by Ashe Barker
I nod and do exactly as I’m told.
A few moments later he’s following me into the bedroom, carrying the chair from the kitchen. He places it at right angles to the bed, and sits down on it.
“Right, over my knee again, but this time you can rest your body on the bed, and stretch out your arm. Let’s see if this is more comfortable. I intend to make your arse burn, but I promised to take your broken wrist into account. You can tell me afterwards if it worked.”
My mouth dry, despite my usual fondness for bare-bottom, bare-handed spanking, I assume the required position. This time I am able to rest my arm comfortably, and with a little more shifting and wriggling I’m soon as ready as I’m going to be. When I’m lying still, Nick asks me if it’s all right to continue, and I nod my agreement.
“Okay. We’ll start with a little massage, to bring the blood to the surface and increase the sting. You want this to be a memorable lesson, I’m sure, so you’ll appreciate my attention, I expect. Won’t you, Freya?”
He doesn’t touch me, though, and after a few moments I look over my shoulder, wondering what the delay is. He’s watching me carefully, clearly waiting for something. At last he clarifies.
“I asked you a question, sub. I expect an answer.”
Ah, right. The demanding, intransigent Dom, who’ll insist I thank him nicely for the discipline he’s about to deliver. I comply quickly, my nod telling him I do indeed appreciate his kindness in preparing me properly.
The next few minutes are blissful as he massages my buttocks firmly, his fingers digging into the fleshy curves, kneading the soft skin. I part my legs without any instruction from my Dom, and he slides his fingers between them to investigate my wet, warm folds.
“You’re very wet, little sub. Maybe you will enjoy being fucked after all. Or maybe not. We’ll see.”
And with that he brings his palm down hard on my bottom, first the left buttock, then the right, in quick succession. I jerk sharply—it hurts. This is most definitely a punishment spanking rather than one intended to arouse. His free hand is in the small of my back, holding me still, and he shifts his right leg to trap both of mine. Satisfied that I’m going nowhere, he starts again.
I count the slaps, and start to sob silently at ten. Any concession to my delicate state is most definitely restricted to the position of my arm, and he’s making no allowance at all as far as the severity of the spanking is concerned. By the time he’s delivered twenty blistering strokes I’m sure I’m close to my limit. He’ll stop if I use a safe signal, or at least he’ll give me a short respite. But he’ll insist on completing the punishment before he allows me to apologise and we can move on. Chewing on my bottom lip, I decide to try to get through it now rather than drag it out. But it’s hard. By twenty-five strokes my bottom feels to be on fire, and I’ve no idea how much more he has in store for me.
“Thirty. I’ll stop after thirty. Can you manage that?”
His intuitive Dom antennae again, he always seems to know what I’m thinking—can read my response like a book. And knowing the end is in sight I nod and allow my body to go limp, accepting the last few slaps stoically. Suddenly, it’s over. Nick stops at thirty, and I remember to breathe again.
I wince as something cool hits my abused, tender bottom, then I relax as soothing balm soaks into my skin. Nick gently massages the cream in, his free hand now lightly trailing up my side to tease the side of my breast. He gives me the few minutes I need to recover, to get myself under control again ready for the next instalment.
He was wrong in one respect, though. My enthusiasm for being fucked by him is undiminished by my ordeal.
He rolls me onto my back and helps me to ease farther onto the bed, then lies down alongside me. He takes me in his arms, and I go readily, clutching at his shirt with my good hand. I know I must be wetting his shirt as my tears are still flowing freely, but he doesn’t appear to mind. He strokes my hair, kisses the top of my head, and I feel absolutely cherished. After a few minutes I push myself up to kneel on the bed facing him. Sitting is still quite out of the question, and I suspect it will be for a while yet. He smiles at me wryly as he leans around to view my bottom.
“A truly spectacular shade of crimson, sweetheart. Quite beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I sign. Then, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to balance on a chair like that. And I was rude and disrespectful earlier, at the zoo.”
