A Hard Bargain

by Ashe Barker

  “Come now, little sub.”

  His voice is soft, a command, but murmured so quietly I have to strain to hear him. But it’s enough, and as he draws the soft strand once more across my clit, I explode. Or implode. Whatever, it just about knocks me senseless as the powerful punch of orgasm whips through me. I would have hit the floor but for the restraints holding me in place. He continues to stroke my clit, caressing me. He’s skillfully drawing out the moment, stretching it impossibly. I now know why he forced me to wait. He knew the impact of anticipation, he appreciated how much better this would be for letting it build. I’m shaking with the sheer, intense force of the sensations rocking my body, shuddering under this onslaught which seems to be endless. Deliciously, mind-blowingly, superbly endless.

  And even when the shudders and pulsing energy start to subside, he starts them up again by slipping his expert fingers into me once more. He twists his hand, stretching and caressing me to bring me back up to melting point again, just to hold me there for a few moments before angling his fingers to hit that spot and send me hurtling back into orbit. He’s relentless, but generous too. Both demanding and giving, playing me expertly. I’m gasping for breath, dragging oxygen in when I can remember to, but mostly just caught up in existing in this tiny world which now comes down to my pussy, my clit and his beautiful fingers doing their work. The pain in my breasts, the sting of the lash, every other sensation is driven from me by the intensity of what’s happening at this moment, in this moment. There’s nothing else.

  It seems an eternity before my body is even remotely mine again, before the swirling, commanding grip of orgasm gives way to the sweet aftershocks—the more gentle, intimate pulsing of grateful surrender. I start to become aware of my surroundings once more, and of the pain elsewhere in my body. I want, need, to be released from this cross, the clamps removed, but I can’t ask him.

  I don’t need to, he knows.

  “I have you, you’re safe. I’m going to take the blindfold off first…”

  I blink as the light, dimmed though it is, hits my eyes. He cups my chin, smiling at me, and I smile back. He’s so beautiful, so damned beautiful. He kisses my mouth, sliding his tongue quickly past my lips to caress and explore. I feel…precious, valued, cared for. He lifts his head, regards me ruefully as he drops his hand to cup my left breast.

  “It’ll hurt when I take these off, but I’ll help you with that. On a count of three, first the left, then the right. Are you ready?”

  I nod, trusting him.

  “One. Two. Three…”

  On the third count I rear back. Searing pain grips me momentarily when he releases the clamp biting into my left nipple, and the blood flow rushes into the hard, distended bud. Then, just as suddenly, the pain’s gone. The tender tip is once more held, pressed, sucked hard as he drops his head and takes it between his lips, using his tongue to press my tortured, delicate nipple against the roof of his mouth. Once in control he releases the pressure slowly, allowing me time to adjust. God, where did he learn tricks like this? Long moments pass, and I’m still again, quiet, relaxing as he helps me back.

  “Now the right one, okay? One. Two. Three.” He repeats his clever trick, squeezing my nipple hard in his mouth, only relaxing the pressure little by little to restore the blood flow in easy stages.

  At last, I’m there, and he lifts his head, one eyebrow raised in query. I nod my confirmation, I am well. Bending, he retrieves the nipple clamps and weights from the floor where he tossed them and hands them to Frank who has appeared behind him. Frank accepts them and the discarded blindfold. He’s already holding a brown suede flogger, which I assume was Nicholas’ chosen instrument, now done with. Frank nods and winks at me, then turns on his heel to leave us to it.

  A sudden thought hits me—was Frank there the whole time? Did he witness my unraveling at close quarters? Maybe it shouldn’t matter, but I find it does. The dungeon is no place for those who value their privacy, and I daresay I must be something of an exhibitionist, but even so…

  The amazing Nicholas Hardisty telepathy is on full beam again as my Master for the evening shakes his head, smiling gently at me. “He was around, keeping an eye on you. But he only just came over when I signaled him to. It was just us, Freya.” He kisses me again, just a swift brush of his lips across mine before he crouches to unbuckle the straps at my ankles.

