’m not stupid. A few minutes later I’m wrestling the huge barn door open, just enough for me to slip through into the gloomy interior.
I stand just inside the door, looking for Tom, listening. The place is silent, eerily so. But he’s here, here somewhere. Even if it wasn’t for his text I’d know. I can feel his eyes on me. I shiver, the involuntary shudder creeping down my spine like ice. I’m not comfortable, I wish he’d show himself.
“Tom, Tom, where are you?” I call out, my voice echoing around the cavernous, dusty space, bouncing back at me from the bales of hay and unused farm implements. I turn, looking all around, and up into the open loft above my head. He must be up there.
I start for the ladder and shriek loudly as a hand lands on my shoulder.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Tom’s voice, deep, low, right against my ear.
“Christ, you scared the shit out of me! What do you think you’re doing, creeping up on me like that? Where the hell did you spring from?” Dom or not, I can’t keep the anger from my voice, an anger born of nervousness. He really creeped me out.
“That’s no way to talk to your Master, little Ashley. Maybe you’d like to apologize. Now, before I really get irritated with you. You wouldn’t like me to get irritated, would you? Remember the last time I had cause to discipline you in here?”
“I don’t bloody care. You nearly gave me a heart attack. I…”
My tirade is rudely interrupted by a hand over my mouth, and Tom’s voice is in my ear, hard now, his warning tone unmistakable, “I’m sorry I scared you, I didn’t mean to. But you got my text, you knew I was here. And now, you’ve said enough. Too much. You badly need a little refresher course in respect, I think. I’ve obviously been much too lenient with you recently. You’ve been getting too much gentle fucking and clit clips, and not enough discipline. That changes, here, now.”
He drops his hand from my mouth to cup my chin, holding my head up, pressed against his unrelenting chest. “Do you agree, Ashley? Do you think you need discipline too?”
The threat is there, dark and slightly menacing, but shot through with that silken, suggestive thread of promise. That promise of pain and pleasure…and intense arousal. I’m shivering again, but this time it’s not shock. There may be some fear there, some nervous anticipation certainly. But mostly, I’m shivering with sheer joyful excitement. He makes me feel so good, so vital, so alive.
“Ashley, answer me. Do you need to be punished?”
“Yes, yes, Sir, I do,” I whisper my response as his lips explore my neck and throat, and I tilt my chin higher to allow him access.
“What should I do to you, do you think, Ashley? Should I whip you? Spank you? Maybe a punishment fuck? What do you think would work best?”
“I don’t know?” I’m melting in his arms now. He can pretty much do whatever he likes to me as far as I’m concerned. Then, “What’s a punishment fuck?”
“Ah yes,” he murmurs, “not something I’ve ever been minded to try with you. You’re always so hot, so responsive. You really wouldn’t like a punishment fuck, my love, because I’d fuck you, long and hard, but I wouldn’t let you come. You’d enjoy it, at first, up to a point, then the frustration would bite. You’ll beg me to let you come, to touch you, to let you finish. But no, no orgasm for you. How would that be, do you think? Would it teach you respect?”
“How would you…? I mean, you couldn’t… Could you?”
“Oh yes, I could. I definitely could. You know that. Do you want me to demonstrate?”
“No! I mean, no, please don’t do that. Sir. Please…” My voice is trailing to a whimper, punishment fucking sounds frankly awful.
“Maybe we’ll keep that for another time then, for a time when you really have earned it, for a time when you really, really piss me off. Today, I’m just mildly annoyed. I do think it’s important to maintain a sense of perspective, don’t you?”
My whispered “Yes” is perhaps a little hasty, but he takes it well, his low, sexy chuckle rippling along my throat as he gently nips and sucks my delicate skin.
“I think a whipping then, and I have just the thing. Very fitting for in here…”
I stumble forward as he releases me. I hadn’t realized he’d been taking my weight. I lean against the barn door to support myself, turning to face him. He’s silhouetted, caught in a strong beam of sunlight filtering through an open trap door above his head, his features completely obscured. He looks totally menacing. And totally gorgeous, a perfect example of male beauty, the powerful Dom and tender lover rolled in one. Just now though, powerful Dom is definitely in the ascendency.