He looks at me, his expression amused rather than stern now. “You know, Freya, I’m not at all convinced you are sorry. Your accident was unfortunate but could have been worse, I suppose. But you’re headstrong and I have no doubt you’d do the same thing again if I wasn’t around to stop you. And although your attitude today might have lacked the submissive qualities I’m coming to expect from you and will definitely enforce from now on, I’m glad you outlined your terms. So, it’s done, and we’re here. Together. And I believe I still have to fulfil your third condition.”
He stands over me as he undresses, and I watch with undisguised interest. A few moments later he’s alongside me again. “Do you want to roll over? You might be more comfortable face down.”
How considerate. I roll onto my stomach and spread my thighs.
“Ah, now that is a submissive position. You’re redeeming yourself nicely, my sweet little sub. Lift your bum up a bit.”
Obediently I start to push myself up onto my knees but it’s not easy with just one good arm. Nick spots my difficulty.
“Hold it, let me help.” He grabs two pillows, then shoves his arm under my stomach to lift me. He pushes the pillows under my hips and sets me back down, now suitably supported and ready.
“Is that better? Comfortable?”
I turn to him and nod. Nick smiles at me as he trails his fingers lightly over my sore bottom, and I start to tingle deliciously.
“Ah, anticipation is everything. I think you’re looking forward to this after all. Am I right, Freya?” His tone is a low murmur now, warm and rich and incredibly sexy.
I nod, uncaring if he can detect my desperation. I just want him to get on with it. I wriggle my hips, my invitation clear. And I let my eyelids drop with sweet relief as he shifts into position behind me. Moments later my impatience is rewarded as he thrusts into me, deep and hard. I squeeze him, my inner muscles clamping around his cock in welcome. He holds still for a heartbeat or two then starts to pump his cock into me. His rhythm is fast, quickly picking up pace until he’s driving into me hard. I brace myself against the force of his thrusting and gyrate my hips to increase the delightful friction. His accuracy loses nothing to the strength of his strokes, and he hits my G-spot every time. He leans in, as I start to clench uncontrollably and for an awful moment I half expect him to forbid me to come.
Instead, “Go for it, girl.” And as if to make sure I do have the most intense orgasm he can deliver, he places his middle finger firmly across my clit and flicks it sharply from side to side. My climax rips through me, filling my body with a shuddering, pulsating whirlpool of sensation. I grasp the duvet in my fist and hang on as he continues to fuck me hard, relentless. His body is slamming into mine, my still sore bottom absorbing yet more punishment. But I’m loving it now as the waves of pleasure roll through me, and out through my fingertips. The sweet sting of his continuing assault on my buttocks adds to and enhances the sensation. I wonder, idly, as the warmth of his semen fills the condom, if it might just be possible to die from pleasure.
Maybe, but not on this occasion. Not quite.
At last we’re both still, lying exhausted on the bed. Nick pulls me into his arms.
“Welcome back, little sub.” He murmurs the words softly against my hair.
I drop a kiss onto his chest. It’s all the reply needed for now.
* * * *
Later, over dinner, Nick looks at me casually as he chews his steak. He’s enjoying his with thick-cut chips and salad, while I just settled for the salad. Still, it’s good. He may not understand the rudimen
ts of egg boiling—though we are working on that—but he certainly knows his way around a griddle.
“So, fancy a trip out with me tomorrow?”
The suggestion takes me by surprise. I glance up, interested.
“I need to go to Manchester. I mentioned I’m buying a club there, didn’t I?” I nod obligingly. “Right. Well, I need to go down there and sign the papers. I intend to look the place over at the same time, and I wouldn’t mind having your view as well. You may spot issues I’d miss, from the sub’s perspective, I mean. So, you up for that?”
Wow! Am I? I’m just so delighted that he seems to want to actually include me in his life, and not just in his dungeon or his bed. Whilst I’m no expert on running fetish clubs, I know how I think they should function from a sub’s point of view at least. Privately I take the view that how a club looks after the submissives who use it is the make or break factor. Doms are not so vulnerable, but subs can get hurt if people act like idiots or the supervision is sloppy. The Collar is my sort of club—that’s why I joined, and why I was so keen not to get thrown out.
I sign my reply, “Yes. I’d love to come.”
Nick just grins wickedly. “Yeah, babe, I know that. But what about tomorrow?”
