Hard Choices

by Ashe Barker

  He continues, brutal in his honesty, “I know what you’re looking for from me, you’ve made it plain enough. And the simple truth is I’m not sure I can give it. I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear, but for now it’s all I’ve got. So, snuggle in, let me take care of you, let me feed you, and let me keep you warm at nights. Settle for that, Freya, please.”

  Despite his words, it seems to me that he’s considerably less happy than I am about our current ‘arrangement’. I can wait, but by the look of his cock I’m not so sure that he can. I stretch up to kiss his cheek before snuggling down alongside him. Soon I’m in my customary position, my bum tucked up against his still impressive erection. And I can’t help thinking, whatever impression it might create, it’s no more than a matter of time before he fucks me again. Definitely.

  Chapter Four

  The next day is passed pretty much the same way as Sunday. Nick busies himself with his paperwork and spends quite a lot of time on the phone with someone who I assume is his solicitor. I keep hearing words like “heads of terms” and “consideration” so it sounds as though he’s in the process of buying something. I recall that when we went on our bike ride over the Kirkstone Pass and he told me how he earned his living he mentioned possibly acquiring a club in Manchester, so maybe that’s it.

  For myself, Dan Brown is my main source of male company, and I spend most of the afternoon curled up with him on Nick’s sofa. Once more, under my careful direction, Nick manages to rustle up a decent salad at lunchtime, and a chicken casserole for our evening meal. I might make a cook out of him yet, though I suspect as soon as my pot comes off he’ll relinquish the culinary duties to me again. If I’m still here by then.

  That night Nick doesn’t even ask where I’m sleeping, just holds out his hand and I go with him down the hallway to his room. Once there, he asks if I’d like a bath before going to bed. That sounds nice, relaxing, so I nod. He leaves the taps running as he undresses me slowly then carries me, naked, to the bathroom. He places me back on my feet while he checks the water temperature then helps me in. Instead of stretching out I bring my knees up to my chest leaving the bottom half of the tub free, and beckon for him to join me. He tilts his head, his eyes gleaming, and tells me to put my injured arm on the stool as I did before. I do, then sit back to enjoy the show as Nick strips and climbs into the bath with me.

  Once there, he takes hold of each of my ankles and drapes them over the edges of the bath, opening me to him. He lifts my hips and pushes his legs under me to raise my bottom up, making my pussy even more accessible. Then he goes to work.

  First, he uses his thumbs to trace the outline of my cunt, drawing them slowly through my folds. He opens me, his eyes never leaving my pink, throbbing flesh. I let my eyelids droop, resting my head on the edge of the bath behind me as I allow my response to simply blossom. After those weeks of training, including disciplined orgasm suppression, followed by a fortnight of abstinence, the sheer luxury of being allowed to come at will is heady.

  He slips two fingers inside me, and I start to spasm around him. He continues his assault, turning his attention now to my clit. He places the pad of his thumb over the swollen nub and rubs, hard. It feels wonderful, and I lift my hips, wordlessly pleading for more as my first orgasm washes gently over and through me.

  As my body stills he ups the ante by bending his knees, lifting me up and out of the water entirely. He’s careful to ensure that my shoulders are supported on the opposite end of the bath so my injured arm is not jolted. In this position he can use his mouth, and he leans in to tongue fuck me, at the same time inserting the tip of his finger into my anus. It feels exquisite, absolutely and utterly divine, and my next orgasm is on me almost as soon as the first dies away. Not satisfied with just one climax this way, Nick shoves his finger right into my arse, and soon slips another in there too. He nibbles on my clit, holding it gently between his teeth while he flicks the tip with his tongue. And I’m a goner once more. This orgasm is more powerful, and I feel as though I’ve been catapulted into the air, spinning weightlessly, dizzily, before drifting back to earth.

  By now I’m feeling tired, ready for bed, ready to sleep. Nick lowers me back into the water then helps me to kneel up and turn around. He has other ideas. He places one of my knees on the edge of the bath, exposing my by now very, very hot cunt. He rubs the heel of his hand across my pussy, his fingernails just lightly grazing my clit now. It’s a less intense sensation, but the pleasure drills down bone deep. I could stay like this forever, his hands on me, exploring, opening, pleasuring.