  My legs free, he stands and reaches for the wrist restraints, this time using just one hand as he circles my waist with his other arm. Sure enough, as the second strap gives way, I collapse into his arms, my legs just jelly under me. He scoops me up, effortlessly, and strides the few feet to a spot where beanbags and huge cushions are strewn across the floor. Sinking onto a bean bag with me still in his arms, Nicholas Hardisty leans back, relaxes. I lift my arms, link my fingers behind his neck and lay my cheek against his chest. And for the first time I realize he is naked from the waist up. At some point in our scene he has taken off his shirt—I suppose whipping me must have been strenuous work—and now I’m held cradled against that gorgeous expanse of chiseled, sculpted male perfection.

  I wince slightly as he trails his palm down my back and across my bum, the legacy of the paddle still in evidence but somehow pleasantly so by now. He feels my slight shiver of pain and repeats his caress, lingering on my most sore bits, but it’s wonderfully intimate that he can do this, that he knows where to touch me. I tighten my hold around his neck as he nuzzles my shoulder, lightly kissing and alternating with little nips. I turn into him, my breasts still tender, but again, a pleasant sensation now as I press them against the hard, unyielding planes of his body. I’d stay here forever if I could, if we could, if he would.

  “God, I need to fuck you, Freya. Is that still okay with you?” His tone is low, seductive. And determined.

  And suddenly, there’s only one place I want to be. Room nine. I nod. Hard. And he chuckles, standing and placing me on my feet. “Upstairs then. Now.”

  At first I think he means me to make my own way and wait dutifully for him in room nine, the perfect submissive, especially as he steps away from me. And even though I don’t relish the prospect of being forced to walk naked and alone through the building, I’m quite prepared to do that, I know how these things work, what the Dom/sub protocol is. But I quickly realize that’s not what he has in mind at all. He retrieves his shirt from the woodwork of the cross where he must have draped it at some point earlier, then he turns back to me. He holds it out by the shoulders for me to slip my arms through. He then closes the buttons, leaving me decent, and patently marked out as his.

  He holds out his hand, and I lace my fingers through his as we start to stroll back across the room. He detours to our original perch on the settee in the middle of the dungeon. Another couple are now ensconced there—a huge Dom is lounging casually with an equally huge male sub kneeling at his feet, head bowed as the Master idly strokes his naked shoulders with a cruel looking leather tawse. I know a lot of the other subs, but I don’t recognize him. I gulp at the sight of the instrument his Master apparently intends to use, thick and heavy and extremely vicious.

  Nicholas Hardisty nods companionably to the other Dom as he bends to pick up my clothes, still neatly folded beside the settee. He totally ignores the sub, whose eyes never lift from his knees, and we move on. He gestures for me to precede him through the door to the stairs, another surprise because regardless of gender and ‘outside’ courtesy norms, Doms do not defer to subs here. Whatever, I do as he’s indicated I should, and lead the way up the stairs. At the top he takes my hand again, and I note he is still carrying my clothes too as we make our way along the corridor toward the stairs leading to the upstairs rooms.

  As we stroll in silence along the corridor, Nicholas pulls his phone from his pocket, hits a few quick keystrokes then speaks into it to order coffee to be brought to room nine. Maybe he thinks I’m worn out after all his—and my—exertions and need the caffeine hit. And maybe he’s right. He turns to me, asks if I’m h
ungry. I shake my head, no point pushing my luck, and he regards me doubtfully for a few moments. “You will be,” his only comment before he proceeds to ask for a selection of snacks too. A picnic then? I’m to be fucked, then fed—or maybe the other way around…

  He ends the call and hands the phone to me. “In case you get chatty, Miss Stone.” He grins.

  His grin is infectious, beautiful, and I can’t help smiling back. I should be terrified, or at least respectfully nervous given that my sexual horizons are about to be significantly expanded, but I feel I’m walking on air. There’s nothing soft or sentimental about Nicholas Hardisty. I know he’s a hard, stern Dom—my bottom can testify to that—but he’s being incredibly nice to me just now. Just when I need it.