He regards me for a few moments as I lean heavily against the door, breathing fast, my hand on my heart as it hitches up a gear or two. Then he turns sharply, strides away across the barn. Moments later he’s back, a hard leather riding crop in his hand. He comes to stand in front of me, watching my reaction as he flicks the sharp leather tip against his hand. I can’t take my eyes off it. I look at it, mesmerized, imagining the feel of it against my bottom. It will be my bottom, I’m sure of that. I imagine the hiss as it flies through the air, the sharp crack as it connects with my skin. My bottom clenches involuntarily, and my eyes are already starting to water.
Christ, that looks like it’s going to hurt.
“Well, Ashley. Do you think this will do? Can I deliver a memorable lesson with this, do you think?”
“I—yes, Sir. I’m sure you can.” I drag my eyes upwards to meet his steady green gaze, draw a deep breath. “Would you like me to get undressed?”
He considers for a few moments, then shakes his head. “No, not this time. I’d like you to bend over—that bale of hay over there will do I think, the same one we used last time—and lift your skirt. Are you wearing underwear, Ashley?”
“Yes, of course. Sir.”
“Remove it please.” He holds out his hand, expectant. I get the message and quickly pull off my knickers from under my long cotton skirt, hand them to him. He crunches them into a ball and shoves them into his jeans pocket. “I suspect you’ll not be keen to put these back on when I’ve finished with you. Your arse is going to be very, very sore.” And with that he turns and strides over to the bale of hay in question. He stops beside it, and beckons me to join him.
My gaze never leaves his as I make my way across the floor of the barn, before eventually standing beside him. He gestures that I am to bend over, lean on the hay. I do as I’m told, idly noting the pleasant, outdoorsy smell of the dry hay. It’s tickly though, scratchy against my cheek as I lay my face flat on the level top of the bale.
“When you’re ready, I’d like you to lift your skirt. I want it up around your waist, bunched out of the way. I’m not quite ready to start yet, but I do enjoy watching your lovely arse quivering before I punish you.” He stops, stands back, waits.
And I know it’s time.
My hands are shaking as I lift my skirt—the loose flowing cotton light and easy to pull up and gather in front of me—rolling it up into a loose ball of fabric which I tuck under me. My part in the preparations over, my bottom bared and ready and accepting of what’s to come, I settle down to wait.
And, as usual, he makes me wait. He amuses himself for several minutes stroking the crop across my bottom, up the backs of my legs. He trails it down the valley between my buttocks, and as he reaches my anus I instinctively part my
legs. He chuckles and continues to explore me with the hard, harsh leather. I remember the time he fucked me with the handle of a whip, once when I was really struggling to accept and tolerate a beating. And how that helped me, gave me ownership, a sort of mastery of my own. I don’t feel in the least bit masterful now, and my breath hitches as he at last stops his little game and comes to stand behind me, the crop dangling loosely from his right hand. Now, he’s ready.
“Ten strokes, I think. As usual, I’d like you to count them, please?”
“Yes, of course. Sir.” And I stiffen, brace for the first one to fall.
I hear it momentarily before my right buttock explodes in pain. I hiss, the shock causing my back to arch. But I know better than to move. My hands are clenched in fists beside my face, my eyes are shut tight, my teeth grinding together. He won’t mind if I cry out, he’d have gagged me if he wanted silence. But there’s a little part of me that always worries in case someone hears, one of the Appleyards working late maybe, or coming back for something they’ve forgotten. No, best to be quiet. I don’t want an audience. Not now, and definitely not later.
“One, Sir.” My voice is remarkably steady, in my opinion.
The next stroke lands on my left buttock, and the effect is the same. I hiss, bite back a whimper, feel my nails digging into my palms as my fists tighten. “Two, Sir.”