  I’ve no idea how long he keeps me there, hovering deliciously on the brink of ecstasy before eventually a finger plunging firmly into my arse sends me off into my third orgasm. And this one is an absolute firestorm. My head is full of flashing lights, the sensual pyrotechnics shooting through my body. Occasionally, at certain times of the year and when the atmospherics are just so, the very edge of the Northern Lights is visible from my balcony at home. This sensation reminds me of it, undulating and beautiful and completely other-worldly.

  At last Nick eases me back into the bath and pulls me back to lean against his chest.

  “You have a lovely arse, my little sexy slut. And I’m thinking you liked that, yes?”

  I nod, turning my face to rub my cheek against the light dusting of hair on his chest. He kisses the top of my head.

  “Will that keep you satisfied for an hour or two? Could we perhaps proceed to the hair washing bit now?”

  Crikey, I’d completely forgotten I’m supposed to be taking a bath. Getting washed. Thank goodness Nick’s on top of things, so to speak.

  Ten minutes later my hair’s been washed, rinsed, conditioned and rinsed again, and Nick has gently rubbed his soapy hands all over my body, missing not an inch. He then gently sponges the soap away to leave me feeling clean, refreshed and utterly cherished.

  If this is what not wanting to commit feels like, I’m ready to revise my low opinion of it.

  * * * *

  It’s time for my date with the fracture clinic. Today they’ll apparently remove my big clunky pot, now looking decidedly grubby, and replace it with a super duper lightweight racing version. Or something of that sort.

  My appointment’s at ten o’clock. We get up at around half past eight, and Nick rustles up coffee and toast while I engage in a right-handed wrestling bout with my toothbrush. At nine fifteen we set off for the hospital, and all the way there I’m deep in thought. If he notices that I seem preoccupied, Nick doesn’t comment on it.

  After today, if things go well and the new pot is as liberating as the casualty doctor seemed to suggest, I might be in a much better state to look after myself. I could, conceivably, go home to my apartment. I’d need some help, but I can easily afford to hire a nurse-cum-whatever to do the things I can’t do for myself yet. I could hire a driver too, or even lease an automatic car for a few weeks.

  Nick’s been great, and the bottom line is I love him and I want to stay with him. But on my terms. That means I want to be here because he wants me here, and I’ve chosen to be. Not because he feels I’ve no choice and need caring for. And my innate independence is starting to reassert itself. I want my life back—I want some sense of control over what I do and where I go. Even before our—what? Our break-up?—I had no thoughts of moving into Nick’s home permanently. I love my own place, it’s perfect for me and I would like to keep it. But I want Nick to share it with me sometimes, just as I could sometimes share his.

  It was lovely to have Nick swoop in on Saturday and just take charge. Christ, I really needed him to do that—I was in no state at all to look after myself. But now? Now things need to change.

  If I’m to be in the business of hiring staff, of course, I’ll need some practical assistance with that. It’s not banking business exactly but Max will probably step up. Hiring my domestic help is not in his contract, and I’m sure he wouldn’t usually perform these sorts of services for his clients. But to b
e fair, neither is buying racehorses. I have no doubt he’ll help me with this, or his PA will. I daresay Nick would too, if I ask him.

  The fracture clinic is quick and efficient. I see an orthopaedic consultant who confirms the casualty doctor’s conclusion and prognosis. Then a nurse uses a really cool circular saw to remove the pot. For reasons I can’t come close to understanding it slices through hard material and stops dead if it hits something soft. Like my arm. The nurse demonstrates on her own fingers before she starts on me. In moments, though, the temporary pot is peeled away and I’m offered a choice of several jaunty colours for my new one. I decide on a delicate lilac shade, and the nurse quickly fixes me up with my new fashion accessory.

