by Ashe Barker
“How does it make you feel?”
“It makes me feel … apprehensive. As though something unpleasant is about to happen.”
“Maybe it already happened.”
“No. She’s waiting, anticipating.” She turns to me suddenly, her eyes wide. “It’s because she’s alone! That’s why she’s so unhappy. She’s waiting for him.”
I maintain a neutral expression, though inside I’m singing. Molly gets it. She fucking knows. “Let’s look at a few more.”
I guide her along the gallery, pausing before each picture. Naomi is not featured in all of them. The collection made use of a range of models, some male, some female, but all submissives. They are mostly naked, invariably bound, some gagged. All are captured by my camera, suspended in a permanent state of sub euphoria.
Each image evokes a different response from Molly—awe, anticipation, uncertainty, joy, disappointment. She describes her feelings as we stand before each canvas, occasionally asking me a question but for the most part she is captivated by the scenes depicted in the collection. As we reach the last one she turns to regard me.
“This is you, isn’t it? It’s your lifestyle too.”
I incline my head, never breaking her gaze. “Yes. I’m a dom.”
“And you were back then, at Armley. That was why I was so… so drawn to you. I didn’t want to be, I tried to keep my distance, but you were like a magnet to me and I kept coming back.”
“I know. I was very aware of you too.”
“Were you? I thought you despised me. I was an officer, a screw.”
“You were, but it didn’t seem to matter. Not then, not now.”
“Now? Are you still…?” Her words trail away and I’m not entirely certain what it was she wanted to ask. I need to know.
“Am I still what? A dom? Or aware of you?”
Her response comes in a whisper. “Both.”
I nod again, slowly, watching the myriad emotions flitting across her expressive face. “Yes. Both.”
She swallows, twisting her fingers together in front of her waist. Her hands are shaking, I note, but she makes no attempt to step back from me. Neither does she lower her gaze. I take that as a sign she is interested in exploring this aspect of my nature—and hers—a little more, so I press my advantage.
“You want me to control you? To take charge of what happens next?”
“I don’t know. I…” She pauses, straightens her shoulders and lets her hands drop to her sides. “Yes. I’d like that. I want to know how it would be, how it would feel.”
“Why?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why do you want to know? Can you not imagine it?”
She tilts her chin up, just a fraction, but enough to let me know she means it. “It’s not the same. I want to… to actually feel it. I want it to happen… to me. Again.”
“Again?”
“I want to feel the way I did that other time, in your cell. But without the distractions, the stuff in the way. My uniform, my job…”
“…a hundred rioting prisoners on the other side of the door?” I smile at the recollection. A little grim humour never goes amiss.
She flattens her lips in response. “That too. I was terrified.”
“You hid it well. I have to say, you look more frightened now than you did that day.” I reach out to cup her chin in my palm “Are you frightened of me, Molly?”
“Yes. No.” She chews on her lower lip for a few moments, as though considering what to say to me next. “I think nervous and a little scared would be a better description. And… hopeful.”
I smile, my carefully cultivated dom smile, which I hope conveys mastery in abundance but also enough warmth to offer the comfort she needs. Despite our earlier encounter I have no doubt that this is to be Molly’s first real experience of submission, and it’s my responsibility to make it work for her. I can only guess at what fumbling attempts to seek out the fulfilment she needs might have been made during her ill-fated marriage, but this is to be different.
“You came here looking for me. That doesn’t seem like the action of a woman who’s scared. You could have explored your submissive side with someone else, a dom who isn’t an armed robber for a start. Why me?”
“I know you. And I trust you.” She hesitates again, then, “Are you still… involved in any of that stuff? I mean… I assumed…” She gestures to the gallery surrounding us, my studio.
I shake my head. “No. I’m a photographer these days, nothing more. I’ve been successful and I make enough from that not to have any wish to risk it all by getting involved in anything criminal.” I lean in to murmur in her ear. “I’m a reformed character, Molly.”
