by Ashe Barker
“Was that…”
“That was number one.”
“Oh. Oh…”
Number two lands, just marginally harder. It stings, but only a little. Not painful, definitely nothing like the agony he delivered with his belt. I’m starting to see the difference, the world of difference, between a punishment beating and an arousing one—and the crucial importance of intent, coupled with the skill of the Dom wielding the strap. Dan lacks nothing in finesse, and I’m getting the benefit of that now.
The next two strokes are equally pleasurable. I’m flexing and stretching across the tabletop, waiting eagerly for each stripe. My bottom is blooming beautifully, the heat radiating through my buttocks. Dan increases the intensity just a little more for the next three strokes. I quiver delightfully, the tingles now shimmering through my entire body. Each time the tawse lands, the sensation is whipped up a little more, the delicious clenching in my pussy a sure sign that my body is responding, loving this.
Dan delivers two more strokes, harder still. It stings now, but exquisitely so. I shiver, groaning my pleasure.
The final stroke of the first set of ten is hard, but my body absorbs and relishes it. Dan drops the tawse onto the tabletop beside my face. He lays his palm against my smarting buttocks, massaging the hot, tender skin. I’m melting, my grip on the edge of the table all that’s preventing me from sliding to the floor, a puddle of liquid lust.
Dan leans over me to whisper in my ear. “How do you feel, Summer?” His voice is gentle.
I struggle to focus, to formulate a response. “I’m fine, good. I want to come. Please, Sir.”
He continues to caress my bottom, but makes no move to insert his fingers into my pussy, or reach for my throbbing clit. I’d do it myself, but he instructed me not to move. “Soon, I promise. You need to earn it first. Do you need a drink of water?”
I shake my head.
“Ten more then.” He stands, picks up the tawse once more.
The leather swings again, connects with my bottom. He’s ramping up the pressure now, just a little, just enough. This stings, but not unpleasantly. I gasp, cling onto the table for support. Dan swings again, and the leather bites into my skin. I groan, every nerve ending now shivering in anticipation.
“Sir, Sir…” I’m moaning against the cool wood of the tabletop, nor sure what I’m pleading for.
Dan knows. He lays the tawse against my arse again. And again. And again. I’ve lost count, no idea now how many more to go. I don’t care, he could continue to drop these exquisite biting strokes across my body for ever. I never want to move again. I lay still, absorbing further strokes, the intensity now finely balanced, that perfect place between pleasure and pain.
Dan stops, whispers to me again, “A drink?”
I shake my head, trying to concentrate on his words but losing it somewhere. I start to slide from the table but Dan’s hand in the small of my back prevents my tumble. “Hold on to the edge, love.”
“I can’t. Tie me. Please, Sir…”
“Okay.” Dan produces a length of—something—and quickly loops it around my wrists. He ties the end to the back of one of the chairs and shoves that up to the table.
It’s not especially secure, but gives me the support I need not to have to concentrate on remaining in place. I let the restraint take my weight, and settle back onto the tabletop. I’m conscious of the cool surface flattening my breasts. I’m totally relaxed, completely at ease.
Dan stands behind me, his hands caressing my bottom again. I’m wincing under his caress, my skin sore, but tingling, sparkling almost. He says nothing as he picks up the tawse for the final set.
I shiver uncontrollably as he lays the first stroke across my smarting buttocks. The next seems less severe, but I’m not quite sure. I feel odd, as though I may be floating, but at the same time I feel incredibly heavy, anchored. Dan continues, I think, though I’m losing touch with the reality of my surroundings. I’m aware of the hardness of the table, the comforting tug of the fabric looped around my wrists, the continuous shimmer of the tawse across my bottom. My pussy is spasming, I know I don’t have permission to come, but I no longer have the will to resist. But still, even an orgasm would require effort, purpose, focus, and I can lay claim to none of that. I just am.
I lie there, quite still, my only sound that of the air drifting in and out of my lungs. I’m drawing strength from the tawse, soaking it up, my body trembling as Dan lays one stroke after another across my arse. I drink it in, soaking the pleasure and pain up like a greedy sponge. Eventually I can’t feel it anymore—I’m definitely floating now, weightless, drifting between consciousness and sleep.