  By ten forty-five we’re back in my car, and Nick’s ready to head for home. I’m pleased with the new plaster cast—it’s every bit as light and manoeuvrable as I’d hoped, and I can move my fingers easily again. This means I can sign. Not up to my usual standard, but I’m back in business and it’s only going to get better from here.

  As Nick starts to reverse out of the parking space I tap him on the arm. He stops the car, turns to me, and I manage to sign my first words.

  “Can we go to the zoo?”

  He looks at me, baffled. “Where? Can we go where?

  “The zoo.” I spell the word to avoid any misunderstanding.

  “You want to go to the zoo? Like, elephants and all that?”

  I nod. “But they don’t have elephants there.”

  And it’s true, they don’t. But they have rhinoceros, giraffe, lions and tigers, and lots more. Most of the animals wander around in huge enclosures, and visitors can wander through some of the areas, actually touch the animals. Not the lions and tigers, of course, and the rhinos. But it’s a nice place, and in particular it’s a good place to sit and think. And talk.

  Nick doesn’t look especially enthusiastic, but he agrees.

  “You do know, don’t you, that we might run into Dan there? He does a lot of work at the wildlife park. Lemurs. Would that bother you?”

  I think for a moment, but despite the awkwardness of our last meeting I have no qualms about facing Dan again. He’s a nice guy, and he was exceptionally kind to me that day. Which is more than can be said for Nick, but I’m still talking to him. I’m puzzled about the lemurs, though, and with some stops and starts manage to ask Nick what that’s about.

  “Dan’s a large animal vet. That means farm animals mostly. And horses. But he’s also a specialist on lemurs, and they have a lot here at the wildlife park. I seem to remember he told me he was leading a research project into the mating and reproductive differences between sub-species, or something like that. It means he gets to watch lemurs fucking a lot. I guess there must be worse ways to spend your time, though I can’t call any to mind right now.” He leans forward and puts the car into gear. “So, the zoo then.”

  * * * *

  We spend a happy, relaxed couple of hours wandering around among Dan’s lemurs, the kangaroos and the ostriches in the open enclosures. Then we visit the giraffes in their huge stable-like home where we need to view them at eye level from a balcony. But I guess the giraffes find us boring, as they amble off to join the rhinos in their acres of open space outside. Our next stop is the lion enclosure. These guys are relaxing, restful, lounging on their wooden platforms, eying their two-legged visitors with thinly veiled contempt.

  Nick and I are alone on the viewing platform when I casually turn to him and sign my intention to return to my apartment.

  “No way! How will you manage? You need someone to cook for you, and, and, help you in the bath.”

  My plan is evidently not one that finds immediate favour with Nick Hardisty. And I have to admit, Nick is exceptional at bathtime. But even so…

  “I can hire some help for the next few weeks. A cook, a nurse, a driver. I’ll be fine. And I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

  “Take advantage! You’re not taking advantage. I like having you around, I thought I’d made that clear.”

  “You’ve been very kind. But…”

  “Stop. Just—stop, please.” Nick takes hold of my hands, automatically gentling as he touches my left wrist, but stopping my flow of signing.

  I wait, and watch. I’ve never seen Nick so—confused. So completely unsure of his ground, of what he wants to say next. My patience is eventually rewarded as at last he seems to have it sorted in his head.

  “I should never have let you leave that day. I was an idiot. A total prat. Dan was right about that. And I’m so relieved now that he didn’t take me up on my stupid offer. I’ve missed you so bloody much it fucking hurts. And now you’re back, and all I know for sure is that I love having you with me again, but I can’t work out anything beyond that. But I do know I don’t want you to leave. So, even though you don’t have to—please stay. I need time to sort my head out, time to come to terms with whatever’s going on here, between us. I can’t seem to do that if you’re not around. So—stay. Please.”

  I somehow think I may not need that cook or nurse or driver after all.

  I gently pull my hands free so I can frame my response. “I’ll stay then, but there are three conditions.”

  He regards me warily, obviously not used to having to make concessions. “Oh, and what might those be then? And have a care, Miss Stone, you know my views on pushy subs.”