Chapter Five
We set off after lunch in my car as Nick’s bike is still parked under my apartment. I doubt I could have ridden safely anyway. By unspoken consent, he drives. Our first stop is to be a solicitor’s office in Manchester city centre, then we’ll be dropping in at the club. The lawyers know we’re coming to their offices but I gather we’ll be arriving unannounced at the club. Clearly Nick appreciates the value of spot checks, and I suspect a lot of jobs are suddenly on the line.
We arrive at the solicitor’s offices and Nick parks in a space designated for visitors. Courteous as always, he comes around to open my car door for me, then laces his fingers through mine as we make our way across the acres of thickly carpeted foyer.
“What do you know about this club? And what if you decide you don’t like it after you’ve signed the papers?” I sign my questions as we wait in the solicitor’s reception area while the immaculately turned out front of house staff announce our presence. Well, Nick’s.
“I’ve checked the books carefully enough, and that’s the main thing. It turns a decent profit but I think I can improve on the figures. The location’s superb, right in the city centre. It needs some renovations to the building and maybe some new equipment. We need to keep these Mancunian subs on their toes—literally.”
That sounds ominous. I cast him a wary glance. “Do you have anything specific in mind?”
“I do, actually. I’m thinking of a St Andrews cross incorporating nipple clamps. Would you fancy that, do you think? Your hands tied behind you, and you could be suspended by your nipples with just your toes on the floor?” He lifts one eyebrow, his smile distinctly lascivious.
I fold my arms protectively across my breasts, and his grin broadens. “Thought so. You’ll love it. You have such sensitive nipples, Freya, I’m just surprised I didn’t think of suspending you by them before. Anyway, I’m thinking of importing one and you definitely get to be first to try my new toy, my sweet.”
Not sure if he’s serious or not, I opt to bring him back to the issue at hand, namely how he can judge the quality of the club without seeing it first. Surely there’s only so much to learn from studying the books.
“Perspicacious as ever, little Freya. And you’re right of course. But it doesn’t matter what the club’s like now. After I complete the purchase I’ll run it according to my standards. My rules. I’ll change what I don’t like. If the existing staff are accustomed to running a tight ship, then fine, we’ll all get along. If not, we clear out and re-hire. The practicalities are pretty straightforward. I’ll send Frank in to run the dungeon for the first month or so, and then he’ll report to me on the general state of things. In particular he’ll tell me which staff to keep. If the current manager is a keeper then he or she can oversee any other changes that might be needed. If not, Ange will be the interim manager until I appoint a permanent replacement. She’ll need a deputy too, probably someone to train up who can then take over, and I’ve someone in mind for that.”
“It sounds like you’ve done this before.”
“Yup, once or twice.”
“But, you only own two, don’t you? This one would make three.”
“I’ve owned six clubs altogether, over the years. I sell on those that don’t make enough profit. So yes, currently I have two.”
Our conversation is interrupted as a rather dapper, middle-aged man comes bustling across the reception area, hand outstretched.
“Nick, my boy. How nice to see you. How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you since Archie’s funeral. And how’s your lovely mother? “
My boy? Archie? Mother?
Nick turns to face the newcomer, and accepts the hearty handshake that soon develops into a warm man-hug. Is this how solicitors usually greet their clients in Manchester? I must remember to mention it to Max—he’ll know.
“Uncle Charles. Good to see you too. I’m fine, very well. And so’s mum. She’s still living in Seattle so I don’t see much of her. And can I introduce Freya Stone, my—”
I’d have loved to hear how he was intending to describe me so I’m mildly disappointed that he doesn’t get the chance to complete the introduction before ‘Uncle Charles’ is seizing my hand too and pumping it warmly.
“Delighted to meet you, my dear. Delighted. It’s about time our Nick had some decent female company. But— What’s happened to you? You’ve hurt yourself. Do you need to sit down?”
“Freya fell off a chair and broke her wrist at the weekend.”
Nick fills in the blanks, and if Uncle Charles thinks it odd that I don’t answer for myself he doesn’t comment on it. Come to think of it, he hardly takes the time to draw breath at all before he’s rushing on.