The crop falls again, this time landing on the back of my right thigh. The skin there is tender, sensitive, and I do cry out. “Th…three. Three, Sir.” My tone is more ragged now, the pain starting to really bite.
The hiss as the crop flies again heralds the fourth stroke, perfectly positioned to land across my left thigh. This time I scream, not loud, not yet. But it’s a definite scream.
“Four. Sir.” I manage to grind out the number, then the next two as they land on the underside of my bottom, perfectly symmetrical.
My bottom, indeed my whole body, feels to be on fire, the pain rushing through me, filling every nook and cranny and tiny little corner, spilling out and sinking into the hay beneath me, trickling down through my bed of pain. My fists open, my fingers are now spread across the aromatic hay. I imagine myself, my whole being melting, flowing into the prickly bale. I’m weightless, formless, without substance. There’s something I should be doing, something I need to think about, concentrate on. But it’s gone, fluttering away from me. I jerk for some reason, moan softly, jerk again, then I’m still, floating, drifting aimlessly.
I can hear words, just faintly, distant, low and tender. I’m flying, lifting, moving. Gentle hands on my face, fingertips lightly tracing my features. Cool water trickling—a stream? A waterfall? Against my lips. Soft, refreshing. I swallow.
“Ashley, open your eyes, sweetheart. Time to come back now.”
I moan, shake my head, sinking again. The cool water is against my lips once more, I lick, swallow.
“Ashley, you need to open your eyes for me. I need you to come back. Now.” The voice is closer now, very close.
Command, instruction, I need to obey. I’m muttering, pleading, don’t want to come out, not yet, not quite yet. But he’s there, still there, pulling me, commanding me. And at last I obey. No choice, he’s my Master. My eyes flutter open, and Tom’s face is in front of me, he smiles, drops a kiss on my lips, still cool and wet from the water.
“Welcome back, babe.”
“I— What happened? Where am I…?”
“In the barn at Greystones. I have you, you’re safe.”
“But I… What happened?”
“You went into subspace again. You were really down there this time. One moment screaming your head off, the next you’d gone. You’re getting good at this, babe.”
I’m struggling to sit up now, as the events of the last few minutes come rushing back. And wow, what events! I remember it all, perfectly clearly as the clouds shift. I recall Tom asking me to remove my underwear, then he told me to lay across the bale of hay. I have a vivid memory of lifting my skirt and holding still while he trailed the crop across my skin, making me wait. And the blinding pain, the searing agony as he laid the crop across my bottom and thighs, again and again, making me count the strokes. How many? It was to be ten, definitely ten. I counted five, or was it six?
“Did we, did we finish?”
“We did.”
“But I was counting. I only counted to six…”
“I think it’s fair to say you lost count, love. Lucky I was paying attention. I knew you’d stopped counting so I checked you to make sure you were okay. I could tell by your contented expression that you were happily floating in subspace, so I continued for a while.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I glance up at him, nervous suddenly. Did I fail? Did I not carry out my instructions? Will there be consequences?
My expression must have conveyed all my fears, because he laughs, gathers me in close and kisses my hair.
“You were brilliant, babe, absolutely stunning. Christ, you’re so beautiful. I adore you, you know that don’t you?”
I look at him. Stunned certainly, not entirely sure about stunning. He cups my chin, holds my face still for his kiss. His mouth is on mine and my lips part for him. He plunges his tongue in, deep, exploring, tasting me, loving me. And my arms are around his neck. I hang on, hold on for dear life as my world tips. Tom eases me backwards, across the bales of hay, settles me on my back. His mouth is still on mine as he reaches for the buttons on the front of my blouse, quickly slipping them open. My bra is a front fastening one, and he snaps that clasp too to release my breasts to the chill of the cool, shadowy barn.
His hands warm me, as he cups and lifts my breasts, gently at first, then more demanding. He circles my nipples with his fingers. They pebble and swell in the cool air, then he squeezes as the tender points harden, sharpening my response. Sensitive as always, my nipples are throbbing in his fingers. I moan into his mouth, gasping as he twists and pinches me, causing darts of pleasure and pain to shoot straight to my core.