  We reach the door to ‘our’ room and he stops, turns, leans his back on it. He pulls me to him, his hands on my hips, catches my gaze. “Point of no return, Miss Stone. If you’ve had enough for this evening, you can say so, just wave your red wristband at me. Or the yellow if you’re not sure…”

  My response is to link my hands behind his neck again and reach up to kiss him. And he lets me, another unusual response for a Dom, especially with a new or temporary sub. Maybe he appreciates my need to use other signals as I have no spoken words, or maybe he’s off duty now…? Somehow, though, I doubt that.

  He smiles and reaches for the door handle at his back, and in the next moment we’re inside and he closes it behind us. There’s no lock, the staff here insist on being able to enter any room, and the small but discreet CCTV camera mounted in a corner above the door guarantees we’ll never be totally alone—Frank and co. know their responsibilities. But I dismiss that, for now, it’s just him and me.

  Nicholas Hardisty advances toward me, and instinctively I back up, as he must have known I would. In moments the bed is behind my knees, and with a gentle shove Nicholas tumbles me onto it. He follows me down, his hands around my wrists as he raises them above my head to gently hold them against the pillow. He takes the phone from between my fingers and places it carefully beside me, still within reach of my left hand. I realize I haven’t used it yet, not since we left the dungeon. Not so chatty after all, when it comes right down to it.

  But I do have one question, one very important question. I strain against him, and he immediately releases my left hand. I reach for the phone and quickly type in my question.

  Am I allowed to come?

  He looks at the screen and smiles down at me. “Oh yes, Miss Stone. In fact, it’s compulsory. A minimum of three times or it doesn’t really count.”

  I look at him in astonishment—I’d settle for just once, anything really. He grins—playful and teasing suddenly, a sharp contrast to the stern Dom I had to contend with the first time I was in this room. “You seem surprised, Miss Stone. Not enough for you? Do you think we should be aiming higher? Four? Five? Even more?”

  Confused, but secretly delighted at the way this evening is turning out, I drop the phone as he leans in to kiss me, only to scramble for it again as something else occurs to me. With a resigned expression he halts, and passes it to me. I smile my thanks, and type in another question.

  Am I allowed to touch you?

  Now this one throws him. He doesn’t answer immediately, obviously considering. Then he takes my chin, holds my face up so I can’t drop my gaze from his. “You know that’s not the usual way of it, don’t you, Freya? The Dom fucks, the sub takes it. That’s how I like it.”

  I start to nod my acceptance, silly question really, as he pushes up off the bed to stand over me. He looks down at me sternly, and for an awful moment I’m sure I’ve blown it. I’ve clearly irritated him with my naïve, vanilla-like ways, and now he’s decided I’m not worth the bother after all.

  But then, with that gorgeous, sexy smile back on his face, he unsnaps his jeans and drops the zip. He starts to peel the jeans off, pulling them down over his hips and lifting each knee in turn to pull them past his ankles and step out of them. For a moment he’s there in front of me, just wearing shiny, black, silky boxer shorts, his erection tenting proudly, just inches from my face. I watch, mesmerized, as he pulls his shorts down too and steps out of them. In moments he’s standing before me in all his erect male glory.

  I’ve seen plenty of cocks before, this place is full of them—as often as not on display. Especially the male submissives, but the Doms aren’t exactly shy either, in a more functional way. But Nicholas Hardisty is something else entirely. With his clothes on he was superb, naked he’s beyond wonderful, beyond anything I ever imagined. His chest I already explored at close quarters, but I’ll never get tired of admiring all those sculpted planes and sharp angles. His pectorals are clearly defined, his chest sprinkled with a dusting of dark brown hair which gets thicker as it snakes down across his flat stomach—the six pack clearly defined—to pool at his groin. His pubic hair is dark brown too, framing that beautiful cock. I know it’s rude, and I know it shows my total lack of any real and meaningful experience, but I’m staring, transfixed. If it were actually possible to roll my eyes out on stalks, I’d be doing just that at this moment. His low tone is amused as he breaks into my trance-like state.