  Well, that settles my first requirement.

  “Number one, you just agreed to. If I stay, I stay as your submissive, not an invalid who needs taking care of.”

  Nick nods at my plastered wrist. “You’re hardly in a fit state to be tied to a St Andrews cross. What do you have in mind?”

  Despite his earlier warning, this seems not to be a foregone conclusion after all. I shrug. “That’s your problem. I’m sure you’ll come up with something suitable. I suppose you’ll have to start by getting me a bigger red wristband, to fit over the pot.”

  He shakes his head, but he’s smiling so I know I’ve won this first round. “Girl, you’re fucking dangerous. Not fit to be let loose. So, what’s your second condition?”

  “I want to pay my way. I buy the groceries from now on.”

  “It’s only a few bananas. Keeping you from starvation will hardly break the bank.”

  “Even so. It’s important to me. Please.” I value my independence. I know he can afford a few vegetables and wholemeal bread, but so can I. I meet his gaze, determined not to drop my eyes first. And after long moments I win that round too. Nick Hardisty clearly picks his battles carefully and he doesn’t intend to die in a ditch over this.

  “Okay. You take charge of our next Tesco order. I’ll give you a list of what I want—you might be able to live off apples but I like a decent steak from time to time. And an occasional sticky bun.” He waits for me to nod my agreement, then, his teasing smile belying the substance of his next words, he continues, “So, what’s your final demand then? And I warn you, girl, I’m fucking sick of you setting the terms for our relationship so make this the last time you do it.”

  Relationship. I like the sound of that.

  I tip my chin up, meeting his gaze again, a hint of defiance that I suspect will cost me later. I hope. “That you fuck me. At least once a day.”

  His eyes are a vivid grey, deep and stormy, and I wonder if maybe I’ve pushed my demands too far. Doms do like to set the pace, especially where sex is concerned.

  “If I agree to your conditions, then I have a fourth one of my own.”

  He pauses, and I gesture with my hand that he should continue, but I think I know what’s coming.

  Sure enough, “When we get back to my house, you strip for me, then lay yourself across my knees and accept a spanking. I’ll take your injury into account, but it will hurt.”

  He holds out his right hand.

  “Do we have a deal, Miss Stone?”

  “Why do I deserve a spanking? A hurting one, I mean.”

  “Firstly, for messing about on that bloody chair m
ainly and breaking your wrist. And for being so demanding just now. And for keeping me awake the last three nights with a raging hard-on. Good enough?”

  He had the last word in the end, but I’m happy with that. So we shake on it. My bum’s tingling already.

  We call in on Dan’s precious lemurs again before we leave the zoo. He’s not around today, but I understand that he and Nick are close friends and it’s only a matter of time before I see him again. It’ll be fine, though, as far as I’m concerned. No hard feelings on my part. I’m not sure their friendship will survive intact, but we’ll see.

  Back at Nick’s house, within two minutes of the front door closing behind us, I’m standing in the middle of his—our?—kitchen, wearing nothing but his chain. He pulls one of the solid oak chairs out from the table and takes a seat.

  “I intend to fuck you straight after this, so that’s something to look forward to, for me at least. You may not feel so kindly disposed to me when I’ve finished spanking your delectable arse. Get over here. Now.”

  He clearly means business, and I know better than to even think about using any delaying tactics. Even though he promised to go easy on me in view of my broken wrist—at least I think that’s what he said—the determined set of his jaw and distinctly harsh glint in his eyes suggest otherwise. I draw a deep breath, and step forward.

  Nick is in no hurry. He allows me ample time to lean across him, resting my stomach on his knees and letting my upper body fall forward. I use my right hand to brace myself against the leg of his chair, but I’m not sure where to put my left wrist. I can’t quite reach the floor to lay my forearm flat, and anything else is painful. I wriggle and shift around, but I’m struggling to find the right position. Nick realises immediately what the problem is.

  “This won’t do.” He reaches down and helps me to stand. “Go to the bedroom. Wait for me there.”