“Come through, come through. I’ve got everything ready for you. Our transactional team have drafted all the contracts and we just need some signatures from you, and then we can get your bank to transfer the cash into our client account. Then we can complete. The other side’s solicitor is standing by for a call from me, as soon as the funds clear. Then you’ve got yourself a club.”
He bustles off back towards the open lift doors, and we follow in his wake. Five minutes later we’re installed in a plush conference room on the third floor, a tray of fresh coffee and cream arranged on a side table, and papers spread out on the conference table in the middle. Nick pours coffee for all three of us as Uncle Charles scurries around doing final checks that all the documentation is in order. He’s muttering to himself the whole time, shuffling papers and generally fussing. Nick just watches and sips his coffee, an amused smile on his face. I do the same, feeling somewhat superfluous to this interaction but keenly interested in the process. It seems clear that Nick’s gone through this ritual before, and he waits patiently, his hip propped against the side table, until Uncle Charles finally turns to him and offers him a smart fountain pen. Nick puts his cup down and takes the pen.
“You need to sign here, and here, and here.” Charles points to the relevant documents, the spaces requiring signatures marked with a pencilled X.
Nick glances briefly at each document, then leans over and signs. He clearly trusts his uncle’s legal advice and the documents are soon in a neat pile in front of Charles.
We sit down then, our coffees refilled, and Nick and Charles make small talk at the table. I listen in and learn that Nick’s mother is called Olivia and that she’s married to a man who owns a construction company. She’s on her third husband now, and Nick sees her once or twice a year. He seems fond of her, though I get the impression that he’s less enamoured of his latest stepfather. Suddenly the phone on the side table trills loudly, and Charles gets up to answer it.
“Yes?” He waits a few seconds, then, “That’s lovely, thank you.” He replaces the receiver a
nd turns to us once more.
“The funds have cleared. I’ll ring Stephen at Lawson’s. Then we’re done.”
While he’s on the phone I sign to Nick, “Who’s Stephen?”
He sips his coffee and helps himself to a fancy little biscuit. “Stephen Marchant, the solicitor acting for the vendor. As soon as Charles tells him the money’s in their account and that I’ve signed, the deal completes.”
I’m astonished—I never really gave any thought as to how these things happen, but I hadn’t expected it would all be done over the phone. Seems a little slack to me, and I say so. “But, what’s to stop Charles lying? Saying the money’s there when it isn’t?”
Nick smiles at me. “Fair point. It’s all down to professional ethics. He’d never work in commercial law again if he did such a thing. No, these guys trust each other, and they always deal honestly. That’s just how it works.”
Right. Pity things aren’t always that simple.
* * * *
The club glories in the name of Heidi’s and is situated in a stylish building in the city centre, occupying three floors above a smart parade of designer shops and eateries. The entrance is discreetly tucked between an Italian restaurant and a kitchenware shop. I peer in the shop window as we wait to be let in through the door security system, and can’t spot anything costing less than a tenner. Even I’d gulp at the prospect of blowing over a hundred quid on a plain white teapot, but apparently someone must be prepared to spend that sort of money or the shop wouldn’t be in business. My frugal musings are interrupted by a disembodied female voice erupting from the shiny grill next to the door buttons. She asks if she can help us. Nick just states his name, offering no further explanation.
His fame must have preceded us. The door buzzes, and he shoves it open.
“We’re in. Come on. And remember, first impressions. Keep your eyes and ears open.” He takes my hand and we slip inside to find ourselves in another elegant foyer. This time Nick crosses straight to the lift and hits the call button. In no time we’re headed up to the third floor. We exit the lift to be met by a casually dressed man in grey chinos and an open neck yellow sports shirt. He’s accompanied by a rather scary-looking woman dressed in unrelieved black. Both are aged around thirty, and both seem to me to be nervous. I suppose it must be daunting, meeting your new boss, not sure if you’re going to keep your job or not. The man seems rather nondescript to me, but the woman is frankly stunning. Her clothes are anything but skimpy, a full-length tight-fitting dress with long sleeves and high neck, but she exudes sexuality. She takes one look at Nick and unleashes her charms on him, totally ignoring me.