Gradually I become aware of my surroundings again. I can hear something. Someone. A voice, low, sexy, loved. Talking to me, using my name.
“Summer, I have you.”
I know. I love you.
“I love you too.” I give myself a mental shake, try to clear my head. Did I say the words out loud? I must have if he’s answering me.
My hands are free, I start to slide. Then I stop, my wrists held again, a weight at my back. My bottom is sore, something rubbing my skin. I love it, wriggle my hips.
A low chuckle. “Can’t wait? I prefer my sluts to be fully conscious when I fuck them. Come back to me, Summer.”
Back? I’m here. Been nowhere. Going nowhere.
“Always arguing. Mouthy little sub. But I think you’ll do.”
I must have spoken my thoughts aloud again—could become a dangerous habit. He shifts, a flick of his hips between my thighs, and his cock is at the entrance to my pussy.
Please. Please. Please.
He thrusts, and his cock sinks into my waiting cunt. I let out a long, grateful moan and grip him fiercely, unable to keep my hips still now, no matter what dire retribution he threatens. Dan seems not to object though, and drives his cock deeper into me. He withdraws, to plunge back hard. I lift my bottom up, spreading my thighs wider, silently begging him. He knows and pushes my wrists together to take both of them in one of his hands. His other hand, now free, reaches under and round to stroke my clit. It’s all I need, everything I ever wanted, all my most beautiful experiences rolled into one. And just recently, I’ve had a few.
My orgasm is swift, powerful, punching its way up from my core and radiating outwards. My body, still boneless from whatever strange place he sent me to just a few minutes ago is now coiled tight, waves of pleasure exploding through me. I’m panting, my pussy spasming hard and wild around his cock as he continues to thrust, his body slapping against mine. My sore buttocks take the brunt of it, the sensation intensified by the memory of the fabulous episode with the tawse.
It slows, passes, my body collapsing onto the table as the tension leaves my muscles. I’m shattered, but I feel intensely alive, exhausted, exhilarated, exalted.
And we’re not done yet. Dan slows his thrusts as my release subsides, now fucking me with long, slow, leisurely strokes. He leans forward, his lips beside my ear.
“Are you having fun, my slut?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You want more?”
“Yes, more, Sir.” I squeeze and gyrate my hips to punctuate my point.
“Hard and fast? Or slow, like this? Do you prefer gentle fucking or do you like it a bit rougher?”
I writhe under him, and seriously consider purring. “Not rough, not now. Make love to me, Sir.”
Dan trails the backs of his knuckles down my cheek, the gesture both tender and sensual. “Ah, that. I think I can manage that. But we need a change of position for lovemaking.”
He withdraws his cock, but before I can protest, he’s scooped me up and he’s striding through the room to lay me on the sofa, on my back this time. My smarting bottom is pressed against the soft leather, but it’s pleasantly painful, a legacy of a deeply erotic moment, and I’m still buzzing from it.
Dan kneels on the floor in front of me, parts my thighs with his hands. He dips his head to take my clit between his lips, sucki
ng gently.
My hands are in his hair, my fingers gripping him tight. “Oh, Sir, Sir, Sir…” I throw my head back against the cushion behind me, my eyes tight closed as the new sensations wash though my body.
Dan grazes my clit with his teeth as I shiver and thrust under him. He makes no attempt to still my movements now, allowing me to wriggle and squirm and press my cunt against his mouth.
His tongue laps and teases, his lips closing around my clit to tug and nibble. He uses his thumbs to open my pussy then thrusts his tongue inside. He tongue-fucks me slowly at first, then picks up the pace as my arousal builds.
My voice is a whisper as I urge him on, “Sir, more please. That’s good, so good. I love you, Sir.”