She shivers. Actually fucking trembles. It’s time to move this back downstairs, to my bedroom.
I tilt my head back to meet her gaze once more. Her eyes are a deep shade of azure, the pupils already dilating. “Molly, I want you in my bed. No, scratch that. I want you on my bed, tied to it. I’ll lay you bare, spread you out, and play with you for hours. I’ll pleasure you and I’ll hurt you, and I’ll make you scream from both. Is that what you want, too, little Molly?”
Her mouth opens. No words emerge. She clears her throat and tries again.
“Yes, sir. Yes, please.”
Chapter Five
Wordless, he leads me from the gallery. I follow him back down the short flight of stairs to the landing below, then along the carpeted hallway toward his bedroom. I walk a couple of paces behind Jared and can’t help but be aware of the powerful set of his shoulders, the muscles that ripple beneath the soft, silky shirt. He was always a powerfully built man, no doubt honed by those hours spent in the prison gym, but now he is simply magnificent. Jared removed his jacket when we arrived at the house and now I watch him roll up his sleeves as he precedes me. I gulp, at the same time as my pussy contracts in helpless arousal. My underwear is already moist, has been since he first took me into his studio to show me his artwork.
The gallery held such sensuous, evocative pictures, each one totally arousing though in different ways. Every image spoke to me. No, they sang to me. They awoke dormant emotions within me, revealing yearnings and desires I have suppressed or been too afraid to allow to surface. But it seems my inner submissive is finally to see the light of day.
I’m so far out of my comfort zone I could easily bolt for the door.
But I won’t. I came here for a purpose and I will see it through. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t seize this opportunity. I have to know. I have to understand what I am. Who I am. This voyage of discovery was a goal I hardly articulated, even to myself, but Jared recognises something in me, just as I did in him five years ago. He understands me even when I can’t fathom myself. He can help my inner submissive to emerge. I had agonised over how I might persuade him to help me. I had only to ask.
Now, I have only to trust him, and everything will be all right.
He gestures me through the bedroom door ahead of him, then closes it behind us with a soft click.
I stand in the centre of the room at the foot of his enormous bed and I turn to face him.
“Do you have questions for me, Molly? Anything you need to ask me now, before we start?”
His voice is low, steady, with a rich, seductive timbre that causes something really weird to happen low down in my belly. My pussy spasms, becomes wetter. In contrast my mouth is dry. I run my tongue across my lips and try to come up with an intelligent response. I can only manage the obvious.
“I just want to know what you intend to do.”
He smiles, a not entirely pleasant expression. “I bet you do. Or perhaps not. I think you might turn and run right now if I were to describe exactly what I intend to do to your lush little body.”
I shift back a fraction as he advances. He stops.
“Don’t do that. You have no need to back away from me. I’m only going to touch you with your permission. There�
��ll be no shocks, nothing sudden or unexpected. We’ll talk about what’s happening and you can tell me if it’s too much.”
“You’ll stop?”
“Of course.”
“Will I have a safeword?”
“Ah, Molly, you’ve done your homework. Yes, you will. Do you have one in mind?”
“What about ‘jailbird’?”
He grins again, this time in genuine amusement I think. “Very apt. We’ll go with that then. That can be your ‘all stop’ but we also need a mercy word, one that means ‘slow down, I need to talk,’ or that you’re struggling. Any ideas?”
I try to think but my mind’s a blank. I shake my head.
“How about ‘cooler’? That seems to fit.”
This time it’s my turn to nod. Jared seems satisfied. He strolls across the room to take a seat beside the huge picture window. He stretches out his long, denim-clad legs and leans back to regard me in silence for several moments.
“Okay, we start with some basics. I want you to undress. Remove all your clothes, fold them neatly, and place them on the chest over there.” He tips his chin in the direction of a low chest of drawers on the opposite wall. “Then you’ll come and stand in front of me with your feet shoulder width apart and your hands clasped behind your head. Can you manage that?”