  “I know you’re curious, and from what you say you’ve not had that many opportunities to explore. And I promised to make it good for you. Really good. So yeah, just this once, you can touch if you want to.”

  I gape up at him, and he smiles back at me. “I’m all yours, sweetheart. I don’t usually do this so don’t waste your opportunity.”

  I run my tongue across my lower lip, realizing my mouth is dry, and I wonder what the hell to do next. Could I? Should I? Can I just reach out and…?

  “If it’s my cock you’re most interested in, just start by stroking it with your fingertips. Along the shaft and around the head. Feel the texture. Explore. If you run your thumb around the top it’ll get wet, like you do.” He hesitates for a moment, then, “Taste it, if you want.”

  Christ, do I want! I reach out with both hands and tentatively run my fingers along the length of his shaft. It’s incredibly smooth and silky, but hard to the touch, utterly solid. I wrap my fingers around it and find I can’t quite close my hand around the thickness. I know without any doubt that this will fit inside me, at least that’s the theory, but still—it seems a stretch. For a moment my head is filled with the crazy and irrelevant image of a tiny pair of new tights coming out of their packet, and the extent to which they then stretch to accommodate my legs. My pussy must be like that. Well, it’s to be hoped so.

  I run my fingers up the shaft and across the shiny, dark-pink colored head. He hisses, and I glance up sharply, afraid I’ve done it wrong. Worse still, hurt him. Although why I should feel concerned at that after all he’s done to me this evening, I really can’t fathom. His smile is gentle and reassuring though, and his hand in my hair tells me I’m doing fine.

  “That feels good, little Freya. Now, cup my balls with one hand and stroke the shaft with the other.”

  I do as I’m told, and I’m rewarded by a definite twitching under my hands, and more soft hissing. “Mmm, you’re a fast learner, Miss Stone. Now, squeeze a little harder and speed up. You can squeeze my balls too, but please, not too hard…”

  I turn my attention totally to the huge penis in my hand, still not quite believing I’m doing this, that he’s allowing me such freedom with his body. When I asked to touch him I didn’t really expect him to agree, and certainly not to give me such free rein. He said I could taste him too so I slip off the bed to kneel on the floor in front of him, and of course he knows what’s coming. I lean forward, and run the tip of my tongue around the head of his cock, his hand suddenly fists in my hair. I take that as a signal this is okay—he’d be easily able to pull my head away from him if it wasn’t, and I do it again, lapping delicately. The fluid tastes salty, and I lick my lips in appreciation. Without stopping to consider, I open my mouth wide and take the entire head inside, rolling my tongue around it as I continue to slide my
hand up and down the shaft. Nicholas reacts instantly, leaning into me, his other hand also plowing through my hair as he holds my head steady. But he doesn’t push, doesn’t start to thrust or force me to take him deeper.

  It’s me who does that. I’m the one opening my mouth even wider, swallowing hard to clear the salty juices and maintain my airway as I lean in to draw more of the shaft into my mouth. The head of his cock is against the back of my throat and I start to gag. He pulls back slightly, but I grasp him more firmly, raise my eyes to his in silent appeal that he let me finish. Or at least let me try. He nods, and his fingers firm in my hair as I continue to explore with my mouth, loving the tastes and textures, the sense of being in control of a dangerous, powerful animal. I’m loving that I can make him hiss and shudder, and soon learn how to get those responses. Which little flick of my tongue, squeeze of my lips, scrape of my teeth will make him jerk in my mouth and cause those delicious juices to flow even faster. I’m vaguely aware of my own arousal building too, and I know that moisture is gathering beneath me. When he does finally get to touch me—and I’m sure it won’t be much longer before the almighty Dom takes back the reins—he’ll be in no doubt as to my readiness to be thoroughly fucked.

  “I’m going to come in your mouth, little Freya. You’ll swallow it, all of it.” The commanding timbre is back, that tone that demands obedience.

  I will be swallowing his semen, like it or not. And I know who’s really in control here, has been all along. Still, it’s been a wonderfully pleasant illusion. And I will most certainly be swallowing anything that he ejaculates into my mouth. Every drop.