Then I’m flying again, swept up and over some invisible cliff face to freefall into blissful nothingness. I’m spinning, my body convulsing, bucking on the sofa. As my orgasm recedes Dan kneels up, and makes short work of undressing. Most of that he manages one-handed as his fingers are sinking into my cunt again, a sweet, undemanding presence which I can grip and hang onto as he prepares himself. In moments he’s leaning over me, his cock solid and broad at my entrance. He enters me smoothly, not fast and hard as before but slowly, as though savoring each inch. I wrap my legs around his waist and clutch at his shoulders as he turns us both so we now lie lengthways along the sofa. He takes his weight on his elbows as he looks down at me.
“I love you too, little subbie girl.” He leans in to kiss me, his tongue now fucking my mouth as he used it to fuck my pussy moments before.
I can taste myself on him still, my own musky flavor a beguiling presence across my tongue. Is this how I taste to him?
Dan slides his cock slowly out, then back in again. He hooks his elbows under my knees to lift and open me, to penetrate deeper, but he doesn’t speed up his thrusting. This is not even gentle fucking. This is sweet, tender lovemaking, just as I requested. My body responds, as much to the evocative poignancy of the moment as to the physical impact. Dan is doing this for me, my way, entirely focused on my needs and wishes. Maybe he always is, but never more overtly than now.
I tighten my pussy around him, rolling my hips for greater friction. I don’t want fast or hard, but I’m reaching for deep and intense. I find both as Dan alters his angle slightly, my G-spot once more receiving the benefit of his long, slow strokes.
“Sir, I’m going to come. May I…?” My breathless tones are almost inaudible now, my throat closing in passion. I could weep, maybe I will. Soon.
“Come for me, love. Take your time. I’ll see you on the other side.”
I hardly have a moment to register his odd remark before my release captures me and sweeps me up again, my pussy now clenching hard and tight around the solid girth of his erection. Dan delivers one last gliding thrust, plunging deep and holding still as his cock leaps and twitches inside me. His semen washes across my cervix, hot and wet, blending with my own juices as we come, together.
I’m still shuddering, wordless, only aware that I’m deliriously happy as I drift back to something resembling consciousness a few moments later. Dan, too, is utterly spent, draped on top of me. For once he makes no attempt to roll away or take his own weight, just collapses onto me. I have no objection. I could lie beneath him forever.
“Fuck, girl, that was sweet.” Dan is first to speak, and as ever is a master of understatement
“Sweet?” I manage, I think, to inject a suitable snort of derision into the word.
“Okay, the world shifted on its axis. I think. Maybe.”
“Better.”
“Stop whining, girl, and kiss me before I feel a need to take a strap to you again.”
As always, I obey. Though he can take that strap to me any time he likes.
Chapter Six
“What time do you need to be back at Black Combe tomorrow?”
“What? Oh, I’m not sure.”
We’re snuggled together in Dan’s bed, enjoying a supper of buttered crumpets and hot tea. It’s still quite early, not yet ten o’clock, but we decided to come to bed even so. It’s not about sex, well not just now anyway. We’re both absolutely sated. Now it’s just about being together, snuggled up, naked, warm. I feel safe, secure. Or I did until Dan’s question reminded me that I have no real idea what time I’ll be back at Black Combe in the morning.
Nathan was laid back about it when I spoke to him last week, said to return when I was ready, avoid the rush hour traffic. He’s probably not expecting me before about eleven, but I’ll need to contact him and make some excuse for being later than that. It’s a pity he usually works at home on Mondays—if he hadn’t been around Black Combe, it’s possible no one would have known I wasn’t there. My job is not exactly desk based, I come and go all the time.
So, here it starts in earnest. The secrecy, the deceit. Why not come clean, just tell Dan what happened yesterday and where I’m going tomorrow? He might even offer to come with me. God knows I’d welcome the support. But that would mean telling him about my mother’s crimes, and it’s such a very short hop from her current charge sheet to the rest. All her past convictions would come out, and eventually my own part in them.