Tom lifts his head, breaking the kiss. My sigh of disappointment doesn’t last long as he fastens his mouth around my right nipple, suckling hard as he roughly disposes of my skirt, dropping it past my waist and down my legs. He lets it fall onto the floor of the barn, quickly lifting my upper body to pull my arms from the sleeves of my blouse. Naked at last, I lie under him, waiting for… Waiting for what? For sod all, that’s what.
Suddenly gripped by an urge to be the aggressor here for once, I manage to get my arms up, my palms on his chest and push. He looks up at me in surprise, reluctantly relinquishing my left nipple which is now enjoying the same attention its twin just had. One enquiring eyebrow raised, he waits for some explanation of this rebellion.
“I want to be on top. It’s my turn, let me be on top this time. Please.”
Belatedly I remember the Dom/sub thing, but usually, by this point in proceedings, Tom’s not too fussy about protocol. Sure enough, with a lazy smile, he rolls to his back alongside me. “Be my guest…” He folds his arms behind his head and closes his eyes.
And I get busy. Straddling him, I start by kissing his face, his cheeks, his chin, his neck. I kiss his eyelids, his nose, his mouth, work my way around to his ears, sliding my fingers through his hair. Satisfied with my explorations so far, I move south, opening his work shirt, gratified to find no T-shirt underneath. It is summer after all, and even up here in the wilds of Yorkshire the temperature does rise a degree or two.
I lick his nipples, small and hard, so unlike mine, but his reaction is not dissimilar to my own. He hisses, his mouth quirking in arousal, and I glow in the satisfaction of knowing I can affect him, as he can so easily arouse me. I move lower, unfastening his belt, then unbuttoning, unzipping his jeans. I start to pull them down, and he lifts his hips to help me. I hop down from the hay, drop to my knees to undo and pull off his boots, and his socks, before clambering back up to continue to deal with his jeans. My movements are stiff, my bottom still smarting from the crop, but I love the sore
ness. How far I’ve come on my journey to submission.
As I’m getting rid of the jeans, Tom leans forward, slips his arms from the sleeves of his shirt, and he’s naked too. He lies back down, ready to let me continue. For now at least. And so I do, deciding to make hay while the sun shines. Or at least, fuck ourselves silly on it.
Tom’s erection is nothing short of awesome. I lean back, my weight on my right elbow as I lift my head to admire it before reaching out, curling my fingers around the shaft. He’s hard, a silken sheaf over a core of tempered steel. I explore, stroke, taking my timer as I allow my fingers to glide lightly up toward the head. Moisture is already gathering there, the drops of lubricant trickling from the small opening. I smear it around with the pad of my thumb, enjoying the creamy smoothness. I take him firmly now in my hand, pump the shaft sharply, and I’m rewarded as more moisture flows, dribbling over the head of his cock. Tom is moaning his appreciation, his cock jerking under my hand, perhaps as I so often jerk under his. I love the feeling of control, of power, the sense that for once he’s mine to command and control. For now, he’s mine. Mine to hold, to touch, to admire. Only mine.
Not only mine. There’s someone else here.
I can feel it. I can feel eyes on me, on us. Not Tom’s, his are shut as he lays himself open to my ministrations. But someone, someone else is close by. I’m sure of it. I stiffen, look around me. Nothing, no one, no movement, no sound. Nothing to betray any other presence. But still, I know, I’m sure. And I felt it when I first came into the barn, that unease, that prickle of—something not right. It’s why I snapped at Tom, I was unnerved by it and at first blamed him. But I can feel it now.
Again I look around, and this time Tom notices.
“Something wrong, babe? Are you okay?”
“I, yes. No. I’m not sure. I just— I had a feeling someone was watching us…”
He smiles, lifts his hand to stroke my face. “There’s no one here but us, babe, and maybe a few mice. I checked the place over before I texted you. If you heard something it’s probably Chloe and her latest brood up in the loft.”