We both know he is not enquiring about my physical ability to complete the task, and it’s a good question. The honest answer is… I don’t know.
I stand, rooted to the spot. This is it. The moment. Submission starts here.
Natural modesty, rampant curiosity, and hot desire war within me. Jared lifts one eyebrow, watching me as I try to process his instruction. I play for time.
“Everything? You mean me to be naked?”
“Was any part of ‘remove all your clothes’ unclear?”
I shake my head and reach for the top button of my blouse.
“Molly, we need to agree to some ground rules and we might as well start now. When I ask you a question I expect you to answer me with words. A nod or a head shake won’t do. And you’ll call me sir.”
His tone has hardened, cooled. He sounds stern and demanding and implacable. I stop, my hands still on the collar of my blouse, and I look at him. His expression doesn’t waver, but I swear his eyebrow lifts a fraction more, as though daring me to defy him.
There is no way I’m even considering that for a moment. “No, sir. Your instruction was clear. I just wanted to… check.”
“Checking’s good. Please always feel free to check or to clarify. That’s better than earning yourself a punishment for not doing exactly as I ask. If you have further questions, you can ask me them whilst you undress.”
That’s my cue to get on with it. I take a deep breath and finish working my way down the buttons at the front of my blouse.
It’s actually a lot easier than I anticipated to get naked in front of Jared North. His appreciative gaze encourages me, and the huge erection stretching his tight-fitting jeans leaves no room for doubt. He’s enjoying the show.
I remove my blouse first, then I toe off my lace-up pumps before unfastening the loose-fitting cotton pants I chose in anticipation of the train journey back to London. I let them drop to the floor and step out of them. Wearing just my underwear, I’m glad of the instinctive impulse that drove me to wear a matching set again today, and one I consider particularly attractive at that. Cream-coloured low-cut cups edged with lace the colour of a rich caramel latte cradle and lift my breasts as though presenting them for scrutiny. The matching briefs are delicate and barely decent, exactly the look I want now. I sneak a quick glance at Jared’s crotch and I’m gratified to note the bulge is even bigger. He doesn’t look at all comfortable, which I consider mission accomplished.
I gather up the discarded clothing and fold each item. Then I undo my pretty, gravity-defying bra. I’m tempted to turn my back, but that would be futile, and in any case, this is what I want. I allow the lacy cups to tip forward to reveal my breasts, and offer up thanks that I am at least reasonably well-endowed in that department. My breasts are generously proportioned, and fairly perky though my nipples seem a little on the large side. Especially right now.
I sneak a look at him. His expression betrays nothing but patience.
I hook my thumbs in the elastic around the waist of my high-cut knickers and shove them down to reveal my neatly clipped mound. I seem to recall reading somewhere that dominant men often prefer no pubic hair at all, probably the same choice of literature that familiarised me with safewords. Andy preferred my pussy to be smooth too, but I defied him. I doubt if Jared would let me get away with that. I doubt I would want to.
I retrieve my underwear from the floor and drop the briefs on top of the rest of my clothes, then I go to place them on the chest as instructed. I turn and make my way over to Jared, my heart thumping. My legs are turning to jelly, but I get to the spot a yard or so in front of his feet and stop. I lift my hands and link my fingers together at the back of my head.
“Open your eyes. Look at me.” His voice is soft, but no less compelling for that.
I hadn’t even realised I had closed my eyes, but I raise my eyelids and meet his gaze. Jared is leaning forward now, his elbows resting on his thighs and his hands loosely clasped before him. He beckons me forward, to stand between his legs, then rakes me with his long, slow scrutiny. As I watch the top of his head he allows his gaze to drift down my body, as though taking careful note of every contour and hollow, no detail escaping his close examination. I hope he likes what he sees, though the bulge behind the zip of his jeans seems to confirm that he does. I expect he’s becoming seriously uncomfortable now, and I take perverse pleasure in that.