My career as a prostitute was short-lived, but it’s as vivid now as it was all those years ago when I sat on the edge of her bed and waited for whatever customer my mother chose to send up. I still see it, feel it, taste it. I still hear those footsteps outside the bedroom door, see the handle turn before I close my eyes and refuse to open them again until he’s gone. It all rushes back in a crushing, punishing, mind-numbing rush. If I let it. But I don’t. I won’t. Not now. Not ever.
This is my reality now, this man, this bed. My job, the friends I’m making. The family home I so desperately want to build. It’s imperative that I protect all that, shield my present by shaking off my past. So I turn to Dan, smile at him, press my cheek against his hard chest.
“I’ll leave here about eight. That should be fine.”
“You’ll hit all the traffic on the motorway. Set off an hour later.”
And possibly miss the social worker? No way. I don’t even know the name of whoever I have to see, but I’m assuming they all start the week in the office before they head off to wherever they’re needed. My best chance has to be first thing. I can’t be late.
“No, I’ll be fine. It’ll be clearing by the time I get there.”
“Nathan won’t give a shit what time you get back. We could have a lie in.”
The promise in his words is hard to resist. But I have no choice, not really. “I’ll set the alarm for six-thirty…”
“Mm, early morning fuck-fest? Could work, I suppose. Put the wake-up boner to good use.” He tightens his arm across my shoulders. “I suppose I’ll have to settle for that. Did you eat the last crumpet?”
“No, there’s one left, I think. I could always suck your cock. In the morning I mean, that boner…?”
“You, Miss Jones, are a dirty girl.”
“I suppose so. You’ll just have to spank me again.”
“I guess so. Nothing else for it. Set that alarm for quarter past six.”
* * * *
I do manage to get away soon after eight o’clock, my bottom tingling delightfully from Dan’s early morning attentions.
I reached up to switch off the alarm, just to be hauled across his thighs, my bottom tilted upwards by one strategically raised knee. The spanking he delivered was that exquisite blend of caress, laced with just enough bite to make it uncomfortable. Memorable. I’ll be put in mind of Dan all the way to Carlisle, and every time I move.
I trust he’ll have equally fond memories of my efforts. I knelt beside the bed, my buttocks bright red and throbbing, and took his cock into my mouth. I sucked, licked, teased with tongue and teeth, used my hands to pump the shaft and knead his balls as he groaned his appreciation. And I swallowed his semen as it spurted into the back of my throat. Delicious. I thoroughly recommend it as an alternative to Corn Flakes.
O
ur mood is light, seemingly carefree as I sling my holdall back in the Discovery and climb into the driver’s seat. Dan leans into the open window to kiss me goodbye.
“Text me when you get there.”
“I will. When can you come down again? Or have I to come back next weekend?”
“Tomorrow, or maybe the day after, even if only for one night. Depends if there’s anyone else in the team to provide cover. And as long as no emergencies crop up.”
I loop my arms around his neck, hug him tight. “I’ve had a wonderful weekend. Thank you, Sir.”
“You’re welcome. I enjoyed your company too.”
“I love you, Sir.” I mumble the words into his shoulder, but his sharp hearing misses nothing.
He straightens, tilting my chin up with his fingers. “And I love you, Summer.” He winks, taps the roof of the Land Rover twice, then steps back.
I reverse out of his driveway, my smile blooming ridiculously, and head off down the road. I glance back in the rear-view mirror just before I turn the corner into the main road. He’s still there, standing beside his bike, one hand upraised in a final salute.
* * * *
I present myself at the reception desk in the Cumbria County Council offices a couple of minutes before nine o’clock. The efficient looking middle-aged receptionist smiles at me as I lean over the chest high counter.
“I want to see someone in social services please.”
“Okay. Do you have an appointment?”
“No, do I need one?” I half expected this. I don’t mind waiting if I have to, as long as I can see someone today.
“No, not necessarily. What’s it in connection with?”
“I-I…” I really have no wish to discuss my family crisis in the public reception area, an audience of interested visitors listening behind me.
“It’s just so I can put you in touch with the right team. Is it children’s services or adults?” Her smile is reassuring, I relax. Slightly.
“Children. My sisters.”
“I’ll see if anyone in that team is available.” She picks up a phone and dials.