“Turn around, please, and bend over.”
“What?” My voice has transformed into a high-pitched squeak.
“I think you heard me, but I’m happy to clarify so that you know exactly what I expect from you. Turn around, bend at the waist, and grip your ankles. I’d like you to arch your back as much as you’re able then widen your stance a bit more. You’re showing me how wet your pussy is, so offer me the best view you can. I want to see your juices glistening on your pussy lips and thighs.”
Oh. My. God. I stare at him, mortified. I know I’m wet, and I knew he’d find that out before much longer, but the prospect of calmly displaying my decadent arousal for him to look at is more than I can handle.
“Sir, I… I… can’t…”
“Can’t? Do you mean you’re not able to bend, or keep your balance? I’m happy to let you lean on something this first time, if that helps.”
“It’s not that, sir.”
“So, what’s stopping you? I’ve asked you to show me your wet pussy. What’s the problem? You are wet, I take it?”
I forget his ground rules, and I nod miserably. I thought I could do this. I genuinely believed I was about to find what I was seeking, experience the thrill of submission, and with a dom who knew what he was doing and who could teach me. But I was wrong. All I’m ready to do is collapse in a heap at the first hurdle.
“Molly, use words. Either tell me what the problem is, or do as I ask.”
“I’m embarrassed. You’ll think I’m …”
“A slut?” He helpfully finishes my sentence for me. “I know you’re a slut. You wouldn’t be standing in front of me naked if you weren’t. But Molly, understand this. I like sluts. Sluts are honest about what they want and how they feel. Sluts turn me on. Sluts make me hard. Needy, wet little sluts make me so horny I want to spank them, and fuck them, then probably do it all again for good measure. Is that what you want too, Molly?”
Oh, Lord! “Yes, sir,” I whisper.
“And is that the sort of slut you are? Needy and wet?”
“Yes, sir. Oh, God…”
“God isn’t here, only me. But I’ll try my best. In that case, my wet and needy and quite breathtakingly beautiful little slut, you know what you need to do.�
��
“Yes, sir,” I murmur, already starting to turn.
I bend over as instructed and grasp my lower calves, then I shuffle my feet a bit further apart.
“Wider, Molly.” A sharp tap on my inner thigh indicates what’s required. I shift my feet again.
“Good. Now lift your bottom up a bit more, please. Ah, yes, that’s better. Are you comfortable?”
“Not exactly.”
“Not exactly, sir.” He delivers a not-too-gentle slap to my upturned bottom. “I’m assuming you don’t object to me touching you, but if you do, now’s the time to say so.”
“I… I don’t object, sir.” Christ, if he doesn’t touch me soon I think I might go up in flames.
“If you want me to touch you, you have only to ask.”
How does he know? How does he know just what I’m thinking every time?
“Please, sir, would you touch me?” I think I’m getting the hang of this.
His palm is on my buttock, his caress casual yet achingly accurate. His fingertips brush the very edges of my pussy, but no more. I groan and attempt to angle my hips to catch his wandering fingers.
He chuckles and slaps my bottom again. “Nice try, Molly. As soon as I do touch your delightfully wet cunt, I suspect you’re going to come like the pretty little fuck-slut we both know you are. Am I right?”
“Yes, sir. Without a doubt.” My pussy is quivering, positively throbbing with need.
“Shall we get that over with then?”
Oh, sweet Jesus!
“Molly? Did you say something?”
“No, sir. Just, please…”
“Is this what you want?” He swipes the flat of his hand slowly across my pussy from clit to arse, and my knees almost give way under me.
“Oh! Oh, yes. Yes!”
He repeats the caress once more, then again. I edge back toward him, seeking to increase the pressure. He stops stroking me, casually flicks the tip of my clit, then uses his thumbs to part the lips of my pussy.
“You’ll have my cock inside you soon, but for now I’m thinking two fingers. Or perhaps three. How many would you like, little Molly?”